Lock the Doors - Mattdock

Chapter Eighteen - Stop

I set my phone down, shaking my head slightly in confusion.

Why the hell was Johnny so confusing?

Whatever.

I thought about the food I had eaten again. The only thought going through my head was calories, calories, calories.

Oh god, what's wrong with me?

Normal people don't do this... but then again, those so-called "normal people" weigh less than me. They have no reason to do... whatever this is.

Nothing, it's nothing, I reassured myself.

The first thing I thought of was something Johnny had said to me earlier.

"Do you... have an eating disorder?"

No. That's something completely different. A skinny person usually has an eating disorder. This is just me trying to be healthier and lose weight. That's it.

Once I reach one hundred or one hundred and ten pounds, I'll stop thinking about food and calories.

I have to.

Oh god, I'm overthinking again. That's just great.

Why can't my brain just let me sleep? Why is that so hard for it to comprehend?

I got up from the bed and went to the light switch, turning on the light and closing my door, avoiding looking in the full-length mirror. I turned around, going to my dresser and getting some clothes to change into. I picked out a random T-shirt and shorts, both loose-fitting.

I changed into those, folding up the shirt and jeans and placing them in separate drawers.

I went back to my door, opening it and going into the bathroom to brush my teeth. As I brushed my teeth, I avoided looking into the mirror, again, as best as I could.

I knew I looked like shit, I didn't need to remind myself that. It would only make me feel worse about myself.

Jeez, I need help.

But without the medication, therapist, or admitting that I might have a problem part. So basically, doing nothing. Is this why Lloyd keeps trying to get me to go to a therapist?

Stop.

I rinsed my mouth out and put my toothbrush back in the cabinet. I closed the bathroom door and quietly got the scale out.

I don't have a problem.

I stepped on it, both anxious and petrified about the what the number would be.

I don't need help.

One hundred and twenty-five and a half.

I just need to lose weight.

One and a half pounds gone. I need to lose at least fifteen to twenty-five pounds. I'm still not getting anywhere.

That's all.

I put the scale back and opened the bathroom door. I turned off the light and went back to my room.

All I'm doing is losing a little weight. That's it.

I could feel the fat on my thighs and stomach as I walked, oh god.

I don't have a problem.

I got to my room and closed the door again, this time actually looking in the mirror.

The most noticeable places with excessive fat were my thighs, stomach, and upper arms. I pinched various areas of my thighs and stomach, immediately disliking the amounts of fat I was able to grab.

Sighing, I turned off the light and climbed back onto the bed.

I don't want to look at myself anymore. I just want to sleep my life away.

Someone fucking texted me at three in the fucking morning. Someone better have died, or else I'm murdering the motherfucker who texted me.

I rubbed my eyes before looking at my phone.

Johnny. Of fucking course. What the hell does he want now?

From Johnny: Hey I can't sleep are you awake

Fucking hell. You don't have any ounce of human decency, do you? I might as well change your name to "Shithead".

I turned my phone on and turned the brightness down.

To Johnny: I am now

I just fueled the fire, didn't I? Now he'll just keep texting me.

From Johnny: Oh were you sleeping

To Johnny: Yes, because that's what rational people usually do when it's three in the fucking morning

From Johnny: Are you mad or sarcastic

To Johnny: Both. And now I'm going back to bed

I set the phone down and closed my eyes.

My phone buzzed. Are you fucking kidding me. Just let me go the fuck to sleep, my god.

From Johnny: Goodnight

From Johnny: I mean technically it's morning but you're going back to bed so goodnight

Just stop typing, for fuck's sake.

"Goodnight, motherfucker," I mumbled before closing my eyes once again and trying to go to sleep.

I stared at the alarm clock, watching the minutes tick by.

3:14. 3:20. 3:34. 3:47. 3:52. 4:09. 4:16.

I'm an idiot. That'll only keep me up, I thought before turning around, now staring at a blank wall. I closed my eyes, waiting for sleep.

It never happened. I hadn't realized that it was dawn until light started to come in through the cracks in my blinds.

Great. It was now five AM and I was still attempting to get sleep. Well, I guess it's useless now.

I rubbed my eyes before getting up out of bed, going to turn on the lamp sitting on my desk.

I sat down on the chair, grabbing some notebook paper and a pencil. I felt like being slightly productive at five in the morning.

I didn't have a theme. I just needed to write. I wrote words, feelings, names, problems, things that was wrong with me, anything that I thought of was written down on that paper.

When that paper had been filled on the front and back, I got out another sheet. This time I wrote goals, for life or for school, so that if I did think of killing myself one day, maybe that would stop me if I had things to look forward to. I wrote down things that made me feel like I had hope. I wrote down names, people that made me feel like I wasn't completely worthless.

I wrote down memorable things. One of my first interactions with Lloyd, the first time I went to a concert, when I dyed my hair, just things I wanted to remember.

When I was finished, I stacked the papers into a pile and then put them under my bed, where the scale used to be.

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Hey I'm actually alive. Feel free to yell at me for not updating for two months.

I find it sad that this book has been around for over a year now and I've only gotten to chapter eighteen.

That's just sad.

It just disappoints me because I feel like I'm not putting enough effort into this.

Like, if I actually had a developed plot instead of publishing the first couple chapters that had been in my notes for a month or two, than this story would be so much better.