5 Seconds of Summer Preferences

#27 You Have an Eating Disorder *

* this story could be triggering to those suffering and recovering. I know that everyone says "you can talk to me" and I know that it get tiring to hear that, because, I suffer from one of these. I guess, in a way this is me letting it out. I don't tell people. Someone ready this, hopefully, should know that she's helped a whole lot. There are several people here that have actually. More so than at school. I hope that this wasn't skimmed over as some useless authors note. I'm not doing this for attention either. I actually feel this way. I hate it. It makes me feel useless. It makes me feel dirty. My social anxiety formed out of this. So, I guess what i'm saying is that I know this pain, I know this feeling, so don't be afraid to talk to me.

Ashton:  Anorexia The first night at the hospital was hell. Ugly white walls surrounded you, sucking what remainder of you was left that the disease hadn’t taken. Your tears mixed with the scratchy seats as you thought about the raging attack you had when they left you here. Hate pounded through your veins with each pulse. You thought they loved you. Why did they leave you here? They probably thought you were a freak, a fucking useless freak. Ashton never loved you, you reasoned. He wanted you gone. You curled tighter over onto yourself, pinching at the loose, bony skin feeling nothing but fat. This repeated for a week, you touching even less food than before. The nurses’ look of pity drove you mad, you wanted so rip every single one of them over and snap them. Didn’t they think this was pretty? Isn’t this what the models they adored wanted? The second weekend of your stay was a visitor’s day. Your parents came, still horribly disappointed, left even more so. Ashton came in, flowers in hand. You hated him; you hated him so much it hurt. You were here because of him, trying to be perfect for him. “Y/N, I miss you.” He smiled sitting down in the chair across from your bed. You rose from your bed walking toward the window. “They told me you aren’t eating at all, Y/N, you need to. The sooner you do, everything can get back to normal.” You whipped around facing him, drowning in your own tears. “You don’t get it!” you screamed. “Can’t you see I try? The only reason why I’m here is because you left me here! I don’t want to be here! I want to be home! I hate it here! Everyone looks at me in pity, like I’m some freak. I hate it, I hate it.” You fell to your knees, pulling at your hair. Ashton slipped down to hold you rocking with you, comforting you. “I know, I know you do, but the minute you start eating, the minute your body starts fixing itself, will be a minute closer to home. As soon as you can go home, I’ll be here and we’ll go home and everything will be okay. You just need to think of that, and the time will fly by.”

Michael:  Body Dysmorphia Today was one of the ugly days. Nothing felt right, you felt completely wrong. The face in the mirror that taunted itself back to you made you feel sick. The thoughts long suppressed into your mind slowly reemerged to the surface of your mind blurring the image before you. Words taunting how fat you were, actions making you feel lonely, overdosing on self-pity. Your panic began to serge at the little thought ached to be acted upon. This could all be over, all the pain over, and no one would care. Not a single person would care. Shaking in fear, sobbing with hatred for every once and pound you were you tried for the hundredth time to purge, but you were blessed with a good gag reflex. Not eating, that’s what you would do today, and for as long as it would take. “Y/N?” a familiar Australian accent called out to the bathroom. You tried softening the racking sobs with no avail. “Baby?” he yelled with urgency turning the unlocked door. Your collapsed figure snapped at his heart, paralyzing him with fear of whatever was wrong with you. You didn’t say anything; you couldn’t, while his arms collapsed you to him. “What can I do?” he murmured receiving a shrug from you. His calloused hands stroked over you, kneading at your skin. It wasn’t until the initial panic left, that you could say what was wrong. “I have body dysmorphia and it doesn’t go away, it will never go away. I hate myself so much.” Anger, shock and fear surged through him as he didn’t know what to say. He hated whoever caused this. He was shocked at the pain you were in. He feared losing you. “I’m not leaving you, ever. You can tell me everything. We can make it. I’m going to fix you.” You knew you couldn’t be fixed, but decided to humor Michael with the idea.

Calum: Binge Eating Eat. That’s all you had done today. You didn’t eat because you were bored or lonely, or depressed. You ate to be skinny. The more food you binged, the more that went down, the easier it was to get up. You were tricking yourself. Your body was manipulated by the idea of getting food; only to have it retched away. Your constant eating dismissed the idea to your body of being hungry, silencing the growls that would give you away. With you getting so much no one assumed that you were secretly purging it all up with ease, smiling at what you had done. In fact, people thought you were eating for two. Even Calum. He was under the blind impression that you were carrying his baby. This thought appalled you. Were you that fat that you looked pregnant? You’d just have to fix that. You excused yourself from dinner, slide upstairs in silence, and stuck your tooth brush down your throat. One easy gag brought everything up and you felt free. The scale smiled up at you for once, five pounds thinner from last week. A gentle knock foreshadowed Calum entering, sparkling concern in his eyes. “Y/N, before I ask this, know that I love you and would never leave you, ever. Also know that if I’m wrong, I mean nothing by it. Are you pregnant?” fear pounded in your ears, you could lie, but that would, that’d be a little much. “No.” you scratched out, voice rising in several octaves laced with tears. “Then what’s wrong?” Calum dared a step closer, reaching out to catch your arm, your arm with your vomit covered tooth brush. “You forced it? You binge? Honey, oh, baby.” You could sense the disappointment in his touch. “Why did this start?” you just stared blankly into his eyes. “Me? Hate?” he turned sharply punching the wall in. “You’re cancelling your accounts until I get this taken care of. You shouldn’t ever change yourself, not even for me.”

Luke: Bulimia You rolled over in bed, sleep not coming. A frustrated sigh left your lips as you felt what was keeping you awake. Throwing the sheet back from the bed, you flung your legs over the side, slipping on your slippers. You shuffled as quickly through the darkness as you could to the bathroom, mumbling how you were the master of your own bladder. The light to the bathroom switched on, only you hadn’t done it. Luke appeared from behind you, his gently blue eyes tired with sleep. His normally perfect hair matted in all directions. He followed you in, a constant looming presence behind you. “Oh, so you’re going to watch me piss now are you?” you grumbled staring him down. He frowned leaning against the sink, arms folded over his arms. “I’m only doing what the doctors told me to do Y/N.” you sighed, running a hand though your hair. “I’m not a child Luke.” You challenged. “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.” Luke yawned and you momentarily lost your thunder at the cuteness overload at three in the morning. “I know you aren’t, but I still need to make sure you don’t relapse. The toughest time is the first few weeks home. I’m just doing what I’m supposed to do to keep you healthy.” You could feel the tears working their prickly way up your throat. You wished you hadn’t gotten that stupid eating disorder in the first place; it took everything away from you. Luke turned giving you privacy, but the awkwardness still hung in the air as the sound of your pee trickled off the walls. “God this is embarrassing.” You groaned washing your hands. Luke shook his head, leading you back to bed. “Don’t ever say that. I think this had made you a stronger woman than you already are. I’m proud to be able to say that my girlfriend is recovering from an eating disorder, because it means I didn’t lose her completely.” Home was taking some getting used to, but it would be better in the end, you could feel it.