Home

I don't know what it is about being here, but somehow every time I'm home my eating disorder is pushed into overdrive. Fighting doesn't even seem to be an option, because symptom use seems inevitable, and it's only until I'm on the plane, back to New York, that I have a shot of escape.
I'm waiting for Peaches to come home. He's one of the few I'd rather be with instead of alone right now.
I hate this. I really really hate this. It's such a simple word, but I can't think of anything else to describe it sufficiently.

I love seeing my family and friends, but every time I'm home, the fact that I do not belong here becomes more and more clear. And sometimes it hurts to feel that way.