I don't remember when the last time was when I could look at myself and say it's fine. I don't care. It's not important.

It's been so long since I could look at another person and have the judgement to say I am skinner than them, I am fatter than them, I am the same size as them.

The distorted tint over my eyes has been there so long that I don't remember when I began seeing things differently and why it all of a sudden mattered. I don't know why calories became more important than the classroom or when the fear of gaining weight completely enveloped every other fear and insecurity I had. Maybe the shift in focus was so gradual that I didn't even notice. With an older, albeit dimmer, perspective reopened I noticed now. I'm remembering what used to be, what should still be, and what is important to me.

Mid year exams were looming, peeking its face around the corner with a frightful expression. Whimpering. Simmering. Final year exams of any sort were a stressor to any student. I wish I were an exception.

Along with the added workload, increased study time and general anxiety, it also marked my first 6 months in treatment.

Although the milestone pales in comparison to those who have spent years in treatment, it appeared to be quite an achievement for me. This is the biggest commitment I've ever made to myself in a long time. Should I pat myself on the back for a good effort? I was torn between feeling proud for my longevity and pathetic for needing to be in treatment this long. Was I really so messed up that even six months of weekly therapy sessions has only made a dent?

I think many people, after they get over the fact that food is not a cure, assume that therapy is the be all that ends all with eating disorders. Therapy is not the pill that takes away the headache. Therapy is the masseuse who tries to work out the kinks and knots in your shoulders to prevent the headache. It works for some, with varying amounts of time, it doesn't work for others. It's what makes eating disorders so hard to treat – each patient has different needs in terms of treatment, its never one size fits all .

With that in mind, it's been anything but a smooth road, I remember as I fasten my red tie around my neck, adjusting it so it sits neatly. There have been countless sessions, I can recall, with Tsunade where I didn't talk, didn't show up or plainly outright told her I didn't want to see her anymore - that I didn't need help. It was times like these when that voice was particularly strong, saying you don't need this, she's full of lies, what do you think you are doing you stupid boy. Every now and again I find I am able to shut it out, to overcome it, but not all the time. I find that in doing so every day is a constant battle. Sometimes I win, sometimes I lose.

Mostly, I find that I don't like losing.

I shrugged my green jacket over my white long sleeved shirt and fastened the buttons, reminiscing on Tsunade's advice to me.

Fairly early on within our sessions she'd asked me to identify the negative voice as something beyond myself. As something that was not a part of my personality but rather as a manifested extension of my negative side, insecurities and unresolved issues. Like a tumour. It was a less than charming thought.

It was a bizarre way of thinking (as my problem is clearly internal and intangible) but I think she didn't want me to think of the task as hopeless - because the depressing reality is if this negativity really is a part of me then it's something I can never get rid of.

Which is something I've considered of course, permanency of the eating disorder that is. It's a daunting possibility. I've heard about those who fight it for the rest of their lives, those who are completely rid of it and those who just give up and give into it. It consumes them. It consumes me. I don't know if I want to be consumed anymore. Don't I want more in life? Didn't I?

Mid year exams has everyone worried for me - which is irritating to no end, although I recognise that times of stress are particularly renowned for triggering relapse or worsening the existing condition, particularly in myself. Everyone has their own idea what's best for me – Itachi wants me to go back to drinking the high calorie shakes, Naruto wants me to study with him so he can monitor me and Tsunade wants to see me three times a week to make sure I'm coping.

I just want them to piss off and let me deal with it alone. I've been told I am in a very delicate phase, which is probably why they want to cushion me more. It makes me want to splatter my brains over the wall.

I tread lightly down the stairs of my home, careful not to wake Itachi on his day off – there would be hell to pay if I did. I make my way outside where I already know Naruto is waiting to pick me up for school. Today, I think, is a good day.

I can't see where I'll be in five years. Here and healthy or here and sick. Or even if I still have the strength to be here at all - because the harsh reality is that there is a chance I might not be. I figure that I can only fight for what I hope – which has an ever-changing face. Sometimes I want to be better, sometimes I don't. The only thing I know I truly want is for some inner peace. One way or the other.

My mind is tired of war.

Something short all the way from Japan. I've had more writing time than I originally thought (it gets dark so early here!). It's something I whipped up on my free nights.

It's a necessary piece, despite how short it is. Thanks again for all your kind reviews and thoughts.