All she could think was that she didn't want to get out of bed. She was warm, curled up in a cocoon of soft blankets and drowsiness. Everything always hurt worse once she got out of bed, but for the short time before she had to face the day, she didn't realize that she had worries, yet. Her stomach didn't start to twist until after she slipped out from under her sheets and into the dormitory's bathroom, until she quickly stepped into the shower and had to look at herself. Then the knots started to form in her stomach and her throat started to rise in nervousness. Another day of little comments from everyone, of sitting by herself for all three meals while trying to make it look like she ate something in the first place. Another day of keeping her head down and silently bearing the little things. She knew it wasn't much that she endured. She knew that, compared to others, she had the easy life. But it was all that she had, enough to make everything ache.
She froze in fear when she heard someone mutter from one of the other beds in the room. Quickly, silently, she got out of her bed and went into the shower, steadfastly not looking at herself. She disrobed and closed her eyes, blindly stepping into the shower stall. She grabbed her shampoo and started washing her hair, not letting herself think about the weight she swore she could feel just hanging off of her body. She rinsed off her hair and started washing the rest of her body, not focusing on the rolls she knew were so pronounced on her stomach. That's what she thought anyways. As soon as she was done, she shut off the water and stepped out of the shower. The vibrant red hair in the mirror gave her pause, but it was only a moment before she quickly went back to drying herself off. She hated this part. Walking back into the room where the other girls were likely to be doing their pre-shower morning rituals in only a towel.
She walked into the bedroom, trying to make her gait look leisurely. She would swear she could feel their stares on her before she made it under the cover of the curtains around her four-post bed. She discarded her towel and put on the clothes she had set aside the night before. It took her a few moments, but then she was ready. Physically ready, at least. Terror clawed at her stomach, and she wished she understood it. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Everything is wrong. This isn't right. This isn't right. Why can't it be right? What do I do to fix it? How do I fix it? What is wrong? Why can't I figure out what is wrong? Everything is always wrong. I'm wrong. I'm hungry. That's good. I don't want to eat. Eating is bad. But I do want to eat. I don't like being hungry. Yes, I do. I do like being hungry. Hungry is better than big and I am so big. I hate being big. I hate my stomach. I hate myself. I hate everything. Nothing is ever can't if just be right? She had the usual commentary flowing through her mind. The circular reasoning always went back to despise. Despising everything. Sometimes she felt like she had OCD, sometimes it was just anxiety. But every time. Every Time, her stomach would tie into knots and the little anxieties would make her head hurt and her throat constrict.
She was a good girl, yes. But never good enough.
Lily Potter's little anxieties never let up.
A/N: I know I don't have a good track record with my one other story, but I think this will fit more recent headspaces that I've gone through. I'm pretty past it, but it's something that I'm fairly certain I can write well. Let me know if you want another chapter, I'm thinking about continuing this on, and I hope you enjoyed :)