I'd be more specific, but I can't really be sure...
It started on Monday when I was at work. Mum texted to tell me that my sister had taken herself to A&E and was on her way home.
By Tuesday morning, aforementioned sister had been admitted into hospital and I was a mess. Anxious; frightened; terrified.
Fortunately, I have a lovely, lovely friend who looked after me, even when I was throwing up because I was so terrified. She has meant more to me this week than she'll ever know. Unless she somehow ends up reading this, in which case she knows who she is...
Sister is now on the mend and possibly heading back to University at some point this week. I am an anxious mess, possibly because the equilibrium I'd sort of started grasping at after the last horrible week has been knocked from under my feet by sister being so very poorly.
I don't cope with my sister being ill at the best of times - most of my rituals, for about four years now, have been in an attempt to stop her becoming ill. So when she is ill, coping is about the last thing I'm about to do. I can't be anywhere near her, lest something I do precipitates her getting worse. Which is difficult, to say the least, because - to the outside world - it looks as though I'm avoiding her because she's ill. I know that I must look like such a bitch. I know I must have looked like a horrible, insensitive person to my poorly friend who ended up letting me stay the night on Friday. I would love to tell her why I just couldn't stay at home one more night, but I can't tell her because then, Irrational Brain says, horrible things will happen.
I'm going through another horrible eating thing again. I promised myself on Monday night that it was time to change. 'Who wants to be thin?', Rational Brain said. 'Who wants to have thighs with gaps inbetween and not fit into a Topshop Size 8?'.
The answer, of course, is no-one. But Irrational Brain is, as always, shouting at me.
Sometimes it just really, really sucks.