Fragile

38. Change

I wake up with my joints hurting, yesterday apparently I had to be forced with pills to sleep because I threw tantrums like when I was a little kid.

But my tantrums had a good reason, since now I was in a fucking feeding tube, as if I was sick? As if I had some fucking disorder?

I did not have a disorder.

Fox didn't agree. Neither did the doctor. Nor August, who has actually been the most tolerable person here. He's also the only one who isn't worried sick for me.

Though there's nothing to worry about. I am fine, I got it under control. Definitely.

It's six a.m. right now, I see it on the clock on one of the disgustingly and shining white walls that were halfly painted dirty green. Eye-abusingly ugly, there was no other word for it.

I didn't have any other patients with me in this room. Apparently there was so little patients in this hospital right now that I got to be alone.

Thank god nobody is here, watching me dangerously swaying my legs outside my window. I had taken a good sitting posture at the wide windowsill with legs hanging out in the chilly Spring-morning air.

It was dangerous, fourth floor, but I didn't really mind.

Actually, I had come here at first to decide between killing myself and just going back to sleep.

I hadn't chosen yet so here I was sitting. But the problem was, I didn't really want to die. Or did I? I did, kind of. Complicated.

I just didn't want to gain weight, it was all that matters in my whole life. I have suffered so much to get here, in this point, in this good weight, in this skinny frame. And now everyone just assumes that I merely would want to give it all up? Why? Because I'm a little sick?

You get no results if you're not suffering. And oh boy I was suffering, so I got great results. I finally like myself again, now that I was under a hundred pounds. I looked better than ever.

That's why I want to kill myself. They make me gain weight and therefore I feel like there's nothing left for me if I gain weight. I'll go back to my ugly obese body, hating myself, crying my fatass to sleep, probably getting type two diabetes and dying in my forties because of the extra weight.

And Fox says he'll love me no matter what. Cute right, but not permanent. Maybe he just doesn't remember my ugly fat face, he'll leave me in no time as I gain weight.

And Dahlia, she was finally jealous of me, of my body to be exact. Dear that felt good.

Leo couldn't mock me for being fat anymore.

And I liked myself actually more now than before. Even if now I was a raging and depressed bitch, at least I looked okay.

Besides my eating hobbies and complicated relationship with Fox, I had nothing filling my life. I didn't have a life other than that. My whole life revolves around staying skinny, and being more skinny, and how to lose weight even faster, and how to eat healthier, and counting every bit of my calories. Everything is controlled, I don't know what to do without it anymore. It'd be all so boring. I don't want to live with having no control... that's the only thing keeping me sane?

But so many things were stopping me from jumping down. Fox, Elijah, mom.

Well, that wasn't as many things I had hoped.

Still I really didn't want to give those persons the grief and guilt of my death. Fox... how would he escape the home situation he had? He didn't have anyone else getting him away from his drinks. Who else would let him be himself without having to hide his bruises? He couldn't lose me.