I read a comment in some thread on Instagram from a friend of L’s “Life doesn’t throw more at you than you can handle,”. Aside from the idiocy of mental health advice dispensed by teenagers, I despair at the idea that somehow everything will be all right. Today I broke. After getting up despite still feeling ill with flu and planning a breakfast in bed for L on a new tray I thought she would like and with tea in a campervan mug, she appeared downstairs. She immediately rejected the porridge and I tried to ignore the whining voice and carry on. But something snapped. Not in a rage or storm, but in the way I know from before. The point at which you know you’re done. Anorexia always wins, L’s constant determination to fight every attempt to help, to meet every act of love with hostility and anger has broken me. Love doesn’t conquer all, Anorexia is so much stronger. I go back to bed and stay there all day. I really don’t know when or if I can get back up again.