That Trip To Disney *dnf*

20|Shattered Vase|20

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"Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness"- Desmond Tutu

Tw:
-passing out (descriptive)
-DETAILED MOTIVES FOR EATING DISORDER
-EATING DISORDER
-briefly mentions throwing up

It had been two days since George arrived at Wilbur's house, two days since Dream screamed that he wasn't worth it, two days since Dream had left the house and two days since George had eaten anything.

No matter how hard Tommy and Tubbo tried to persuade George to even eat a cracker, he wouldn't budge. He seemed to be convinced that not eating would solve his problem of losing control of his own life, unaware of the consequences, even despite having gone through it before.

Last time he starved himself was for different reasons, because he believed he wasn't pretty enough, wasn't enough. Believed that maybe if he was a little bit thinner then Dream would like him, blind to the fact that actually, Dream was just battling his own demons.

Not pretty enough, not worth it, not in control.

Those were the thoughts that plagued the brunettes fogged head. It was fogged with unrealistic expectations and beliefs, too blind to see what he was doing to himself, to see that he was relapsing.

As for the household he was staying in, they had to sit back and watch as every time George left the confinement of his room to watch some tv or try and converse with people, he looked a little more pale or a little more weak.

They didn't even know what was going on behind that locked door that George would stay in if he wasn't in the living room. They didn't know that it took him almost twenty minutes just to stand up just because every time he tried, his legs would buckle beneath him or those black spots would cloud his vision.

George's days blurred into one, not knowing how much of the day he was actually awake, how much of the day he was asleep and if he had passed out or not.

Usually when he passed out it was only for a minute or two, waking up immediately after, forgetting that it had even happened.

This time was slightly different though, he stood up on the morning of the third day at Wilbur's, determined to stay downstairs slightly longer that day purely to give them a slight inch of hope. Even though he knew that deep down, they probably shouldn't have too much hope for him, it would only let them down harder when he fell.

The black spots clouded his vision as he pushed himself up, feeling incredibly weak from not eating. At this point even George knew he was relapsing, knew it was even worse than before, but he couldn't stop it. Every time they offered him food, the thought made him want to throw up. It was just easier to ignore the substance than to put himself through the mental stress of eating, he was already so exhausted.

The spots began to take over, blurring his vision as the room began to spin. His hands flailed around, attempting to grab on to something before he inevitably collapsed. His fingertips scraped along the wallpaper, scratching at it as an attempt to hold on.

Darkness was closing in now, pushing him down slowly to the ground, closer and closer. His knees hit the floor quietly as he slowly sank down, not making anyone aware of his current state.