Isn't She Lovely | Impractical Jokers

5:00

!!WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER!!
◇detailed self harm
◇detailed disordered eating habits (incl. weight loss pills)
◇blood
◇possible attempted suicide*
◇body negativity

*the immediate thought isn't 'hey im gonna kill myself' it's 'if i die from this self mutilation so be it' so idk how to really tag that*

•PROCEED WITH CAUTION•

☆☆☆

"I believe in you."

Those words echoed in Sal's head. This stranger who he'd only known a few days believes that he can recover; believes he can feel normal. He wished he could trust them.

At a young age, it was clear to him the only way someone would love him is if he were thin and muscular. Sal's dad would say it's 'unmanly' to be fat. His classmates picked on him relentlessly, continuing into high school when he met Q, Joe, and Murr who still made fun of him.

Sal started skipping meals in hopes to lose weight. Over the course of a few years, he never managed to stay at a lower weight. He was yoyo-ing and it pissed him off.

He resorted to powerful fat burning pills that just made him jittery and didn't help him lose anything, despite only eating one low-calorie meal every other day.

Sal had fallen into a depression because of it. He'd never be thin and he'd never be loved. His last resort was to cut the fat off of him.

It was a late night. Sal was sitting on the edge of his bathtub with a sharp utility knife. He made the first cut across his stomach, a circle around the whole thing. He bled, but his fat was still on him. Sal sobbed in anger. He did cross-hatching cuts on his hips, thighs, calves, arms...

Everywhere he could see fat.

Blood pooled in the grout on the floor. His vision was fading. Sal lowered himself into the tub and laid there for what felt like an eternity waiting for himself to just bleed out and die.

◇

Sal didn't die. He woke up a few hours later with a stinging pain from the waffle-esque cuts  all over his body. He felt weak and cold but definitely alive.

He sat up slowly and turned on the shower. The warm water massaged his skin as it washed the blood off him. He cried again, this time for feeling so stupid that he'd even tried this.

It didn't make Sal any happier or skinnier. So what was the point?

A few months after that, his physical wounds were healed with a little bit of scarring. His and his friends' comedy troupe had been touring and they'd actually landed a TV show. It seemed like everything was going great.

But in reality, Sal was still his fat, miserable self. No improvements after all this. He'd tried every pill, every 'weight loss secret,' he even worked out at a gym every single day and the scale never moved. It was beyond infuriating.

And now, even at just below his heaviest weight, here was this person telling him he didn't need to do all that stuff, but that it was still okay if he did it anyway. Because, hey, everyone relapses and it's a part of recovery.

Even if it feels like two steps forward, one step back, progress is progress. Acknowledging relapse is important, too.

Sal squeezed Dylan's hand. I am gonna eat as much of this burrito as I can, and even if I don't finish they're still proud of me, he thought.