Tralala

I spent the weekend in Kent, with my lovely family, for a twenties-themed murder mystery birthday party. 

I think we look hot.

School is difficult. I'm giving myself more work than I'm told to do because a small part of me is still convinced that nerding it up will make a difference when it really results in no spare time at all and the same average grades I'm resigned to.
CBT is going well, even if it is throwing up more questions than answers right now. The shrink asks what I think will happen if I'm contaminated and prevented from washing my hands, and it's frustrating to have no idea. It's happening in my head, how can I not know?
I'm... exhausted. In every sense of the word. Not sleeping enough, probably not eating enough (even though I don't want to because I'm not fucking hungry), getting myself down about the scribbled mess in my head I'm left trying to decipher, not working as hard as I should be, freaking out about the shambles that my attempt to sort my fucking life out has become LALALALA don't want to hear it.
Something I've discovered recently is what it's like to be on the receiving end of someone asking if you're okay without having to say anything.