I had started counting calories when I was just fourteen, at first it was a fun thing, 'Hey look mom, I'm doing math!' Then it was a "This is actually making a difference to my appearance." Kind of thing. Gradually, it changed, it became warped and deformed, it was an obsession, it was almost like a person, telling me to do it, if you do it you'll be thin and never be bullied again. It changed and became warped. And the amount of calories shortened, the smile faded, the joke ended, the food left my system and down the bathroom pipes, my plate was always full, but never emptied by the time it was finished.
I wasfat. I knew I was, because my body was telling me I was, and you can't lie to yourself, can you?

I took off my hoodie and climbed into my duvet, burying my head in the pillow, little sobs escaped my chest and I let the desolate tears fall. Before long I felt a hand rubbing my back in a circular motion, I didn't want them there, comforting me, I didn't want anything there, I wanted to let it all out, drown in my own salty tears. My mom however had other ideas. "Honey, don't cry, it's okay, I'm just worried about you, is all." she patted my back before standing up, "We're going to see he doctor tomorrow." She left the room. I sniffled and rolled over, and fell asleep quickly, the tears and the hunger had tired me out, I dreamed of being thin, as usual, but I also dreamt of a girl, smiling, she was drawing. No, she was writing. She had a piece of paper in her hand, and she dropped it and it drifted to my feet, before I could read it, the dream changed into another, something about a song I'd heard. I had forgotten the first dream by morning.

. . . . . . .

I sat in the room, it had people in it but it was empty, awkward, silent.
The walls were bare and the atmosphere was dead, everyone in the room was staring at me.
"Gerard?" My mom smiled reassuringly as the doctor asked me a question. "Would you care to stand on the scales for me, please?" I shuffled uncomfortably, the doctor could sense my anxieties "Don't worry, the scale doesn't show a number on the front. No one in the room will be able to see." And like she said, it didn't, it was like stepping on a pavement tile. I kept telling myself that as I placed one foot on it, before pulling the rest of my body onto it. The doctor took in the results on the computer screen, her face didn't register a lot of shock, although she looked disappointed in me, with her being a doctor she'd seen classic cases like this before, classic cases of what though?
"Gerard, I think you may have something called anorexia, do you know what that is?" I nodded.
"Well, I think we're going to admit you to a hospital, I'm afraid." Why on earth would they do that? Although, I am ashamed to admit my first thought was 'Yes, no school!' the second thought was:
"How long for?" So I asked her this.
"As long as it takes for you to get better." The doctor replied sweetly. It didn't really help me find my answer though. "And how long would that be?" I asked again, I really didn't know what to think, I just wondered why the hell they'd think I needed to be in hospital. "Well, it depends, sometimes, from about two months, to two years. It really depends on how stubborn the person is, to be honest, but Gerard. It is a life threatening illness."

Notes

Thanks for reading <3 means a lot.
Xoxog