I drew another reason to recover from my anorexia relapse. I want to recover from my relapse, To be more present with you — Like when we had slushies at Krispy Kreme. That memory alone Is worth fighting on through.
Tag: mental health
The Arrival of Biscoff… The Jellycat Bear
Biscoff the Bear has arrived, and frankly, he’s the best decision I’ve ever made mid-breakdown. He’s soft. He’s chonky. He’s emotionally supportive and doesn’t judge my reactive Biscoff binges. He even has his own jar. 10/10 life coach. Would cuddle again.
More Little Lights in the Dark – My Son, Starbucks, and Self Care Sunday.
This week was hard — full of cluster headaches, grief, and emotional crashes. But in the middle of all that were tiny moments that helped me stay: coffee with my son, a moonstone necklace, a bear in a towel, and a bath that looked like the universe. Little lights in the dark.
Sitting with the Sisyphean Boulder of My Extreme Emotions
Restriction doesn’t just mute pain—it steals joy too. I lose my presence, my art, my immersion in games and love. Clippy’s hand offers silence from grief, but it silences everything else as well. Recovery means feeling again—and sometimes, feeling is the boulder I can’t get out from under.
I Meltdown Like Cheese On Beans But Ate Them Anyway – An ED Recovery Post
Recovery isn’t linear. Sometimes you cry over beans while getting emotionally slapped like Chris Rock at the Oscars—by grief, rage, and trauma. This is a story about relapse, cheese, corrupted Clippy, and why I’m still doing recovery anyway. I didn't feel like I won. But I ate the beans.
The Night We Ate – My Son Softens The Hard Edges of My Day.
Friday was a hard day (well, it became two). I’m in early recovery from an anorexia relapse. There were CHAOS GREMLIN Biscoff binges and zero sleep—but also moments of clarity, love, bears, bath bombs, and reminders of why I’m still trying.
Picking Up A Pencil Again After 3 Years.
Three years ago, I gave up drawing because of pain that felt like a heart attack. Now, in the middle of a relapse—and a storm—I picked up a pencil again. This post is about art, disability, grief, and the terrifying hope that maybe, just maybe, I won’t have to let go again.
Recovery Update – The Hokey Cokey and The Return of the Chicken Shawarma
Recovery isn’t just about eating the food—it’s about the mental war behind it. This week, I challenged Clippy and pushed past fear foods, even if I cried after. It’s messy and exhausting, but I’m doing it slowly, in a way that works for my body. That still counts.
Reaching My ED Goal Weight Didn’t Save Me.
I reached my goal weight, and I lost everything. My joy, my passions, the parts of me that made life feel real. I thought it would make things better. It didn’t. Nothing is better here. Clippy lied — and I miss the version of me I was before I listened.
The Aftermath of Taking the D
Took 25,000 IU of vitamin D and my body said “no thanks” by collapsing, rash included. Spent Mother’s Day shrimped on the sofa, ragey and weak. Still ate food. Still cried. Still blogging. Recovery arc: glitchy. Perfectionism can piss off—I’ve got knees that fold and a blog backlog now.
Absurd Universe 