This is potentially the longest gap in my blogging history. I have nothing to write.
I'm realising I can't do this alone, or control it. I am not secretly pretending to have this disorder and am no longer holding the belief that I will therefore snap out of it. My therapist has decided she isn't qualified to meal plan with me. I started talking about abuse and I just didn't find it useful. She didn't say anything wrong, I just don't know if she could comprehend.
I'm feeling increasingly like where my parents live is not my home. That no where is my home. That there is no where I can pitch up at next year, whilst I'm studying, and curl up with familiar people and warmth for a weekend. Yet I don't feel old enough to create my own home.
Health stuff is worrying me. Not for the here and now but for the future. My GP is chasing the 24hr ECG, the physio, the mental health dietician.
I am curling up in the corner of my room crying, lamenting a feeling of home.