Tomorrow will be beautiful or the worst day in a long time. One of the many, many things I hate about being detained in this way is that I have no choice even on something as simple as whether my day will be brilliant or horrific. I've a tribunal tomorrow, an opportunity for me to state the case for me to get off my section (detention in hospital). Chances are, I won't get off. But I'm clinging to the smallest shred of hope, and preparing myself as best I can. So far today that's been sorting my nails, picking an outfit and getting one of the girls in here to wash my hair for me. Later, I'll shave and tidy up and work out the exact amount of make up to make myself look more presentable, balanced with the chances I'll end up in tears.
It's all the little, superficial things that I can do now. My freedom won't be decided on my chipless nails or hairless legs, but I'm hoping if I feel as good as I can about myself, I'll sound more, God, sane? I can't wait for the day I can be judged and judge myself on my real achievements, not the style of my dress or even, for that matter, the size of my thighs, but right now this is what I have to do.
Oh, and I'm still hobbling about on my crutches, which I've made fabulous with the addition of leopard print ribbon. Maybe I'll add some glitter ribbon. Easy tiger, I know. Roar. I went up the road to the shop today and it bloody killed. I was meant to be going to Leeds Christmas market this weekend, but this hip problem, a by-product of years of self abuse, has taken that. Another thing snatched away by anorexia. Fuck this. Get me out.