They all seem to be melting together. I've been holed up in bed with Simon and 4 series of Jonathan Creek; surviving on cups of tea and cuddles. I don't want to go home, I've not been home since Sunday morning or even maybe Saturday night. My mother calls me every night to have a stilted conversation about whether I have something to say and how she's not seen me for a while. I just freeze up. I can't tell her anything real. It's all "fine", "okay", "love you too". Distinctly hollow. I didn't go home and will try again tomorrow. Shite.
Yesterday was dead on what I was supposed to eat; two salads, one with tuna, one with an egg and two pieces of toast. I was hungry but proud of myself.
Today was a little different when I changed tea to a stirfry and salt & pepper chicken with a handful of noodles. Roughly the same calories and content so kept it down. I cried in Tesco over that damn potato again. I went to buy one to go with the chicken and I couldn't bring myself to do it. That was part of the problem (a small part) that developed into this. When I was eating three meals a day (or as close to it as I can remember), I was forever thinking "I don't even like the taste of this. Why am I eating something I dislike eating when it's not doing me any good and is probably making me fat?" And so I stopped eating pasta and potato; shepherd's pie etc and everything my mother made (until she lost it and stopped doing anything). I saved my "calorie allowance" for things I liked the taste of; at night. This led to the night binges and day starves and has made it really hard to force myself to eat lunch again. Eating in daylight seems so wrong. So this potato is looming and I can almost feel the bland, dry tastelessness that is potato filling my mouth like cotton wool. I cried. I'm not ready for that yet. So noodles for today. In every sense.
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