I've spent the last half hour crying.
I'm scared, Kitty. All I want to do is talk to my dad, and I don't even know why. He's coming up a week on Wednesday, hopefully, to see me do the Allegri. In reality, I want him to take me for coffee somewhere afterwards, or to bring me back home, and then for me to be able to talk to him. I want to tell him how my depression scares me, and I want to tell him how I'm tired of stressing about food and weight and calories. Most of all, I want to tell him what happened to me, but I'm scared that, if I do, he'll think it's my fault, and hate me for it.
I need my daddy's support right now, and that scares me, because I just need to be independent and self-sufficient and to stop stressing out my parents. What scares me more, though, is getting better. The thing I'm most scared of is gaining weight, or eating 'normally', or my parents checking my arms again, like they used to when I was fourteen, or just being brushed aside because 'it's a non-issue'.
I want to be normal, Kitty, I do. And I want to go home. And I want to be my dad's favourite again. And I don't want to cause trouble for my family. And I want a hug from my dad. And I don't want to be worried about the future.
I just want my dad's help.