𝗺𝗰𝘆𝘁 𝗼𝗻𝗲𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘁𝘀 [𝘀𝗺𝘂𝘁,𝗳𝗹𝘂𝗳𝗳,𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘀𝘁]

pool party [dnf] 🖤/💛

-another dnf, look i'm sorry i'm sad and there my comfort duo

-this chapter is longer than my normal ones so

tw: body dysmorphia/ eating disorders

——————

george had always hated the way he looked.

but it was more than hate. it was an absolute disgust that drove him everyday. the skin on his bones that made him want to throw up at the sight.

exercise wasn't fast enough, food was too much calories, and the scale on the bathroom floor mocked him in every way.

the scale in the bathroom; it ran his life. it has him wrapped around its finger. the digital numbers that stared back at him were never low enough.

so, what do you do? you starve yourself, or you try to at least. but then one strawberry turns to two and then one chip turns into the whole bag and you just need to eat one more waffle to fill yourself.

then when your done, wrapped in your own guilt about what you've done. yet you have the tiniest amount of strength to not throw it all up, even though you want to do bad.

even though the voice in your head wants you to shove your fingers down you throat, empty your stomach filled with bile into the cold porcelain toilet that controls you, you simply don't.

which makes george even worse. because it's a cycle, a constant cycle of; check your weight, plan to starve, eat everything in sight, and then contemplating if maybe you should throw up.

the endless times sitting in the kitchen, shoving tons of calories down your throat that were supposed to never be there kills you inside.

but you still continue.

you still wake up with the mission to stave. with the mission to deprive yourself from the necessary things you need.

when water becomes a meal and almonds become a treat.

when did apples seemingly become dessert and why am i calculating how many calories there are in a piece of fucking gum.

it's hard to walk into the kitchen, grab a cup of coffee...but then chips...and then a biscuit.

when will it end? when will it be enough. why is the scale getting higher then lower.

why did he trap himself in this prison of bad habits. why did death suddenly sound more pleasant than having to deal with this bs everyday.

gerorge had felt the worst of it when he was invited to none other than; a pool party.

dream, his best friend, was hosting one at his house for hitting 20 million subs. he invited a bunch of his close mcyts.

could he just not show up? that's rude he couldn't do that.

but the thought of having to wear shorts and no shirt in front of people sent him straight into a frenzy.

a bad frenzy of thoughts that at this point didn't even know what to do anymore.

so he decided, one week till party, no food.

water, tea, coffee, rice cakes.

that's it.

....

that's it.

....

no more food then that.

....

but i mean...one chip won't hurt.