"Cecilia Wincaster? My name is Maria! I do all the personal sessions." This so called Maria explained, as she flipped through what I'm guessing, was my file.
I simply nodded.
"So I assume you're new here?"
"Yes.." I said quietly.
"Your files say your here for multiple things, such as Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Bulimia, Depression, Angst, Anxiety, and Post Traumatic Stress? Does that sound correct?" She asked me, flipping through pages on her clipboard.
"Um, y-yes.." I stuttered, cringing at the amount of problems I had.
"There's no reason to be scared." She calmed.
"It's just- the tight space, and I- I can't-" I scrambled for words, but I couldn't function again. Another panic attack.
"Claustrophobia?" She studied.
I nodded.
"You're having a panic attack. Take deep breaths and try to calm yourself."
But I couldn't take deep breaths. I was long past a panic attack. My eyes grew heavier as my breathing became shallow. A dark vignette clouded my vision, as I fell back onto the floor.
As cliché as it sounds, I woke again in a white room. The infirmary section of the institution. The lights made my head throb more and more than it already was in the first place. Must've hit my head when I blacked out maybe? I felt around my face, and there was one of those tubes that go in your nose to help your breathing. I was always creeped out by how you got those out of your nose. It makes me gag whenever I had to do it. I fluttered my eyes a bit more. A nurse had entered the room, and looked at me.
"I see you're awake now?" She looks back at her clipboard.
"Obviously." I sarcastically muttered.
"No need to be rude. Now, there is another reason you were knocked unconscious so easily. Usually you're able to stay conscious during a panic attack, but what caused you to black out was because of the little amount of food in your system. Your blood sugar was critically low. So, to regain strength you'll have to eat 3 square meals a day, and take these pills." She handed me a little orange bottle that contained small white pills. I sighed. I already had to take 2 different pills a day.
Depression pills, anxiety pills, and now more pills.
Stupid, stupid pills.
"You're free to leave now, Cecilia." The nurse told me.
"Thank you." I nodded, and begun to carefully pull the oxygen tube from my nose trying not to throw up in the process.
I headed straight out the door and planned to find my way back to my room. The only problem was that I had no idea where anything was.
I eventually found a way out of the infirmary section and back into the foyer. I walked past the washrooms when I heard a stomach churning noise. Someone was getting sick. I could hear the muffled sobbing, the coughing, spitting.
"I'm so fucking fat.." I heard the voice quietly mutter.
Something stuck me inside. I knew who's voice that belonged to. It was Dan's articulate southern British accent. Anyone could decipher it. He had a one of a kind voice. It was adorable. Even if it was making gurgling and groaning noises.
I heard the door to the toilet stall squeak open. Crap. I quickly darted back to my room undetected by anyone. I shut the bedroom door quietly as I could hear the faint footsteps that I assumed belong to Dan coming down the hallway. The hallway was very... what's the word I'm looking for? Echo-ey? I guess that works. I heard his bedroom door shut, and i sighed a breath of relief. I looked up at the chrome analog clock and saw the time. 11:24 p.m. How did I not even notice the time? And to add to it, it's pitch black outside!
I walked over to the wardrobe and selected my pajamas. Same long sleeved shirt, only navy blue. I pick out some black jogging pants and began to undress. I slipped my bottoms on, but I halted when putting my top on. I looked at every white line on my stomach. my fat stomach.I tried to rid myself of the bad thoughts, as that was my purpose of being here. To rid the bad thoughts. I slipped on the long sleeve shirt, and scrunched my blue and blonde hair into a messy bun at the back of my head. I walked over to the bed, fluffed my pillow 3 times, and climbed into the mess of blankets. I flicked off the boring white lamp, and laid my head against the white fluffy pillow. My head was drowning in a hurricane of thoughts. Some conflicted, some were random. But one was continuing to pester my mind over and over again. That was Dan getting sick.
Usually thoughts of people puking made me gag, but in this case it fascinated me. The way he did it to lose weight, the way I used to do it.. The memories popped into my mind. The constant excuse of me not feeling well, or needing to use the washroom, or going to wash my hands, always ended up in me purging over the toilet. It was always the quickest way to lose weight, I thought. Faster then having to exercise, or eat healthy. No, those things took time. And I was known for being an impatient little fucker.
