• Highest Ranking #1 in Bulimia •
•Highest Ranking #1 in Free Mental Illness •
He's a quarterback struggling with a secret eating disorder that's destroying his life.
She's a food-fanatic who loves every curve in her beautiful body.
When their scho...
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I stare at my house contemplating whether or not to enter.
I take another sip of whiskey, feeling its burn as it goes down my throat. I take another swing draining it until the bottles empty. There's nothing more to drink- and I have found myself at the bottom of another bottle.
The lights are on downstairs, which means's my mom and dad are waiting for me. My phone lights up with another message from my mom asking where I am, and I see the time change to read 12:00 am. Four hours since I last departed to go to the gym.
I sink lower into the seat of my car and close my eyes. Hoping to numb away the pounding in my head.
I have completely lost myself these past few days. The last time I felt something, really felt something was when I kissed Cira. And I haven't talked to Cira in days.
I haven't shown myself in school, attempting to ignore the consequences that'll I'll probably face since I punched Andrew.
I sigh and pull myself up, managing to stumble out of my car. I'll have to face the wrath of my parents eventually.
The minute I enter my house, my parents quiet. They stand up warily with stern expressions etched on their faces.
"Where have you been?" My dad asks, his eyebrows furrowed. "Do you understand how much you've worried your mother."
"Please, please. Don- you worry 'bout me." I slur, laughing without humor in disbelief. "Not like you ever have before."
My mom frowns, and for the first time, I notice the wrinkles that have suddenly appeared on her skin. "What do you mean we've never worried about you?" She asks. Suddenly her face hardens. "Are you drunk?"
I roll my eyes, too exhausted to even deny it. "Obviously."
My mom clutches her chest protectively and sinks back down into our sofa.
"What has gotten into you?" My dad asks shaking his head. "Can we not trust you anymore? Getting drunk- showing up with bruises all over your face and refusing to tell us anything?"
"Kiddo. Talk to us." My mom says nervously. "What is it?"
I don't respond, instead, I turn to leave.
"William- please."
She looks so desperate and worried, that I feel my heart break into a million pieces.
"I don't know mom. I don't know what's wrong with me."
I run about the stairs, and slam the door behind me.
The next day I don't get out of bed. My mom doesn't force me, my dad doesn't either. Instead, I just stay locked in my room, dwelling in my own misery.
I don't know whats wrong with me. But my life seems too exhausting to live right now.
