That's it. I want to go home. I want someone to hug me and welcome me home. I want somewhere I can make a good hot meal and relax on my own bed and feel comfortable. I want somewhere familiar where I can put my things away in drawers and see my stupid belongings laid out. Being away has made me homesick, which makes me realize that even going back to where I've been living won't be anything like going home. And then I do sort of have a home. But it's currently full of other people's boxes and does have the issue of being located two miles out of the nearest town and two hours away from where my therapy is.

I don't really know what to do about it. I could properly set myself up in the apartment. I mean, get my clothes somewhere nice and maybe even decorate a tiny bit. Yeah, psh. That's not going to happen. But when I get back I'm going to go to meetups and parties and silent raves and volunteering and all the rest of it. Really throw myself into meeting people. Even if they're not fabulous people. I'm going to meet a set of new people every week and some subset of them will be interesting. And some subset of that subset might actually be friend material. And if I make a fool myself I'll never have to see them again. So it's all okay.

And the food thing is still going well, I think. Today I ate an apple and some almonds and a small pizza. I think that's pretty good. I didn't even eat the crusts on the pizza. I was feeling like shit and thought I'd scrapped the whole thing, but it occured to me that that would just be a way of escaping the whole thing. I mean, if you've already failed it's an excuse to eat all the candy and chocolate you want. But I didn't. So I'm very proud of myself.

I did have a bit of a night with my dad. I mean, we walked to get pizza. Mostly silently. I think it's consolidated in my head that a lot of my depressive beliefs come from him. The desire to never have to ask for help or complain. I feel like he thinks I'm weak. I don't want to say it to him, though. I mean, I won't believe him if he says he doesn't think so. But maybe he'll admit it and then I'll be able to get over it somehow. Or maybe I just need to assume it's true and make my peace with it. Radical acceptance. Okay. So, my dad thinks I'm weak. Fuck that. I'm not weak. He can think what he wants.

Having sorted all of that out, I feel good, I just want to go home.

Good night world.