Together (Larry Stylinson) ✅

Release

Louis' Point of View

There is nothing more torturous than seeing your body drastically change before your very eyes. There's nothing more terrifying than gaining weight when you've spent months and months trying to lose it. And there's nothing more uncomfortable than outgrowing clothes, watching the number on the scale go up, watching your body physically take up more and more space.

I've been in treatment for a month and a half now. And the results have been mind-blowing. After just a few weeks, I've began to feel significantly better, both physically and mentally. The pain and fragility of my body is slowly fading, and the voices are still there, but much less. Therapy has helped with that. And eating of course.

Im getting stronger. And I know I should be happy. Logically, I should be grateful and overjoyed that I'm getting better. That I'll probably get out of here soon. But one thing that i absolutely cannot shake is the discomfort of gaining weight, my horrible body image.

I wake up every single day feeling absolutely disgusting, like I want to peel my skin off piece by piece. After spending so long trapped in a skeletal, emaciated body, I have grown accustomed to it. I was used to my bones sticking out, to my thighs being several inches apart, to my stomach being so flat it was was nearly concave.

But now, that wasn't the case anymore. Now, my thighs brushed together when I waked, sending waves of nausea through my stomach. Now, I didn't feel any bones anymore — in fact, I felt fat. Pure fat. And considering I thought I was fat before.... when I was so starved and tiny.... I felt humongous now. Just downright disgusting.

My face was filling out too, which made me want to vomit when I looked in the mirror to brush my teeth. Most days I kept my head down and stared into the sink to avoid my rounding cheeks.

My arms were also growing— they were no longer long and bony, but now wider. Not that they were any more muscular. I was still banned from exercise so the weight was just piling on as extra tissue.... and it disgusted me to no end.

The worst, though, the absolute worst was my stomach. My stomach was something that had always bothered me my whole life. I was never super muscular or toned even before I stopped eating, and even when i lost weight, i still felt extremely insecure about it. But now, it was so bad that I sometimes spent hours In my bed crying just because of it. That's how bad things had gotten.

For many recovering anorexics, or so they've told me, weight tends to go directly to your stomach first to protect your organs since your body has been in starvation mode and has lacked fat for so long. The result? Looking fucking 5 months pregnant... all the time. Every day.

Im not even exaggerating when I say it — and i do exaggerate often. But my stomach noticeably sticks out, even when I wake up in the morning, a situation which is only worsened by the copious amounts of food I'm forced to eat each day.

Speaking of the food, it's getting easier. I don't love eating, and the voice is still there scolding me when they place buttered bread or fried chicken on the table. But it's nowhere near as torturous as my first meal. My body's getting used to eating again — in fact, I'm even getting hungry around meal time, which makes me feel like a failure, but is apparently progress according to these doctors.

Honestly, I don't even know what to think anymore. Without electronics, I spend a lot of time sitting in my room just writing and thinking about what I'm going to do when I get out of here.

I've decided I want to be with Harry, or at least try to be. We've spoken on the phone a few times since I've been in here, thanks to my sister who got me his phone number. But it's clear there's still a lot of distance between Harry and I, even if we do love each other. I'm not sure I can fully show him how much I love him right now. Because I hardly love myself.

"Hey, Lou. How's it going?" Harry had asked me last week on the phone.

"I... better? I guess. Physically. Everything just seems to blur together. I'm getting my strength back. But mentally I sometimes just want to lie down and die. Body image is just bloody awful. It's so hard...." I admitted, cringing as I crossed my legs and felt my thighs brush together. I was so disgusting....

"Body image is the hardest part," Harry said softly. "I know ir feels hopeless but i promise you, you'll feel better eventually."

I rolled my eyes and snorted. What specific advice.

"Is it better for you?" I asked, resisting the urge to see if I could still fit my fingers. around my wrist.

"It's... it's up and down for me. But yes much better than when I was ill," Harry said. His voice seemed far off, like he was thinking of something else.

"Up And down? Is now an up or a down?" I inquired. I hadn't known Harry was feeling insecure as of lately. He looked so muscular and toned, and ate with ease. I felt stupid for not noticing if there was a problem.

"I... yeah I gained a few pounds since stopping the gym lately. Kind of killed my confidence a little but I've been working through it. I've been doing meditation and self love stuff... sounds silly. Bur it's been working," he said with a nervous laugh.

"Oh well Haz, you really look great no matter what. But I can see how that's tough," I replied, the guilt settling in. "We do meditation and self love and mantras and art therapy here and I still can't get over this bloody stone and a half weight gain."

Harry laughed. "You will though, Lou. Maybe that's not the way you're gonna get over it. But you will. Maybe through writing or something else," he suggested.

I was going to say something else when I felt the nurses gloves hand on my bank. It had been 15 minutes. My phone time was up.

"Sorry, Love I have to go," I said. "I love you."

"Love you too, Lou. Hang in there," Harry said. I hung up the phone and returned to my bed, grimacing as I felt how soft my body was getting.

Now, as I sat in my room once again, I started to take what Harry had said into mind. Maybe writing would be my way to get through this. Ir was the only thing that actually relaxed me or interested me in this god foresaken hell hole. Maybe it was worth a shot.

Picking up my pen, I began to scribble a couple of phrases into my notebook...

Harry. Louis. Love.
Anorexia.

Staring at the words, I chewed my pen a little then I decided on "the disease that tore us apart." That would be the title