Returning to art after years away has been joyful, emotional and well more recently an existential nightmare. But here's a self portrait of me and my favourite Starbucks drink I drew before I succumbed to the entropy of my existential crisis.
Tag: mental health
The Place Between Absolutely Trashed and Thriving
Somewhere between absolutely trashed and thriving, I’m taking iron, navigating ridiculous hunger, challenging my anxiety, surviving another cluster episode and finding my way back to art. My body might currently feel like it’s been run over by the Brexit bus, but somehow, underneath all the chaos, I’m feeling more like myself.
The Year I Trained to Draw Again
For years, I believed age and chronic pain had taken art away from me for good. A year of recovery, deliberate nutrition and strength training later, I picked up my pencils again.
Preparing For the Second Coming Of the Invisible Surveyor
Significant anaemia, an invisible surveyor, and an attempted betrayal of the sacred pistachio-crème snack plate: this week has been a lot. Between cleaning, iron tablets, cluster headaches, and a late-night chaos-goblin incident, I’m learning that recovery means rest, fuel, Minecraft ambience, and refusing to make cereal happen.
Life Is a Ferrous Wheel
Anaemia, NHS blood tests and the devastating loss of Greggs’ Katsu Chicken Bake. I discover my iron deficiency has somehow got worse, try not to let my brain FIX EVERYTHING RIGHT NOW, accidentally cosplay a 90s Special K diet, and learn that bodies remain inconveniently resistant to urgency.
If You Buy That, You Will Eat It
I’ve been doing recovery “wrong”, apparently. I eat protein bars, track my food, weigh myself and make choices that would horrify parts of the recovery internet. And yet, I’m recovering. Here are some recent wins - including buying food despite Corrupted Clippy helpfully warning me that, horrifyingly, I might actually eat it.
The Katsu Chicken Bake At the End of the World
A bad perimenopause day becomes an argument with my OCD, a hunt for missing medication and a walk through town feeling more like my shadow than myself. Somewhere between Welsh graffiti, questionable mental health advice and Corrupted Clippy offering an escape hatch, I decide to eat the Katsu chicken bake anyway.
The Grief of a Meteor Shower
I watched the Perseid meteor shower expecting the same wonder I’d always felt, but grief was there too. Beneath the excitement was the absence of my best friend, and the person I was before she died. I still love the stars. I just wish, sometimes, that they were magic.
The Return of the Invisible Surveyor, the Doctor’s Appointment and All the Thoughts in Between
Four hours of sleep, one mysteriously functional window and the return of the Invisible Surveyor. Between housing chaos and a surprisingly useful doctor’s appointment, I think about anxiety, OCD, perimenopause, grief, recovery and the strange guilt of resting - before retreating back to Night City with Greggs and exhaustion.
The Day You Would Have Turned 47
Yesterday should have been my best friend's 47th birthday. Instead, I spent the day waiting for a surveyor who never arrived. Somewhere between frustration, grief, Commander Shepard, new socks and mushrooms, I realised I wasn't mourning a wasted day at all. I was mourning the years she never got to live.
