paper crown (been rewritten better under the name "Wonderwall - mclennon")

chapter 17

Pauls POV

The nurses turned the lights off before they left the room. one of them, nurse Catherine I think her name was, promised she would be back in around 3 am to make sure everything was in order. nothing to worry about though as id probably be asleep by then.

But I was still awake now though as the clock flashed to 12:34. my mind had been off of everyone in the outside world as I was more focused on what was happening at the moment. with my breakdown around 6 pm when they tried to get a little food in me. I knew it would raise concern but I just couldn't eat. the thought of food made me feel sicker than the pain caused by starting did to me. by 8 pm they had given up making me eat the porridge and are considering a naso-gastric tube being fitted much to my dismay. From what I've been told it a tube that goes up each nostril and is a way to get food into the body of a patient who cants or won't eat. commonly used for people in comas or patients suffering from anorexia nervosa. neither of which I have.

I tried to protest to that too, promising I'll just eat when I feel hungry but it wasn't any use. It was the naso gastric tube or what was called a g-tube which was the same principle but it was a tube that went directly into the stomach which if I'm honest sounded worse and would probably leave a scar and make my body even less pretty.

Brian was going to turn up Tomorrow. I put him in the form I was given earlier today so I figured the only thing I could do is act somewhat professionally to my manager and explain it to him in person. well about the dietician agreements. not about anything else. I just didn't want anyone to know. being here was worse enough and getting a tube was even worse seeing as it gave me literally no choice but to eat.

Whether id let John come and see me I'm still not sure. he hadn't called and I'm sure he's still upset at me for what I've done to him. but if he was so upset why did he turn up to see me? what did he want from me other than to yell? because I know John can act more than he thinks but I know he wouldn't go to a hospital and start a fight. that's too much even for him.

He most likely wanted that ring, didn't he? my eyes examined the delicate band of silver for the first time since I fainted in Liverpool square. id almost forgot about it entirely if I was honest. it looked still looked beautiful regardless of the bad thoughts and broken promises surrounding it. John wanted it back though I bet. what is the point of a promise ring is there's no promise for it that hasn't been crushed.

What will my father think too? should I tell him? would he understand. of course he wouldn't why would a man be concerned with looking pretty? things like that is only for queers, isn't it? not that I'm too far from being queer anyway. but I wasn't going to give that any thought at all. it wasn't important at the moment. I had no business wasting my time thinking about things like that. I had to think about solutions and excuses.

But then again, why exactly did I have to make those. if I'm in a hospital then I'm sure sick. don't I need to get better? do I even want to get better? all this fighting to be pretty. all the pain, nausea and the lies. the guilt of hiding my ugly secret and pretending its natural. is it really worth it when I could just give up and just let my body be how it is? stop caring for everyone else and live like and eat like my bandmates do. do I want that?

No. No. I don't. I cant. It sounds nice but seeing my body slowly grow and grow into an ugly mess would do more harm. and if I was getting better I couldn't strink my huge body back down. I wouldn't be in control of my body. not how I want to be in control anyway. I want to have power over something positively. all these news outlets accusing us of doing drugs and corrupting teenagers. no matter what we do neither i or the rest of the band can stop it. it's my fault and I have no control to make it stop. but with comments on my weight from childhood and from a few friends and family, i guess it wasn't so bad. I had the power and control to get rid of that ugly part of me and it did it from pure self-control.

Getting "better" would change that. and I don't want my control being taken away. I want to keep it

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