Perfect Insanities

The Patients

Will had been up for almost twenty four hours, but the sleep deprivation had yet to get to him. Underneath his eyes, the skin was purple, as if he had been bruised. Most likely, though, it was from sleep deprivation. He stayed as still as he could, and let his shaggy brown hair fall over his face so that it covered the both his dark muddy eyes. Now, Will was dressed, made up, and ready to go out, but he didn't actually have anywhere to go.

Instead, the boy sat curled up on his bed, knowing it was the best way to stop the hunger pangs that refused to stop sweeping through his body. He hadn't eaten anything for almost two days, and after being unable to starve himself for almost a year, he had lost all of his progress; his weight had shot up, and his self control had plummeted. It wasn't fair. He hated how useless his body was, and how it refused to listen to what he wanted. He wanted to be thin, but any amount of food would make him balloon. If he so much dared to look in a mirror after eating, he would only feel utter contempt and self loathing. And while he starved himself, and hated himself, his friends ate without any problem. Julio didn't eat much, but his self control was far beyond Will's. But Graser ate all of his own food and most of Will's, but never gained an ounce.

Will looked down at his body, unable to see that he was all skin and bones. For him, it wasn't enough. He needed more. Slowly, he began to enjoy the sensation of starving. He tried to pretend that each growl of his stomach was a little bit more fat being burned off of his body. The longer he starved, the more he'd lose. Every time he saw himself, he was disgusted. There was still so much progress that he had to make, but it seemed like the lower his weight dropped, the fatter he'd become.

Unlike his friends, he was fantastic at hiding his disorders. He put cuts on his body at the right times, and he always made sure to act like an egotistical, obnoxious teenager whenever there were other people around. Since he always had a cocky smirk on his face, they never suspected anything was wrong. Hell, even the nurses thought he had improved considerably. Which, on the surface level, was true. He looked perfectly fine. But deep underneath his appearance and made up personality, he was nothing short of insane. Or, at least that's what the medical papers he received every once in a while suggested. Will supposed he could buy that story. After all, he had heard that the best thing to do with insanity is just embrace it.

What he couldn't buy was the idea that said insanity wasn't his fault. The doctors talked about depression, chemical imbalances, and genetic disorders. That was far too complicated, and he was surprised they couldn't see as clearly as he could. It was nobody's fault but his. No matter how much they told him that it wasn't his fault, and that his problems were caused by his body functioning improperly, he knew it was all wrong. It was his own fault. It had always been. That's why he deserved to starve, and bleed, and die. Will looked in the mirror, and saw nothing but a disgusting mess. A fat, disgusting, ungrateful mess. How could the doctors deny that? They saw him so many times a day that it should have been hard not to notice.

Will groaned loudly, and broke out of his curled up position so that he was laying flat on the bed. He wanted to cut, but they had taken his razors away the minute he stepped into the building. And thanks to Graser, they kept any potentially harmful object under close watch. For the moment, he had to settle on digging his nails into his wrist. He liked them long, so they dug into his skin with little effort. Unfortunately, he had to make sure they didn't break his skin; if the doctors found out that he was using his nails for self harm, they would no doubt make him cut them. And if they cut the nails off, it would do nothing but lower the boy's self esteem. His nails made him beautiful, and if those were gone, he'd become even more disgusting.

At the moment, though, the couldn't imagine hating himself any more than he did already. But each and every day, he proved himself wrong. It was that initial look in the mirror that he had every morning that sent him in a downward spiral, and by the end of the day, he was usually ready to take his own life. Unfortunately, though, the doctors were always too good. Too prepared. He went to bed without a chance to kill himself, and it only made him loathe his existence even more.