I'm actually ill, again. I need to stop eating crap and congratulating myself for the fact that I'm actually eating, and occasionally shove in summat healthy. I need to do that, but I'm not going to. I really don't understand the point in calories that aren't delicious. It's a big part of how I got off my last NG within a month. I actually refuse to eat salad and fruit because it's no fun. Everything, everything, ought to be fun.
I'm thinking a lot about the future- being shut away in your room does that. I have a rough idea of what I want to do, and what I need to do to get there, and I think this might be an area of my life where my constant need for excitement and fun and passion might come in handy. To recover, I think you have to kind of think, 'right, I can be thin and miserable, or I can be healthy and mostly miserable, but with the energy to have some bloody great laughs.' I went out this weekend with Ginge, one of my aunties and one of my cousins, and it was so great, in the sort of casual way that I wouldn't have been physically or mentally able to a month or two ago. It's more complicated than just fun- isn't everything, always?- but that pretty much sums it up.
I'm almost constantly revolted by my body, but I'm learning to appreciate what it does. Aimee, one of my closest friends, made a comment about how the worst thing about watching my last decline was when I lost my ability to express myself, because that's such a big part of who I am. I've been chewing this over (ok, ok, slight pun intended), and she's right. I'd rather have my boobs and my brain, than a 3 mile wide thigh gap.
I'm pretty sure that I can make this the home straight. I'm going home for the first time since NYE, this weekend and I can't wait. I'm going to use it to spur me on, because sometimes you need a reminder than life goes on. The mundane activities still need doing. Life isn't always great, but it's far better than the alternative.