Grief, ED recovery, Mental Health and all the lovely things that give my Sisyphean rock meaning
It’s been a week of exhaustion, strange half-awake thoughts, and doing life anyway. Somewhere between a musical electrician, a trolley upgrade, and a film I didn’t expect to love, things still happened. Not how I planned, not how I wanted - but I somehow survived and lived anyway.
I tried to restore order to my life after gastritis and during cluster headaches. Instead, I burnt Welsh cakes, broke a suitcase, and nearly lost my sanity. Somewhere between entropy, Biscoff, and questionable decisions, I managed to get back on track - slightly more stable, still chaotic, and fully entering my Welsh nan era.
I didn’t realise I was hurting myself, because it didn’t look like harm. It looked like doing the right thing. Pushing through. Not restricting. Carrying on. But my body felt it. The consequences were real. Recovery, for me, isn’t doing everything. It’s learning when stopping is the kinder choice.
While battling a cluster headache episode, I decided the logical distraction was trying Misery Mode in The Long Dark. Armed with pancakes, tea, a hammer, and a teddy bear, I somehow survived 47 days. No hacksaw, no bow, no plan - just chaotic decisions and a deeply committed pancake strategy.
I almost didn’t write this post because I feel like I’m always the person with another problem. But cluster headaches are part of my life for months every year. Hiding them never helped me. Even during relic malfunctions and pain, life still happens - sausage rolls, book towns, and Minecraft houses full of chickens.
Apparently I really love stories about love - as long as they’re set in space, have incredible music, and occasionally break my heart. These are the films and series I’ve watched more than five times, the ones that stay with me long enough that I’ve even drawn some of their most unforgettable scenes.
This week has been a strange mix of gastritis, scaffolding noise, and small victories. I defeated Optimus Amazon Prime (a mountain of cardboard boxes), accidentally fell into the TikTok illusion dimension, and hugged a loaf of bread. Survival, it turns out, is mostly made of small, ridiculous victories.
For months I thought nothing was happening because I was too scared to move. But writing this made me realise something uncomfortable: Scared Rhio wasn't completely stalling. She kept going while terrified. Maybe recovery isn’t waiting for Urgent Rhio to fix everything. Maybe it’s learning to collapse one wave function at a time.
Day four of my surplus wasn't to be... Again. I had the audacity to take iron to help my anaemia. Iron stops play. Oh the IRON-y
On Tuesday, I chose the leggings. I chose the pistachio foam. I chose the surplus. My body is loud, the systems louder, but we carried each other anyway. Temporary clothes, temporary afflictions. The commitment however is permanent. Tuesday stood on its own.
Absurd Universe 