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I'm in a strange way. Over the last few days, my mind has sprung from exam panic, to thinking about my sister coming, to thinking about my dad, to thinking about how things used to be, to feeling terribly sad over the whole thing, to thinking about food and weight to deal with it, to then starting to panic about exams again and consequently feeling guilty for thinking about calories when I should be thinking about language acquisition theorists.

One general feeling I can pinpoint and describe, as touched upon briefly in a few of my posts, has been this awful, unabating nostalgia that has consumed me and continually led my mind away from the task at hand. It is ridiculous. My childhood was fucking miserable in parts and I have no fondness for the violent arguments that took place in our household up until two years ago. But I miss it, in this sick, shameful way. I miss the sound of the arguments; they were my safety net for a good long while. I even miss the hysteria recently. The way crying so hard I couldn't speak properly the next day completely removed me from everything; not like the way it is now, where if I have an issue or a stress, I have to sit in it and endure it and be sensible. I can't kick off like I used to or throw a tantrum - I'm supposed to be a 'grown-up'.

And the most mind-boggling of all, is how much I have been longing for a rigid structure to be imposed upon me, such as a school timetable, or an obligation to go out with my family on a countryside walk at the weekend. I hate structure. But do I? Is it really that bad to have something solid, stable, to get you out of bed early in the morning and put you to bed early at night? Even if you fuck around with it, sleep in past two of your lessons because you're so damn depressed and tired, and get aggressively yanked out of your bed by your ankles, a raging father telling you you're a waste of his time and money. Is it that bad to be cajoled into joining every single orchestra the school provides, on top of attending a prestigious college of music every Saturday for eight hours straight of intense practice, performance and education (labour?), even when you fucked that too, you gave it all up, threw it in your exhausted parents' faces after ten years of sweat, blood and tears -? I don't know. Perhaps it is that bad. But perhaps it is unfathomably better, than the excruciating placidity you have to endure here.

I think of what my life used to be, and with the full knowledge of how much I fucking despised it, I miss it, with the worst heartache imaginable.

PS. I thought you'd all like to know that I've 'reset' my metabolism. I binged purposely two days ago to give it a kick up the backside, and am now back at 137, eating 1,200 calories a day and not gaining weight from it. I'm not losing weight either, but I'm hoping I will be soon once I gain some of my energy back. Whatever.