Back home. Claustrophobic as always, I thought I'd beaten this. A month of freedom, no scales, no calorie counting and now back home, and all I can think of is the exact volume of balsamic vinegar I just poured onto my salad. She walks into the room, her look of disapproval mixed with self-pity. Her calculated sighs - pity me, pity me. What do you want me to say? Oh thank-you mother, you've sacrificed so much for me. I know, of course I fucking know. It's not like you don't remind me everyday of the people you've discarded, the dreams you gave up, the lovers that left, the pain I cause you. But you began this, emotional blackmail? Ha, you've only taught me how to be even better at it than you.
Today started as a good day. This week felt like a good week. It's monday evening and already I can't wait to escape. The Boyfriend is coming to visit. Or maybe. Everytime I say goodbye I feel like it's the very last time. Passively I wait for him to dump me. So I cheated. I lied about it afterwards. I wanted this one to be special. We still haven't had sex, two weeks into our relationship, I consider this a record. He still believes I am totally balanced, in control, normal. Why in the hell have I invited him home? Back to the source of everything? How do you purge your body of paranoia? How do you convince yourself that when he tells you you're beautiful it's not just because he's drunk and hoping this is the way into you. How do I reconcile myself with the fact that home is toxic? And why is the person who loves me most, the source of so much pain? I don't understand. It's why I fast. Silence in starvation.