running on empty

17 // Fair.

It took him an embarrassingly long time to realize his issues weren't ever kept to himself.

He had built up this little bubble - a little cocoon of safety where only Amy, Mark, and himself could see him. Eventually other people were let in, cautiously given the key and trusted not to burst it, but for the majority of this - this thing it had just been the three of them.

The one thing he had forgotten, though, was that people online were alarmingly present in his life.

It was when he was scrolling through the YouTube comments of one of his old videos that he realized this, unfortunately. Lurking in his own comment section was a bad habit of his built from obsessively body-checking early on, and he hadn't yet kicked it. He knew it was bad - fucking awful, actually - for his mental health, but he just couldn't help himself, not with how easy it was to spend hours scrolling.

Someone had commented on his body. Which is normal, relatively. He's used to it.

That time, though, they called his extremely malnourished, underweight body "goals."

Ethan almost threw up.

He was at a point now where he could realize how sick he looked when his eating disorder was at its peak. Before, he would've been envious of the old him. He would have glorified the boniness and exhaustion, thinking they were signs he was working hard, whatever the fuck that meant.

Now, he just felt sick.

So seeing someone agree, unwittingly or not, with that mindset - it fucked him up. Seeing someone who thought his body as it was then was something to look up to, just like he had all those months ago, even if it wasn't for the same reasons, scared him. He was scared for the person.

And scared that he might have unknowingly urged other people on in their distorted view of bodies.

He was no stranger to the thinking patterns that came with eating disorders. He knew seeing anyone, even if it was so very obvious they were unhealthy, that was thin was a trigger. It was competitive, almost horrifyingly so, and Ethan suddenly realized that he could have fucked someone else up with his blatant body checks. (Even if no one knew what they were. He did, and that was enough to send him spiraling.)

His fingers twitched over his keyboard. He wanted to say something - anything. A rebuttal. A concerned question about their health. A panicked "don't look up to me" ramble.

The time stamp showed the comment was five months ago, and he closed out of the video.

At that point, he couldn't say anything. Especially without revealing a few things he wasn't quite ready to share. The thought left him feeling sick to his stomach, knowing that he could be leaving someone struggling with something alone, left to fend for themselves. There was a sinking pool of black sludge in his gut, leaving an oil slick in the back of his throat and tears in his eyes. He wanted to help, but -

He had been there before. He knew that it might just be an innocent comment. And, even if it wasn't, they weren't likely to accept help from a stranger on the internet. Not for something like this.

It was still unsettling. To know that people out there thought that when he was at his absolute lowest - a time when he could barely think, let alone function - was when he looked his best.

He wanted to say something, so badly. Something to reverse the effect he had had on even that one person. To make sure he hadn't hurt anyone.

But he couldn't. Because he was a coward.

Shutting off his phone, he rolled over and tried to force himself to sleep.

-

In the morning, he thought about making a video. Just to get it out there and tell people, no, he wasn't fucking okay and they should stop looking at him like he was.