So, I’m back at university. For two days, I thought that I’d left a part of me back at home, far away in a different city. I hoped that she’d be dead by the time I got home at Christmas, along with all her pathetic misery, her worthless problems, and her binge eating. Tonight, for the first time since moving in, I’m alone in the flat. And it’s just hit me. The withdrawal from food, as though it’s a dangerous drug. My heart is actually palpitating and I feel as though I’m on the verge of a panic attack. I just want to go to the corner shop, buy as much cheap junk as I can, and cram it into my face until I’m sick and I’m so numb that I can’t feel anything anymore. The only thing stopping me is the way my jeans, which were tight four days ago, are baggy around the thighs. I hate the insomnia; the way the blood rushes to my head if I stand up too quickly. I hate the way I cannot get out of bed in the mornings if I don’t take medication each day, because I cannot force my feelings back with food. I miss my waistline, my thigh gap and my size 6 jeans too much to be sensible about this. I’m sacrificing my social life, my health and possibly even my personality to be thin again. I feel like an alcoholic trying to dry out. Is there any way out of this? By Christmas, I will be skinny and most probably miserable again. I will gorge on mince pies and roast potatoes, despite my best efforts to stop myself, and gain it back. And then I’ll return to uni and this whole f**king process will start again.