My team is happy with my progress here on the unit. They all say I've been eating my 4 o'clock alpro "right" (normal amount of time, normal bites, scooping everything out the container and off the lid) and they added an additional alpro at breakfast, on top of my daily upping of ng tube feed. The dietitian (not mine, as she isn't in today - but we meet tomorrow) said there's no way to know when I'll be off the tube, but I just do my best to prove myself at every chance I get. I've started to gain a little weight which they are happy with, but I'm still not being taken off the monitor or bed rest (fingers crossed for Wednesday!) 🌻 My little sister came to visit last night. She was 90 minutes late, which upset me at first, and when she came in I told her I wouldn't be able to "fake it" for her visit, and said it would be best if she just left then and there. Fortunately, she stayed. I slowly let go of my frustration and allowed myself to enjoy her company the way I always have. She's a truly special person; wise beyond her years, clever as a fox, funny as a bunny, and the person who understands and knows me best. On her first visit at the unit she told me the reason we've drifted apart in the months leading up to my hospitalization was that seeing me made her think of death. I feel tremendous guilt for the way my indulgence in my disorder has affected those around me. So often, our EDs act as a wall separating us from the outside world, entrapped in a prison of our own making. And so often, we seem to forget that the key to the prison is in our hands. It's been there all along. The isolation we feel convinces us we'll never be normal, and never get better - perhaps because we can't, perhaps because we don't deserve to. And maybe, in a sense, we become comfortable in our little prison. It's a safe space. It's a shield. Recovery is making the choice to use that key to free yourself, leaving the ED behind, then locking the door. And the best part? You won't even need a small opening in the door to feed it.