MY ANOREXIC FRIEND// N.S.

Letter I

My dearest Niall,

I know you haven't heard from me for months,no, years, and I'm really really sorry. I know that you are my best friend and that we should trust each other, and I swear to God I trust you (you are the only person in this world I fully trust), but I just couldn't do it. I just couldn't. Because I knew I'd break your heart. And I just couldn't do that to you. After all, you are my best friend.

I hope you can forgive me one day for keeping this from you for such a long time.

I didn't write you because I didn't know how to tell you what I'm about to tell you, and I still don't know yet. But I'm just going to tell you right now: I am anorexic.

I have anorexia.

Lately, I haven't been eating. I know what you are thinking: how the hell could this happen? Last time I saw him he was chubby happy Harry, what the hell has been going on?

The truth is: I don't know. I really don't know. One day I was happy and I didn't worry about anything, and the next I was counting my ribs, deciding I would skip dinner. It all went so fast.

At first, I just decided to drop some pounds, because let's be honest, I was fat. Not really fat, but I could lose some weight, you know. So I started working out a little, cutting down on candy and fast food.

It took me about half a month to lose two pounds. But when I looked in the mirror, I couldn't see a difference.

So I kept going.

When I lost five I noticed my pants became a little too big, and I could suddenly see my collar bones. But when I looked in the mirror, I couldn't see my hipbones yet, and I really wanted that.

So I went for another five pounds.

After a while I started to hear her, Ni. She talks to me, every second of the day.

She tells me that I'm fat and horrible, and that nobody will ever want me if I look like this. She breaks my heart a little more every time I hear her say these things. I know what you're thinking, everyone thinks the same when I tell them this.

'Why don't you ignore her?'

Well, I can't. I have to listen to hear, because I feel like she's good for me. But other times, I tell myself: Harold, what the hell are you doing?

Those times I get my fat ass in the kitchen and I eat everything I can find. Stupid, I know.

Because afterwards, I feel fat all over again. Every single time.

A few times I even puked it out, because I couldn't handle the fact that I was going to get fat again. No one likes me, Niall, only you.

Maybe they would like me if I was less fat, you know.

But I might have gone a little too far.

Once my mom started noticing, she took me to the hospital. When they weighed me there, she almost fainted. I had lost a lot of weight by then.

The doctors have ordered me to follow a special diet, in order not to lose any more weight. I have to gain, they say, because I'm too skinny.

I don't believe a thing they say, but oh well.

The thing is: I have lost some more weight. I just cannot stop, Niall. I really can't anymore. I need it to function, just as much as a human being needs air. The hunger feels like love to me. it fills me up.

I adore it.

The doctors told me that if I lose weight, I have to be assigned into a hospital. Ha, they wish.

I'm not going there. I know how it goes: they are going to put me full of food that will make me fat. But it's no use, Ni, because once I'm released, I'm just going to start all over again.

They also told me that I have to stop, because ten percent of anorexia-patients die.

Does it sound weird if I tell you that I don't care? It probably sounds insane, right?

I want to care, believe me, I do. I just can't.

I want to die, Niall. I want to stop breathing, I want to stare myself until my lungs collapse. I want to lose my hair and I want my bones to become so breakable the wind might destroy them.

I want it all.

That probably sounds insane, but I am insane. I've become what the world made me, Niall.

Who would care if I died anyway? No one, that's right.

Okay, you probably would, but you're the only one, Niall. And that has always been enough for me.

But I don't know if it'll always be enough.

And I know that it's selfish not to eat, because there are people starving in poor countries. And I know it's selfish wanting to be dead, because there are so many sick people that don't even get to make that decision for themselves.

So call me selfish, Niall, because I am.

I really don't care anymore.

I hope you'll still want me, even though I have been ignoring you for months. Even though I'm an insane weirdo that should be locked away in an asylum. Even though I'm a selfish bastard that lies awake every night, crying because of what his life has become.

But, if you miraculously do want me, write me back. Please. I need you more than ever.

So that was it, friend. (Did I lose the right to call you that? I'm really sorry.)

Maybe I'll write you again, if I'm still alive by then.

Love,

Your anorexic friend

Harry