Story of a girl suffering from anorexia, bulimia and self harm.
Aaaaanyway, this story is bout a girl suffering from anorexia, bulimia and self harm, so it probably isn't suitable for kids.
So yeah, enjoy!
"Hurry up, Georgia!" Vic yelled to me, laughing.
I tried to smile, but it must have looked like more of a pained grimace, because Vic stopped laughing and came running back to me.
"Georgia? You said you wanted to go for a run, what's wrong?" She asked, clearly concerned.
God, she looked like her mother when she was worried.
I wanted to tell her that my sides felt like they were about to rip in half, my legs were burning and my lungs were about to explode.
But I didn't.
"I just...don't...exercise enough." I gasped, searching for air.
Vic's eyes searched my face, looking for the truth, but found nothing.
I was too good at faking a smile and hiding the truth.
"Ok. Well, do you want to go home? Its getting kinda dark, and cold." She said, shivering.
I wanted to say no. Every part of my brain told me to say no.
But I didn't.
"Yeah, I guess we should." I wanted to start running home, but Vic had slowed to a walk, admiring the scenery.
This road was beautiful. The trees that surrounded it were golden red hues, their leaves drifting down slowly to the ground. It was Autumn, and it was beautiful.
I panicked as soon as Vic's mum told us lunch was ready.
I couldn't eat. Not yet.
"I-um-I don't feel well." I mumbled sheepishly. My stomach tightened with hunger, but I ignored it.
You're not hungry, you're bored.
Again, Vic looked at me like she was trying to break into my mind and find the truth.
"Ok, well you stay up here, have a lie down. I'll get you a glass of water." She said eventually.
She ran downstairs, not bothering to wait for an answer.
Once she was gone, I jumped up and ran into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.
I pulled out the bathroom scales and slowly stepped on, dreading the number I was about to see.
I was a whale. A huge, vile, failure.
I reluctantly peered into the mirror. My legs were fat. My stomach bulged under my shirt. My thigh gap was nonexistent. I stared until tears began to pool in my eyes,threatening to spill.
I collapsed on the floor, clawing at the cuts that covered my arms, legs, stomach, everywhere. I wanted to rip them all open, and lie here on the bathroom floor to die.
I was such a fucking failure.
I crawled to the toilet, retrieving my toothbrush from my makeup bag.
I started to put the handle down my throat. It felt disgusting, but I had to do it, I was a failure. I carried on pushing and heaving, until I finally vomited.
I could taste that horrible bitter aftertaste, and I feel my throat throbbing and burning.
I burst into a fresh wave of tears.
Why? Why me? Why this? Just, why?
I pulled out a blade from my make up bag. I deserved it, I knew I did.
WARNING: MAY BE TRIGGERING FOR SOME PEOPLE
I looked at my arms. They were covered in cuts, some healing but some burning and raw.
I pulled my trousers down and looked at my thighs. I had begun carving words into my own flesh, constant reminders of what I was. Words like 'FAILURE', 'FAT', 'UGLY'. They were all part of me now, things I had branded myself with, things I would have to live with for the rest of my life.
I chose an area of my thigh and pressed the blade down. A sense of euphoria rushed through me; I was in control now. I knew what I was doing, I was in my comfort zone.
I dragged the blade across my skin, cutting a perfect line into my skin. The blood immediately oozed to the surface, a small river of pain on my leg.
I repeated this process until I had 20 burning, fresh cuts upon my skin. I used tissues to gently mop up the mess, and a damp red sponge to clean the cuts. I winced at the water hitting the cuts; it stung, but it was all part of the process.
I didn't pull my trousers up until I was sure the cuts had stopped bleeding; I didn't want the blood to show through the denim of my jeans.
I stood up shakily and flushed all of the tissues and vomit away. I rinsed the handle of my toothbrush off, and put it back in my makeup bag.
I looked in the mirror once more before I left.
I was a mess. My damp hair stuck to my face, tears streamed down my face and makeup ran in delicate patterns down my cheeks. I brushed away the tears, trying to convince myself that I was fine. This was normal.
It didn't work.
Hai!! I don't know whether to make this into a full story or just make it a one shot. What do you guys think?
R&R please, thanks! c: