The 19th of August.
I’d love to say I’m feeling better but I’m not. I had a decent night, blogged this morning. I had a chiro appointment at quarter to one so Trine was able to sort out the rib I’d aggravated throwing up on Sunday morning.
This afternoon, we’ve watched the last four episodes of Cordon and it was all a bit stressful.
I’m sorry. I want to write something articulate about how I’m feeling but I don’t know how. Last night Mommy hugged me and said “Thank you for being here.” and I just didn’t know what to say, after having just sat there writing about how much I sometimes wish I wasn’t here. I just want to curl up in my bedroom with my headphones on and pretend my life isn’t happening. I’m under this cloud again and I’m not sure when I’m going to be able to shift it.
The 20th of August.
I feel slightly better today. Not tap-dancing happy, but not suicidal sad. It hasn’t been an especially productive or exciting day. I slept until half past nine, then spent my morning being quite incredulous at the amount of Cilla Black’s funeral coverage – you’d think the Queen had died, it was so soporific.
I went to the gym this afternoon. I went early but didn’t manage to avoid the strange people. I hope when the holidays are over m everyone goes back to their usual routines. I managed to do everything I wanted, for once. This meant it took quite a while though so I was there for about three hours.
It was GCSE results day today. On my results day, I woke up in hospital, went to school, picked up my results, told some people I was ill, then went back to BCH and started chemotherapy. We celebrated with a pizza.