I will. Once I'm done cleaning the bedroom. And the bathroom.
You don't have to do all of that. You just said you were going to vacuum.
I can't clean partly. I can't do anything partly.
I know...but we can do things entirely together. Let me help.
It's okay, it's almost done.
...Okay...Well, take a break, have your coffee at least. You're getting an F for coffee-drinking right now. And a D minus for food intake.
No, that should be the other way around. There's far more coffee in me than food.
This week feels like it's run backwards. I've thrown up twice. He doesn't know that. I have gauge marks on my shoulder blades from my nails. It would have been worse if I still had my old razorblades with me, and if I'd had a moment or two alone. He doesn't know that either. I feel guilty about not telling him. Mostly, I just don't know what to say. I don't know why I did it, why I lost control over those impulses after so many months of being better. I don't understand it to myself; I don't want to try to explain it to someone else.
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