Together (Larry Stylinson) ✅

Battle

Lou's Pov

I'm not going to sit here and tell you that things worked out with Harry. That he stayed in London and we had a cup of tea and talked and cuddled. That he held me in his arms and told me he loved me. That we got our happily ever after.

Because we didn't. We didn't do any of that. And I'll be the first one to admit it was all my fault.

I don't want to talk about it, or even think about it. But the thoughts replay in my head in repeat and the guilt floods my stomach like a sunken ship. And it hurts. It hurts to think about the things that my eating disorder has taken from me. From the simple things like enjoying a pastry in a coffee shop without worry or going to a birthday party and having a slice of pizza to the more serious ones like being able to spend time with the love of my life.

I am a horrible person.

I took advantage of Harry in every sense of the phrase. And I honestly have never felt guiltier, I've never felt more responsible for my actions. But Ana doesn't understand guilt. She knows the kind that surrounds food, the overpowering gut wrenching shame that comes with eating a bite too many. That, she's a master of. But guilt surrounding people, surrounding family, friends, Love... she doesn't care about that stuff. No. All that matters is that I eat the least I can, that I get the aesthetic I want. That I win the battle against hunger, the battle against shame.

I wish I could sit here and tell you she's gone. That I beat her. That Harry's rejection was enough for me to motivate myself to get better, to fix this.

But it didn't.

Im back in the hospital now. I have a feeding tube. Again. And as I sit in silence with the cold, thick formula running down my throat, I try not to sob profusely as I remember how Harry used to sit and keep me company when I had the tube in New York.

That's not even the worst of it, the tube.
I've also been on suicide watch on and off, which is awful and disgusting to even admit, because even on my worst day I wouldn't have thought I would betray mum like that. That I would try to take my own life — the life she had given me.

But it happened. I didn't even think when I did it. I just put the razor to my wrist and didn't stop cutting until I passed out. And when I got better I did it again.

And I'm not sorry.

I wish I was. But I want to die. In fact, I welcome death. I know it sounds morbid and emo and fucked up... but i can't function anymore. I can't do this...

But I have to. Of course I see Lottie and Fizzy crying their eyes out behind the door and i think of them having to endure another death and I realize that this is the most ridiculous thing I've ever done in my life.

But I also realize it's not my fault. It's not me — it's my mind, my disorder, my distorted thoughts. It's not Louis. I haven't been Louis in ages. I don't know if I ever will be.

I've been doing psychiatric rehab lately. Really intensive. And I'm getting to the root of things now, they're becoming slightly clearer. I remember doing an exercise the other day where I had to trace how I thought I looked, and I made myself nearly twice the size that I really am... it wasn't that I drew myself incredibly big. It was that in my current state I was so small, barely a person. Looking at the actual outline of my frail, Barely there body, it finally dawned on me how ill I am. How wrecked I am.

I'm so sick I can hardly see it. I'm blind to reality. I'm blind to everything. I'm blind to myself.

I can't tell you that I'm better. I can't promise you I'll get through this, that I'll get to be with harry. That I'll make my sisters feel better. That I'll even live to see tomorrow.

But what I can say is that I'm not giving up. I'm not done here — and every time I said I was going to try my best in the past I lied. But this time I'm not. I promise you that.

Right now, as I sit in my room, bony knees poking into my bony chest, I make myself a pact, which I write down in my journal:

I will recover.

I will eat every meal even if it pains me to do it.

I will go to every therapy session even if I cry through a full box of tissues.

I will tackle every fear food, throw out every razor, and I will sit with my feelings even if it feels like I might die.

Putting the pen down, I look at my work, cringing at how hard things are going to be, but smiling slightly over how determined I am.

Harry said to show him that I want him. Well I'm god damn showing him now.

And if I get out of here — when I get out of here — He will see the truth.