It's just gone 8, on a Saturday night and I'm dining in hospital. There's something about an NG tube, it feels like it SHOULD be rock bottom but honestly it isn't. I feel like so many things SHOULD have been rock bottom- overdoses and bleeds and psych admissions and hospital admissions and IVs and going for inpatient treatment... But they've been falls on the way up the stairs, not down.
I'm on my way away from this eating disorder, I'm so sure. I've maybe had an epiphany and you'll have to wait for it to fully develop, I think. I'm not sure of much, but it definitely feels more like an accident that got me here, literally and physically HERE, and in a way it was. But I'll save that story for when I'm out, which I'm hopinghopinghoping will be Tuesday. I need to live, I need to start living, and this is my... Leaping pad. I don't know what else to say, everything is very ridiculous right now- I have a length of tubing going up my nose and down to my stomach, constantly dripping in... Well, chemicals- it's nothing and everything and it means everything and nothing. Much like this blog. Everything is ridiculous, in Scunthorpe General Hospital.