One direction and 5 Seconds of Summer preferences and images

Relaspe

COULD TRIGGER

Zayn: Everything had been going really well. You’d been eating right, talking to someone, leaning on friends and family for support. Zayn had especially been there through it all, making sure you were okay and happy. The truth was, you’d never felt happier. You were actually getting better, actually striving to be healthier. An eating disorder was something serious, but you hadn’t known how serious it was for everyone around you until Zayn caught you crying one night and learned the devastating news about how fat you thought you were and your unhealthy eating habits. He got you help right away and held your hand, reminding you how much he loved you every day. He almost smothered you at times, and of course there were bad days for you where you’d scream and cry and shriek that you weren’t going to eat that, that you were disgusting and this was torture. Zayn put up with all of it, he sat you down and encouraged you to eat what you could, to change your lifestyle. And now you were okay with yourself. When you looked in the mirror, you didn’t see a weak girl who looked on the verge of tears. You didn’t see someone who looked tired all the time, who looked sick. You saw a warrior, a fighter. You saw someone who you were finally proud of. You were proud to be yourself and you were happy with yourself; no longer was there a distorted self-image of you in the mirror. “I’ll only be gone a few weeks,” Zayn had reminded you last night at the terminal. You had said your goodbyes to him and the boys, all the other girlfriends and some family there to say their goodbyes as well. “But if you need anything, call me.” You nodded and gave him one last kiss, smiling sadly as he ran to catch up with the boys. Everyone else had already gone home while you mingled about in the airport, too sad to face an empty home. They were off to do something for charity, filming videos and talking to people the charity supported, so two weeks was usually the time of absence. You could usually deal with that, that was nothing compared to the nearly yearlong tours Zayn always found himself in, but this time was different. This time, something was happening that you couldn’t quite understand. You thought your bad days were over, but you felt something deep in your chest. It was that heavy weight that had been there all those years, resurfacing for reasons you didn’t really know. By the time you got home, it was well into the night and you were feeling low. Lower than you had felt in almost a year. Nothing was making you feel better, nothing was cheering you up. But what scared you the most was that you didn’t want to eat anything at all. All the food in your fridge seemed disgusting and unappetizing, and you didn’t know why that made you panic, but it did. You needed a distraction, and apparently, Twitter was the answer. But that was also a bad idea. It honestly astonished you how much hate you got, but you were good at ignoring it. Tonight, though, it was a different story. It was like the hate had tripled, and you were being spammed with nasty comments, all pointing to a similar topic: you being pregnant.

I bet its not even zayn’s lol @(Y/T/N)

BUT GUYS @(Y/T/N) WAS AT THE AIRPORT TODAY AND YOU COULD TELL THAT SHE GAINED SOOOO MUCH WEIGHT IT LOOKED LIKE A BABY BUMP WHAT A WHORE

Someone confirmed that @(Y/T/N) is pregnant but it isn’t zayn’s…she cheated on him, omg.

These were only some of the comments directed at you; you didn’t even want to know about how many people were indirectly speaking about you. The rumor made you sick to your stomach. Did people really think that you were pregnant? Did people actually believe that you would cheat on Zayn, someone you loved more than anything in the world? This entire day was a disaster, and you slowly felt yourself crumbling back into nothingness that was so intense, you actually lost sight of yourself. In tears, you passed by the hallway mirror on the way to your bedroom and caught a glimpse of yourself. To your horror, she was back. The girl who cried, who looked like she wanted to die. You weren’t a warrior, you weren’t a fighter. This was you all along. “I can’t get better,” you whimpered, not even bothering to wipe your tears. Had all of this been a fluke? Your imagination? Had you really been any better than before, or were you just really good at hiding your true self? The longer you stared at yourself, the more disgusted you were with what you saw. You were fat, you were useless, you were ugly, you were nothing. Nothing special. And it wasn’t just you who thought that, it was millions of other girls, blatantly expressing their opinion to your face. Nobody even liked you. Zayn probably was just sticking around because he felt sorry for you. Maybe going on this little charity event was like a vacation from you; he didn’t have to babysit poor little you at all hours of the day. “Ugh,” you finally uttered, then ran to your room to change out of your clothes, and into workout clothes. You had to stop feeling this way. The only way you’d feel better was to try and burn off as much fat as you could, as many calories as possible. You had too much to eat already. And you weren’t going to eat anymore for as long as you could. Your body was used to this by now. You would be fine. But as you pulled on some shorts, you felt wobbly. As you pulled your hair up into a ponytail, you only seemed to cry harder. You didn’t want to do this, you realized. But you had to. There was no other choice. Instantly, though, you felt nauseous, sick to your stomach. You didn’t know whether you wanted to puke because of how hard you were crying or because you needed to feel better about yourself, but you did it. You made it to the toilet before you retched out an already empty stomach, but that didn’t do any good. It didn’t do any good because that was the moment you realized you’d relapsed; you’d given up on yourself and all the changes you’d made. All that hard work had resulted in nothing. You were right back where you’d started, kneeling over a toilet bowl with a sour taste in the back of your throat. You thought all those years of suffering with your disorder had felt awful. You never knew what it felt like to overcome it, to be happy, and then to start at square one. It felt more awful than anything else you’d gone through, because you’d only just realized how far you’d come, and that you’d almost made it. There was only one thing you could think of doing, and that was to call Zayn. That was the only thing that could help you right now. So, with shaky hands, you dialed the number you knew by heart, and let it ring until his voice finally answered, groggy from having just woken up. “Zayn,” you choked, curling up against the bathroom wall. “I’m having a bad day.”