eddie
"here you go, eddie bear. now, remember, you take these once a day, got it?"
i nodded solemnly, taking the small pill from my mom and holding it inbetween my thumb and index finger. i stared at it for a moment, looking back up at her pleadingly.
please don't make me take these please don't make me take any more pills
she looked sympathetic as she read my expression, sighing sadly as she brushed my fringe away from my face with chubby fingers.
"oh, eddie. honey i'm sorry, but you have to take them. you heard what the doctor said, they'll make you feel better."
i looked back down at it before realising there was no point in trying to fight this. i took the small capsule almost robotically, swallowing it with a sip of bottled water. my mother smiled sweetly, kissing my head.
"good boy, soon you'll be all better."
i didn't have the energy to respond in a proper way, i just wanted to go to sleep. i didn't want these stupid pills, i didn't want any of it.
the doctor had told us they would help, that they'd stop the crying and the 'asthma attacks'. but i didn't believe him. how could medication stop me from being upset? it didn't make any sense. i wasn't going to take them, i didn't need them. i'd just have to make sure to seem happier infront of people and be careful not to let my mom see me upset, even if i am on the inside. maybe that way she'd think i was okay and then i wouldn't have to take the pills.
but i knew that wouldn't be the case. i always took my pills, even though i despised it. i had never missed a day of taking them in fear of getting sick, or even worse, my mom finding out.
i just wanted richie. i needed to see him. he'd been there when it happened, he'd seen everything. god, i wish he hadn't. he probably thinks i'm weak, some kind of messed up weirdo who can't control himself. that's not what i am, it's not. i could only remember parts; crying, screaming, someone else screaming, soft hands on my face, brown eyes, richie.
i shuddered, i didn't want to think about it. i didn't want to think at all. i just wanted richie.
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trigger warning
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it'd been four days since i'd seen richie and the losers. i'd barely slept at all.
i desperately wanted to go back to school, but my mom wouldn't let me, she said i needed to get better. today was friday, and i was feeling particularly horrible.
the pills had done nothing so far, nothing had changed. i didn't feel any better or worse, just, empty. i hated my mom, i was aware that she was only doing what she thought was best, but i couldn't help but hate her. didn't she realise that being with my friends would help more than those stupid fucking pills ever could?
i began to cry quietly, from both anger and sadness at the situation. everything just seemed so pointless and unbearable, like a heavy weight on my chest. i didn't understand why this was happening, did everyone feel like this? i just wanted it to go away. i wanted everything to go away.
i lifted up my sleeve, staring at the fading marks on my arm. i'd regretted what i'd done, but in this moment i just couldn't seem to care about anything. my arm was ruined anyway, so what difference would it make? i just wanted to feel better, even just for a little bit.
i wiped at my face, going into the bathroom and retrieving the scissors that had stayed in the same position on the sink. once in my room again, i wasn't so hesitant about my actions as i had been previously. barely even registering what i was doing, i dug the blade of the scissor leg into the soft skin of my arm, dragging it along angrily as blood formed almost straight away. i started crying again, but not because it hurt, i cried because i didn't understand what i was doing. why did hurting myself physically temporarily fix what was wrong? why did it help more than anything else? why did no one else do it?
i sobbed softly as i did it again, feeling my sadness slowly subside and the stinging in my arm take over. this wasn't normal, i knew that much, but it helped. and that was all that mattered. i looked down at my arm, eyes widening as i realised it was bleeding a lot more than i first thought. i pulled my sleeve up further to make sure it didn't get dirty, taking some tissues from the box beside my bed and dabbing at my wrist gently. i decided that i liked how it looked. i liked the boldness of the red and how it caught my attention every time i saw my arm. was that wrong?
once i'd cleaned myself up and put plasters over the cuts i checked my mom was still asleep in the living room, and upon seeing that she was, i went into the kitchen in search of something to eat. i hadn't eaten almost anything since i got back from hospital due to the nauseating feeling that wouldn't seem to leave my insides. but i'd noticed the way my stomach looked considerably flatter, and that wasn't something i wanted people to pick up on. and if i didn't eat, then my body would be weaker and more prone to infection, and that wasn't something i wanted either.
i opened up a cupboard, seeing very little food. i sighed and grabbed two slices of bread from the packet, closing the door and leaning against the counter. i began to nibble at the crust, not caring that i was eating plain bread. i was too hungry to care that crumbs were dribbling down my shirt as i carried on eating the bread, finishing both pieces in under two minutes. a few minutes passed, and i began to feel nauseous again. i had been hungry, but now i felt almost worse than i had before. i tried not to groan as i clutched my stomach, feeling more sick than i'd ever felt in my life.
oh god, was i about to throw up?
the thought made my breathing unsteady, panic overwashing me. i'd never been sick before. yes, i'd been ill, albeit rarely, but i'd never actually thrown up. and the mere thought of it terrified me. but as the almost painful feeling in my stomach intensified, i realised there was no way to stop it from happening.
i rushed to the bathroom and threw the lid of the toilet seat up, kneeling down infront of it. i started to cry for the third time that day, knowing if i'd had a choice then i would have rather died than be sat headfirst in a toilet. this was by far the most unsanitary and disgusting thing i'd ever done, and knowing that only made me feel worse. i closed my eyes to stop the tears as i felt bile rise in my throat, making me gag violently. i tried to keep quiet in fear of waking my mother up, but i couldn't help but cry out as it happened again, making me retch loudly. i was struggling to breathe, the feeling getting worse. i almost wished i would just throw up already so that it would go away.
i gagged again, but this time i felt it.
the very little contents of my stomach were emptied into the toilet bowl, making me cry harder. i quickly flushed the toilet and rushed to the sink, rinsing out my mouth and washing my face. i sobbed, hating that i'd just been sick. hating the way it made my nose run and my eyes water and the foul aftertaste it left in my mouth. it was the worst feeling in the world, i'd rather have told the whole world that i loved richie than ever be sick again.
i stopped crying for a moment, looking at myself in the mirror in shock as if it wasn't me staring back.
i love richie
i gulped, breathing heavily.
i loved richie. i loved richie and his thick framed glasses and his dark brown curly hair and his ugly hawaiian shirts and his vulgar sense of humour and his cheesy smile and his obnoxious laugh and his freckled nose and his big brown eyes and his pale skin and his soft voice and his scrawny form and his messy handwriting and i loved him.
my whole life i'd been taught that boys loving boys and girls loving girls was wrong and disgusting and unforgivable and queer but
god, did i love him.
and the realisation of that alone was enough to bring on another wave of tears.
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yikes¡¡¡
so basically the pills eddie's been given are antidepressants and if you didn't know they don't actually work for like two months and can often have shitty side effects that fuck with your sanity so we'll see how that pans out for spaghetti boy won't we
but homo eddie all the way
