bloody awful day

Today has been horrible, and it's only just gone 5pm.
Last night I coped verbal abuse before going to bed from my dad, which carried over to this morning. I was in tears before, during and after breakfast. Dad accused mum of taking sides and anger was coming from all points of the tight triangle. I had premonitions that today would not be a good day; Mondays never are. But today certainly lived up to the 'dooms day' reputation I have now associated with it.
All week and for the past four weeks since my homing coming (the fourth week being marked by today), I have constantly heard the concern of my father about whether I am doing enough to stay out of hospital. This morning, it peaked again. And sadly, this afternoon, he received his confirmation that his words and suspicions were correct, and he gained the satisfaction of being right.
I had a short therapy appointment, which really amounted to nothing except it resolved in me being forced into a trial of individual therapy.
And then onto clinic.
My clinic appointment was actually so upsetting. My weight has dropped, significantly according to everyone else. I don't think it's that much of a loss. And I am now under what I was when I was last admitted. I can't comprehend how this has happened, as I feel like I'm eating five horses a day, and I am still so unstable with so many visions.
I fought with my dad in front of my paediatrician and my dietitian. We verbally abused each other, and I threatened to leave the room. He didn't stop, and so I got up. He grabbed onto me. I cried. He left.
Even my dietitian could see the tension between us. She felt his nagging like it was her own. She sensed things were not looking good. I've been given one week to turn things around. One week to make a change. To increase. She said she was not positive. My paediatrician said some doctors would have admitted me weeks ago. He is giving me one last chance.
How this has happened makes me so angry. I have felt as though I've been doing well. I've tried to be more positive. I've kept up with the intake. I've cut back on the output. Apparently what I am now consuming would make anyone lose weight, even someone without an eating disorder.
I'm on a down wood slide. My metabolism is slow. My weight is supposedly low. My motivation is now, zero.
But somewhere inside, I have to find the willpower to stay out. Hospital restricts absolutely everything. I just have to try and remember how much I truly hate it in there. Think of the things I am doing out in the real world, however minimal they may be, and take them as incentives. Incentives to do what is right, what is needed, and what must happen in order for me to stop this decline.