I think my house-mates are surprised that I’m not going back to London for longer. It must seem crazy to them, not taking a huge amount of family support and letting other people cook, clean, e.t.c for me. But to me this is important- I need to be self-sufficient even if that means sliding up and down stairs on my bum, taking convoluted bus routes in to uni, showering with my cast wrapped in a bin liner and a fear of slipping. I need access to the library, I need to be here. I’m going home for a week over Easter because yes, it is nice to have that support, and yes, it is nice to see everybody. But I’m not running home clutching my bad ankle and crying for help, because this is something I need to deal with. Not as self-punishment, not as pure stubbornness, but because I need to be here. I need to pass my course (better than, if I can). I need to write these essays. I need to “co-operate with services” for all that they fail to co-operate with me half the time. I need to be well. And I can’t make myself well by letting myself be looked after indefinitely. I can only get better by pressing through this until I poke out the other side and pull myself out of it.