Grief, ED recovery, Mental Health and all the lovely things that give my Sisyphean rock meaning
This week had its struggles, but there were little lights in the dark—small moments that kept me going. I made a macrame bow and bag for St David’s Day, filmed adorable TikToks with my bears, and challenged a cheesy hot cross bun. Oh, and I may have become a feral gherkin goblin.
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.
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.
I can’t believe you’re 20. Two whole decades of you in my life, shaping me just as much as I’ve raised you. Watching you grow into your most authentic self has been the greatest privilege. No matter where life takes you, you’ll always have me, quantum entangled, forever
This week was chaos incarnate. I had MANY meltdowns, became an anti-capitalist hero via a magazine subscription app, my son delivered an epic BBC takedown, and I spent a lot of time hugging Jellycats—when they weren’t in quarantine. But somehow, I’m still here. And honestly? I’ll take that as a win.
When everything crumbled — blood tests, eating disorder relapse, endless chaos — I leaned into maximum entropy. Physics couldn’t fix it, but it made sense of the mess. So, while our universe succumbed to entropy, I bleached my son’s hair. Order emerged in the chaos, his hair flawless, my new Jellycat pig, Hamilton, watching.
I still visit you through your blog, your home in the digital world. The world got darker when you left, but you’re still a constant guiding light. I light this candle for you — not as a goodbye, but as a hello again. You’re always with me. I miss you.
I started macramé thinking, “I could probably do that.” Fast forward to today, and my flat, my bears, and every plushie in sight are covered in knotted creations. What began as a way to save money became an unexpected act of love — crafting, knot by knot, for those I care about most.
Navigating life with an eating disorder feels like being trapped in an airlock, caught between the crushing pull of a black hole and the safety of my ship. Recovery is about survival, fear, and the hard choices to step through pain for freedom. Let’s explore the illusion of the airlocks safety together.
The author shares a reflective account of their particularly eventful Thursday, starting with collecting new glasses from Specsavers. Excited about clearer vision, they enjoy a day filled with family moments, coffee at Starbucks, and an unexpected cluster headache. Experiencing beauty in small details, they find joy and clarity in everyday events.
Absurd Universe 