Grief, ED recovery, Mental Health and all the lovely things that give my Sisyphean rock meaning
I went from ultra-controlled to absolute chaos goblin in seconds. My body took over, demanding everything it had been denied. Peanut butter, Biscoff, sandwiches, cereal—MORE, MORE, MORE. And for the first time in a year, I was full. Then came the regret, the panic, and a realisation: something has to change.
I set out expecting stress, but somehow, today turned out… okay. The meds got sorted, the errands got done, and Iceland had the AUDACITY to be pricier than M&S. I came home exhausted, but with a warm flat, a good loaf of bread, and a little relief. Finally.
I put on my Cyberpunk 2077 hoodie, the one that once made me feel powerful—like I was V, ready to take on the world. But now, it drowns me. The fabric hangs loose where I used to fill it. I might be wearing it, but it doesn’t feel like mine anymore.
Anorexia isn’t glamorous. It’s painful, exhausting, and deadly. I’m always freezing, my hair is falling out, my body hurts from being too bony, and food is all I think about. I can’t focus, I can’t sleep, and yet I still can’t make myself eat more. This is my reality.
Depression feels like a black hole pulling me in, but sometimes, it’s the smallest things that keep me from crossing the event horizon—a Jellycat bee gifted by my son, the soft glow of a wax melt burner, or a plushie left in my bed to remind me I’m not alone.
Grief therapy has made me realise how much I’ve hidden parts of myself out of fear. This week, I’m challenging that. I’m sharing my truth, sitting with my emotions, and letting people misunderstand me if they choose to. It’s time to stop being ashamed of my rock—one stone at a time.
My son’s 20th birthday was filled with brownies, Jellycat bears, and love — but also an exhausting battle with my depression. I gave everything I had to make his day special, even when my mind was fighting me every step of the way. He smiled all day. I just wish I could’ve felt it too.
Eating disorders don’t check the calendar. They don’t pause, even for love. If love alone could cure eating disorders, having my son would have cured me. But this isn’t a choice. I want to celebrate his birthday fully, but instead, I’m bargaining with a mental illness that refuses to take a day off.
I woke up in a panic, handled NHS frustrations better than usual, found comfort in Starbucks and plushies, and ended the day very on-brand with an existential crisis over my medication increase. Don’t know why I’m hoping—so fucking naive. Falling for the promise of the emptiness machine.
It took two days to get an emergency dentist appointment, which gave Corrupted Clippy—my eating disordered thoughts—full reign. I could barely eat, and Clippy was LOVING it. Even after the dentist, it whispered, “What a shame you can’t eat. Guilt-free restriction!” I shook my head. Shut up, Clippy.
Absurd Universe 