I've been ill for a couple of days and I'm pretty sure that although the symptoms have been physical, it's probably a bit of a mental thing. I've been exhausted and mentally beaten down and just generally, I don't know, sad. I'm only just realising now how knackered I've been and how I don't think I've had a bug. I know I complain a lot, and I also know I'm really, really lucky. I hate the word lucky, because I'm just about the least superstitious person, ever. Probably all that Catholic upbringing I had, all I feel now is human. I have a great family, brilliant friends and really amazing boobs (that's only slightly a joke). But at the same time, I carry a heavy, old heart and a fire that writhes and dims at the most delicate provocation.
It's been rough, recently, fighting the anorexia. It's always been tough, but I'm so desperate to be done with it that I'm maybe expecting too much. It's weigh day today and I know I've lost weight, despite kind of supplementing my own diet of a night. I add up my calories that they've given me through meals and snacks during the day, realise that it's below even what a dieter would eat, never mind someone who is meant to be gaining, and then add my own, extra, snacks. It's never enough, though. I'm so alone right now, because although I'm on a busy ward, with both staff and patients, it's just me in this situation and just me nobody knows how to help.
It's not really any great wonder I've been ill from the exhaustion. I'm trying to dig myself out of my own grave. My funders want me moved to an alternative hospital and I don't know where or when, or even if any other place would be beneficial, or if I just need to be out, because I'm basically doing everything now I'd be doing for myself on the outside anyway, just without the freedom. Being sectioned is, at times, really quite degrading. I can't keep begging for food, for example.
Get me out of here.