After 1003 yesterday, we had our usual supper session. I felt a little weird that I didn’t have much appetite the whole of yesterday, but I went ahead and eat the supper anyway. It’s a wonder how my body cooperate so well at times – I threw up only when I reach home, luckily not while I was behind wheels. I thought I felt better, so I went to sleep, only to wake up a couple of hours later again to throw up a few more times. And again a few more times in the morning. 
It’s such a yucky feeling. I wonder why people can volunteer to be bulimic.
What struck me the most was how my parents took such good care of me. Sigh. To think I had threatened/coerced to move out to enjoy more independence and freedom. But when you’re sick like a piece of sh*t, honestly, nothing beats real people who know you, and care about you at your sickbed.
