Through the Lies (On Hold)

Chapter 1

*DISCLAIMER: I already said this and I will say it again, but this book is a major trigger warning. Also, I am in no way saying Anorexia, self-harm, and suicide are good things. I have gone through all these in the past and am still recovering. This is mainly me venting my thoughts and using writing as a creative outlet, and I honestly hope it will help people to start the road to recovery if they're struggling too.*

I shivered as I pulled my blanket up around my shoulders. My nearly empty stomach growled and the 11 new red lines my thighs burned. I squeezed my eyes tight as a single tear slipped from my eye. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. But I couldn't. 

Numbers danced around my head like ballerinas on a stage. The calories in that banana my mom forced me to eat. The pounds that the scale said I weighed. 123 pounds. 39 pounds from my starting weight. Not good enough. I need to be skinnier. 

I was tired. Tired of life. Tired of feeling fat. Tired of feeling worthless. And I was also in the sense most people think of when they hear the word "tired". It was late at night and I hadn't so much as dozed, but I didn't want to sleep.

The storm in my mind was always there. It was sometimes clearer, but there nonetheless. The only times it lifted at all was when I skipped meals or took a blade to my already scarred thighs.

My eyes started to close against my will. No. I have to remember how many calories are in a banana. I wanted to skip dinner, but my mom forced me to eat something, so I compromised with a banana. However, I hadn't had a banana in several months, and bananas don't exactly have labels you can read.

Was it 75 calories? No, that's too few. 150? That's probably too many.

I couldn't remember, and sleep was coming fast. I would just have to look it up the next morning.

The need to sleep finally overcame my clouded mind and I slowly drifted off.

***

"Gwen! You're going to be late for school!"

I groaned and rolled over in my bed, trying to block out the voice of my mom from downstairs. I managed to convince my arm to raise itself so I could look at my watch. 7:43 AM. Shoot. 

I rolled myself out of bed and walked over to my full-length mirror beside my closet. My long, light brown hair was disheveled, tangled, and slightly greasy. That's going to be hell to brush through. My eyes drifted down to the half dozen red blotches on my face they called acne. I call it hormone hell. I stared into my hazel blue eyes which were puffy and red. I rubbed them, trying to get rid of the puffiness a little, even though I knew it wouldn't help much. Finally, I looked down at the rest of my body. I stared at my stomach, an ever-so-slight bulge protruding from it. My thighs were touching even though I didn't have my feet together. I bit my lip before brushing off my reflection.

I sighed as I walked into my bathroom and stared at the scale that sat beside the sink. I stripped myself of clothing and took a deep breath before stepping on the scale. Still 123. I frowned in frustration before stepping off and watching the scale turn itself off after a couple of moments.

I grabbed the brush that lay on the counter and started working on my hair. I got through most of the major tangles before walking over to my shower and turning it on as hot as I could stand it. As I stepped in, the water seemed to wash off every problem and chase them down the drain. After relishing the water, I grabbed my shampoo bottle and squirted a generous amount on the palm of my hand. I washed my hair, scrubbing at my scalp. As I rinsed it, I took care not to get soap on the fairly fresh cuts on my thighs. The only thing worse than water was soap.