Grief, ED recovery, Mental Health and all the lovely things that give my Sisyphean rock meaning
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.
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.
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.
Christmas felt like survival mode. I kept moving, eating what functioned, resting when I could. The Long Dark made sense when nothing else did: stay fed, stay hydrated, don’t bleed out, wait. Somehow I survived the cougar, the days, the quiet apocalypse, and kept going, even when hope flickered briefly.
Meaning once came easily to me - through motherhood, physics, rain, creativity. When I lost it after losing WeeGee and my son growing up, everything felt empty. This is my attempt to trace that disappearance, the monotony that followed, and the brief, rain soaked moment meaning returned when my son’s glasses broke.
I meant to get a festive bake, but accidentally walked home in a full Cyberpunk flow state instead. Somehow, lowering my meal plan gave me back my legs, my mood, and the ability to enjoy rain again. I’m exhausted by living, but today I’m still glad I’m alive.
Turning 42 wasn’t perfect, but it was mine. Between cramps, cancelled plans, free Starbucks, Jellycat penguins, and Biscoff cake, I found glimmers I didn’t think I’d feel again. Even though the gold didn’t last all night, it existed - and that alone felt like a tiny miracle in the dark.
For years, Christmas food ambushed me with grief. This time, buying a Festive Bake felt different. I still miss her fiercely, but the memories came with warmth, not only pain. I tasted pastry and remembered laughter, comfort, and love. Somehow, joy returned - quietly, wrapped in white Greggs paper.
When builders replaced my windows, they also stole my stars. Between the Adele-singing workmen, sealant fumes, and scaffolding, I lost my favourite place to breathe and think. I’d love to say it’s a metaphor for clarity - but really, it just stinks. At least Minecraft windows still open.
Monday threw me three curveballs - Covid recovery, a bed bug letter, and surprise new windows - and somehow I’m still standing. I keep doing things I don’t know how I’m doing: eating through pain, cleaning through panic, surviving chaos on adrenaline and sarcasm. Three strikes, but I’m not out.
Absurd Universe 