Day four of my surplus wasn't to be... Again. I had the audacity to take iron to help my anaemia. Iron stops play. Oh the IRON-y
Tag: life
Corrupted Copilot vs. Pistachio Foam and Women’s Clothes Sizes.
On Tuesday, I chose the leggings. I chose the pistachio foam. I chose the surplus. My body is loud, the systems louder, but we carried each other anyway. Temporary clothes, temporary afflictions. The commitment however is permanent. Tuesday stood on its own.
The Knee Sleeves and the Burning Building of Recovery
On my son’s birthday, my knee sleeves stopped fitting, and something inside me caught fire. Muscle I worked for felt like betrayal. Recovery stopped being theoretical and started burning. Ambivalence isn’t neutral ground - it’s standing in a doorway, one foot in the flames, afraid to move either way.
My Son Turned 21
My son turned 21 and we celebrated with pizza-induced drama, frog merchandise, half-term crowd navigation, a Primark queue redemption arc, and Biscoff Welsh cakes shaped like butts. There were meltdowns, Maple Leafs, pigeons on trains, and cavolo nero. In other words: completely on brand.
The Audacity of Ice to Be Slippery
Four hours of sleep, a pigeon in my coat, birthday presents in a paper bag, and the BBC cutting away from a gold medal performance. The ice was slippery in more ways than one. Depression didn’t cancel the day - it just made everything louder. But the good bits were still there.
I HATE That I Have To Track
I don’t track because I love control. I track because, at 42, I’m done waiting for “eventually.” My body doesn’t run on hope or slogans. It runs on structure. Scaffolding isn’t glamorous, but neither is pretending I don’t need it. This is about longevity, not perfection.
I’ve Been Hiding From My Blog the Same Way I’ve Been Hiding From the Entire World
Quetiapine quieted my anxiety, but in the silence, depression stepped forward. Without that frantic engine driving me, everything feels slower, heavier. I’m learning who I am without constant fear - while grieving the one person who always felt like proof that I was loved, even when I disappeared.
The Day I Forgot to be Anxious (Which Gave Me Anxiety)
I forgot to be anxious about my medication. No calendar-counting. No tablet-recounting. No catastrophic spirals. I simply… forgot. And when I realised I’d forgotten, I immediately became anxious about forgetting to be anxious. Which is how I discovered, standing in a Boots queue, that my medication increase might actually be working.
No One Warns You About the Bear at the Bottom of the Mountain
I climb the mountain. I feel like I’m finally getting somewhere. Then an unforeseen bear appears, mauls me, and eats the very symbol of my progress. It looks like I never climbed at all. There’s no parka to prove it. Only I know I was there.
Waking Up in the Sixth Year Without WeeGee
Today marks six years since my best friend WeeGee died. It’s the first year I’ve lived this anniversary without running away from it. So my son and I went out to do all the things she loved - coffee, candles, little gifts - carrying her with me in every small joy.
Absurd Universe 