Grief, ED recovery, Mental Health and all the lovely things that give my Sisyphean rock meaning
Still deep in the hole, I’ve been trying to find little lights in the dark anyway. Pigeons by the river, audiobooks that reignited my love of science fiction, Project Hail Mary nights with my son, and tiny moments of peace that didn’t cure me, but reminded me there’s still warmth outside the fear.
What began as a recovery wobble became a deeper fall into fear, shame, exhaustion, survival behaviours and a literal fire that no longer even felt like an eating disorder. A post about panic, uncertainty, and trying to climb back out while terrified of the surface.
Sometimes when I wake up, my anxiety wakes up first. Before I’ve even opened my eyes my brain is already spiralling about weight, Welsh elections, quantum mechanics and whether Biscoff spread contains enough energy to power a small nation. By the end of the day, seagulls, Starbucks and my son helped ground me again.
My brain can’t tolerate uncertainty, even though I love it in physics. Recovery gave me something to lose - joy in food, strength, a sense of self - and now anxiety fights to control it. I’m doing everything right, and it’s still hard. That’s the part no one tells you about living with OCD.
Well, given that four horses were obviously not enough to deal with in my last post, I’ve now been approached by a very anxious horse too. My anxiety has flared up pretty terribly, and it’s riding alongside its friend - the rider of the perimenopause hormone horse. Right now, I’m all horses and definitely no …
Continue reading Collecting Psychiatrists Like Pokémon – and Arriving in Panic Station.
Absurd Universe 