band-aids don't fix bullet holes

{79} healing takes time

TW: mentions of ED

May 2024

Taylor's POV:

"Are you ready to go home, babe?" Travis asks, packing up the last few things, while I'm sitting at the edge of the bed, taking in the room I've spent the past eight months in one last time.

"I guess so." I mumble nervously, forcing a small smile upon my lips.

The hospital stay that was supposed to be 'just a few more weeks' turned into almost eight months, if we include the time I was in a coma, mostly because I finally decided to give recovery a try and realized I wouldn't be capable of getting back on my feet at home and without any professional help, so I had made the tough decision to extend my stay.
I'm not lying when I say that it was one of the most tricky things I have ever done, giving up the control I had tried so hard to maintain and allowing other people to decide on my daily calorie intake, though the first two months were hardest, when they shoved a feeding tube down my throat and put me on absolute bed rest, despite the fact that I was very much able to walk around, since I had recovered rather quickly from the coma and the injuries the incident had brought along.

I pulled through.
However, there wasn't a day I didn't cry, there wasn't a day I didn't tell Travis I wanted to get the fuck out of here until things slowly started to get easier and I even agreed to seeing one of the hospital's therapists to work through the anorexia and the trauma Joe had caused.

Right before Christmas they took out the feeding tube and put me on a tight meal plan - three meals and two snacks a day, no exceptions.

I don't think I could've pushed through without my support system though, without the regular visits of my family and friends and their endless encouragement. My Mom and Dad moved into my house to take care of Hailey and the cats but brought the girl over almost every day so she could see me.
At the beginning of this year I even made an official statement to my fans and followers, talking openly about my mental health issues, plus them being the reason for the postponement of the tour, and to be honest I expected the worst but surprisingly the positive reactions outweighed the bad ones and I'm receiving meaningful messages up to this day.

Talking of support, Travis had offered to move to New York to be able to visit me at all times, since he didn't want to stay in that hotel room. After a lot of arguing I was able to convince him to return to Kansas City so he could participate in practice and games, because I knew that's what he loves doing, though I also knew it meant I'd get to see him less, but I wasn't about to take control of his entire life.

It's May now, temperatures climbing, days getting longer and there's only one therapy session and one weigh-in keeping me from going back home. It's a strange feeling, as if I don't even remember what home looks or feels like.
I still struggle a lot with nightmares and panic attacks, sometimes with physical touch, every other day with some self-harm urges but I promised myself to keep working on that and to continue therapy outside the hospital.

"When's your next game?" I want to know from the footballer while we are waiting for the nurse to pick me up for the weigh-in, all of my stuff packed and ready by now.

A smirk tugs on the man's lips and I furrow my brows in confusion.

"The season is over soooooo...I'm off until September." He reveals happily.

"Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously." Travis assures. "And I thought..." He pauses for a second. "Maybe I could stay with you until then, I mean if that's okay with you."

I jump up in excitement, climb into his lap and wrap my arms around his neck, almost squeezing him to death.

"Of course!" I squeal into his shirt. "That's more than okay!"