Chloe: It’s who I am

I have nothing better to do with my time than complete my coursework and get this year behind me. After my dad dropped me off on Sunday he very steely put my bag in the cupboard and gave me a chaste kiss on the head. I swear he wanted to say something but nope, not a word. That’s an admission if there ever was one. It’s not like I was just being a cow. I saw him. We saw him. Together with her. I knew the moment I met her that she was after him. So gross. I was stupid enough to think he didn’t notice but I guess it makes sense that he would just pretend to be completely innocent. 

And I guess the worst bit is – I can’t write it here. – I’m paranoid. What if this nurse reads my journal. I’m not sure when since I’m not even allowed to shower with the bathroom door closed anymore. No privacy what so ever. I weigh less than I did before I went home. Apparently, my mom is just furious. I also realised that I forgot her birthday. Not a wonder she was such a trainwreck this weekend. Last year this time dad was in France – I think he was. Now I don’t know anything anymore. I hate him. I absolutely resolutely hate him. I wish he’d stayed in Europe and never came back. Everything was perfectly fine with mom, Jack and I until he came back. 

I’ve sent him an email on the weekend. I hope they let me go home this weekend. He’ll email me back. I just know he will. We said we loved each other. That means something.

Now everything is so fucked up. I don’t get what the problem is. I’d eat if they would just allow me to excercise. We’re taken on a supervised walk up the hills every day but I need cardio and strength training. My therapist says it’s a control thing. Because I feel like I can’t control anything but this one aspect of my life and I’m not sure if that’s true but it definitely makes me feel better. I like pushing myself and seeing the results. Is that not better than drinking and smoking and taking drugs? Why is everyone making such a big deal about my weight? So I’ve lost a bunch but that is up to me isn’t it? I’m the one living inside this body and I should be the only one who has a say.

Grandma was around here this morning. She brought warmed croissants with strawberry jam. I wasn’t hungry and she acted all hurt and disappointed but whatever. Not here to please anyone. She said it’s bad form to refuse something, someone gifts you. She should tell my parents that when I was made to give the French Bulldog back. Such double standards! 

I can hear dad’s voice in the passage. Guess he’s come to ask me to keep schtum. Dirty little secret...

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