"Nothing gets so bad a whisper from your Father couldn't fix it" I went to see my Dad on Thursday after my totally pointless therapy session. He was sat in his music room having a friggin' video call with Nicole, who dumped him a week ago! What the fuck is he doing, I know he still loves her but he is gonna throw way his marriage and life in England to be with a woman who is so FLAKEY about this relationship. So I just stood there mouthing "dickhead, dickhead, dickhead" at him till he ended the conversation. I was explaining to him how i'm having some more issues with food and eating lately, but how this time it's not just a fear of gaining weight, it's the shape of foods and the texture I can't stand. Eating is like THE biggest hassle EVER! Here is how things have to be for me to successfully eat a meal without being sick or put off: *The food has to be fairly dry *Fries have to be square and NOT soggy *Mash potato must NOT be AT ALL lumpy *I cant have encountered a slug/snail/worm within the past few hours *I can't look out of the window whilst i'm eating *My brain must co-operate, sometimes I see images of really disgusting stuff, like my bodies way of saying DON'T PUT TAHT FUCKING FOOD IN YOUR BODY YOU DISGUSTING PIG!!! Anyway, enough of my crazy, back to my Dad. So I was telling him this and he was laughing saying "Blue (that's my nickname), you HAVE to put this in writing, write it down. You will write a great book one day!" and I was like "why?" and he said "because your'e just so fucked up!" Then he gave me some of his medication for his epilepsy or M.S whichever. I think it was tramadol, an opiate. I dunno, he always gives me his medication. I don't have to take it, but I do. He's addicted to his meds, maybe he wishes I was too, then he wouldn't be so alone and messed up? x