Home.

Home, sweet home.

I discharged myself from hospital a few days before Christmas. There was no way in my life or the next that I could sit and watch as my family went along with the Christmas celebrations without me. That would have been wrong, in every sense of the word. Instead, I took a stand and went against "medical advice", discharging myself. But somehow, I think it was the right choice to make. My family certainly thought so, so I wasn't alone in my decision.

After 3 months in hospital, I think I did my stint. And maybe the last stint in hospital I'll ever do.

Something's changed. I don't know if this is the anti-depressants talking, but I feel a change. A change for the better. Although I went against "medical advice", I know within me that my time had come, and that hospital was not the place for me to be. 

I'm 18 years old. I shouldn't be dependant on a nasal gastric tube to give me nutrients. I should be out living, like an 18 year old in Australia lives. Meeting up with friends, going shopping, drinking a little too much at times, partying, relaxing, having fun being young. I've missed out on the better part of a year thanks to Anorexia - confined within hospital walls has both helped and hindered me. Helped in the fact that I've gotten to a place - mostly by myself - where I am able to function and think rational thoughts, but also hindered in the fact that it's stolen my freedom and will to live. But I want to live. I want to be free, I want to have fun, I want to share all of my crazy teenage stories with friends and family alike. 

It's time to change. 

I am in a positive headspace at the moment, and goodness knows it's not always going to be that way. But I'm ready to live, now. Within certain barriers, yes, like the fact that I don't want to gain any more weight. But I am at a place where I'm able to live. And so, with that, I will. I will live. And learn. And cry and scream and have horrible moments, of course. But I will live.