egodeath

27

3rd person

     The cold scrambled eggs that tasted unreal, a sad cup of pink yogurt, two oddly phallic-looking breakfast sausages, and a soggy waffle stared up at Zak. This was Zak's fourth month at fairview treatment center. With the help of his friends and doctor, he was able to transfer to a residential facility near his hometown in Florida, closer to family in case anything happened. It was a bit of a complicated situation, him spilling his beans to his family. Mental health seemed to be a bit of a taboo topic. Sure his sister knew, but only because he had hit rock bottom back in LA and had to have someone help him out. His parents though, were a completely different hurdle. 

     His therapist at the facility, Dr. Fisher, a sweet lady had been trying to help him out with this. 

     "Would you feel this ashamed if you had to tell them you were getting treatment for pneumonia or a heart condition or something?" She had gently asked. It stumped Zak for a moment.

     "It's different," he had trailed off, looking anywhere but the therapist, suddenly taking great interest in the honestly repulsive teal and pink patterns of the couch.

     It took a lot of encouragement from his therapist at the facility before he was able to call them and let them know where he was.

     Now he was sat in the sunny dining room for breakfast, hyping himself up for his meal. They were told that recovery was in their hands. But he felt the gazes of the staff on him. Missing meals in here meant he was taking steps back meaning he would likely get tubed again. It had been about 3 weeks since the last time and he really did not want a repetition of that oh-so-pleasant time so, he began eating more of his meals gradually. Now two months in he was able to finish most meals. The anxiety was there and his mind still yelled at him. Soup, one of his comfort foods, was still hard to eat with shaking panicky hands. But it was slowly getting easier to override the habits he had grown so comfortable with. He finally admitted to himself that the sooner he accepted that he would not recover in the comforts of his mental boundaries, the sooner he could take steps towards overcoming his eating disorder.

     And fuck was he tired of his eating disorder.

     It was easy to revel in its comforting grasp, and some days he was scared of who he would be without it, but overall, he just wanted to stop feeling like shit. To stop feeling the exhaustion and the heart palpitation. The numbness and the apathy. The hair thinning and loss that had turned his once glossy full head of hair into a dull thin rats nest. The brittle nails turned blue, with frosty fingers. It just sucked. He realized now that it wasn't worth it.

     Of course that didn't mean it wasn't an uphill battle. He hadn't intended to be here for so long. At the treatment facility. It was truly meant to be a month-long stay but he had relapsed towards the end of the month and rejected any treatment for a couple weeks following. But as of right now, he was doing okay.

     As okay as he could be with his soggy-now-cold waffle staring up at him tauntingly. One of the counselors was sitting next to him. Talking about anything and nothing to distract Zak from the meal. See today, his goal was to challenge himself a bit more than usual. He used to drown his waffles in syrup before the disorder had dragged him down, and now, he feared the gooey brown liquid that had now soaked into the food. He made good work of the rest of this meal but, now he sat, moving the fork to and from the food, feeling fear whenever he was about to stab through a piece the counselor had carefully cut up for him.

     "God when will this fucking end, it's just a waffle for fucks sake! I'm so useless." Zak spat, interrupting the other's ramblings.

     "You're not useless, you're sick, you're fighting your own brain right now bro." The man said, couldn't have been much older than Zak by the looks of it. He was working on his PsyD and Zak was hopeful for whoever his future patients would be, his kindness and patience never faltered no matter how many times Zak lashed out angrily after being forced to eat and keep it down. 

     "Bro?" Zak scoffed, "Who even hired you, bro."

     Josh, the counselor laughed, but gently reminded Zak he only had a few minutes left in the mealtime. Zak sighed. That's another thing that stressed him out about meals here. It was structured and calculated. They must eat within the time limit, playing with food wasn't allowed, and he didn't know what any of it was cooked with or how so really, he could only guess, and highball, the calories of the meals. 

     Zak eventually gave in though, taking a few deep breaths before shoving the first bite of sickeningly sweet waffle into his mouth, fork shaking so hard the chunk threatened to fall. He wanted to hate it, his hands were shaking and he felt a lump in his throat, but he couldn't deny it was amazing. Food is good damn it. It took him some time, and if we went a little over the time limit, Josh didn't mention it, but he did it. He finished the waffle, and he enjoyed it. His hands trembled a little and some breaths felt like they simply weren't going deep enough, hungry for oxygen but he did it. 

     "Good?" Josh asked while Zak gulped down some cold water, clutching one of the ice cubes in his free hand.

     "No."

     "Really?" Zak mumbled some taste words under his breath and Josh snorted, choosing to ignore most of it. "What was that? Didn't hear you mumbling into your cup there."

     "Fine, it was alright I guess." The younger admits, unable to keep down the slight smile from the swell of pride he finally allowed himself to feel. He couldn't pinpoint when this change had exactly happened, but somewhere along this line, the sense of hope and pride had begun to overpower the false comfort he thought his disorder had wrapped him up in.