I hear my footsteps , my heavy breathing and the silent rub of my trousers . I enjoy this type of silence , its quiet but not entirely . My cuticles bother me , they're torn , you can see the other layer of skin under it . Its not gruesome , my scars are though . Its a strip of a pale colour , a colour you cant make by paints . Its a pale mix of shades , the shades of anxiety , depression , eating disorders and bad memories .
I feel the wind brush my hair and pat my face . But the rush of anxiety covers it , i see people , familiar people .
They shout my name and point to a guy in a red hoody , you can barely see his face . They say he likes me , I know this , he asked me for my number . He hasnt called me yet , maybe hes scared but I dont blame him. Calling people is scary .
I cross the large road and head to my house , red door , brown diy fence , cream house . The number 5 is gold , its shines in the autumn the most . I take a deep breath before flicking the gate lock and pushing it . I turn and shut it , hop of the small step and knocked on the door . Im welcomed by my dad . Walking in I say hi to avoid arguments and sit to eat my dinner . Theres only broccoli left , but Im fine with it . I eat the remains as my mum tells me what she found in the charity shop today , then says theres cake in the fridge so thats my actual dinner . Inside Im thinking Ive eaten enough already , but I still proceed to get a slice . Approx 300 calories , with anorexia you know all the calories . This apple ? 85 . This blueberry yogurt ? 150 . A teaspoon of sugar ? 36 . I know these things . I live every day , and every day these numbers haunt me . They control my life . A number on a test . The number on the scale . The time . The amount of words im writing . The date. The calories . The amount of time it will take me to be skinny .
And the days this will all be over .