I untangled myself from the duvet, and groggily walked towards the small washroom. I quickly scanned the time and realized I laid in bed thinking about shit for 3 hours. 3 fucking hours. I fell to my knees outside the toilet. I supposedly 'quit' doing this to myself. I was supposed to be recovering from Mia for god sake! (Mia is a nickname for Bulimia as Annie is a nickname for Anorexia) But that didn't matter now. I flipped up the toilet seat, and took a deep breath.
"Am I really going to do this again?" I began to sob.
Yes.
I pulled my fringe out of the way, and hesitantly shoved my index finger to the back of my mouth, and I gagged, feeling the sick coming up. I moved my finger away just in time as the sick came out. I did this 3 more times, and I got up. I washed my face off, and brushed my teeth. I flushed the toilet, and walked back to my bed. I realized how weak the withdrawal made me. I re fluffed my pillow and climbed back under the blankets realizing how cold I was. I laidmy head back against the pillow, and I instantly fell asleep.
My eyes fluttered open to a somewhat new day, even though I'd have the same routine. The sun was shining through the cracks of the curtain. I slipped my arms out from underneath the blanket and rubbed my eyes. I looked at them, and studied them for a moment. They were quite shaky, but I think that's the air conditioners fault.
I pulled the blanket off me, and slid off the bed. My legs were shaky too.. I walked over to the full length mirror and looked at my ugly self. My face was pale, and there were dark purple bags underneath them. I must be experiencing the aftermath of last night. I felt fine, to be honest. Just a crippling headache, that's all. I spun around to the sound of someone knocking on my door.
"Ugh. People." I whined as I walked towards the entrance.
I swung it open, and there stood Phil, dressed already.
"Breakfast time!" He said cheerfully.
"Br-breakfast? I can't eat in front of all those p-people..." I pouted.
"You'll be fine." he comforted.
"I-" I never got to finish my sentence before I was being dragged out of my room.
"I'm not even dressed! And I look like a fucking zombie!"
"Are you kidding? You're the most beautiful girl in this institution! No ifs, ands or buts. You're gorgeous." He stated, looking into my pale green eyes.
I scoffed. "Can I please go back to my room?" I pleaded.
"Nope." He protested.
I rolled my eyes. Phil slugged his long arm over my shoulder, and I could see the old scars on his wrists. His long sleeve jumper was covering them, and they blended in perfectly well with his already ghost white skin. But a cutter can spot cuts easily. On everyone. The cuts looked quite faded, so he must've quit a long time ago. He was happy too. I didn't understand quite why he was here though. He seemed perfectly fine. Maybe there was other things I didn't know about. For sure there was, or else he wouldn't be here. I looked up at him. He was actually pretty tale for a 24 year old. I was guessing he was around 6'2 maybe? Dan was really tall too, but he was still a teenager. He probably had a couple more years of growing. He already looked 6'0. I was only 5'8, which I guess is pretty tall for a girl. To be fair though, I was a bit of a pudgy kid, and it just stretched upwards. And I only looked thin if you were to be looking directly at the front of me. I wasn't skinny at all.
Phil walked me into the large cafeteria where we instantly saw Dan saving us seats beside him. There was a supervisor walking around checking on all the patients when they finished their meals. The meal looked like pancakes, bacon and eggs. Great. I sat down beside Dan on the left, and Phil sat in front of me on the other side. The plate was set in front of me, looked like they serve you your meal for you, instead of having to get up ourselves. The food looked great, but I couldn't eat it. what about my weight? How much calories is it? Dan leaned in, and whispered something in my ear.
"It's about 1000 calories." He said so no one could hear.
I looked at him with wide eyes.
"Can you read minds or something?" I whispered back, astounded.
He laughed.
"What's so funny?" Phil asked, clueless.
"It's just the way the scrambled eggs are formed. That's all." Dan said, nonchalantly.
I was amazed by his skill in lying too.
"Okay...? So what do you guys plan on doing today?" Phil asked.
"I plan on walking around the garden outside." I said, taking the fork and playing with the food.
"Oh. I'm not doing anything. I'll probably just chill out and play cards or something of that nature." Dan shrugged.
"Me too." Phil agreed.
I stared down at the food. I didn't want to eat it, not at all. It would make me fat! I don't want to be fat. What if I just do what I did earlier? Forcefully get rid of the food. That'll work. I heard a cough, and Dan nudged my arm with his elbow. I glared at him, when he pointed beside me. I slowly looked, and there stood one of the supervisors.
"Eat." He demanded.
I sighed, and took a bit of the pancake, almost throwing up instantly. I gave him a smile, then he left. I finished with the food in my mouth, and struggled to swallow, but I did anyways.
We all eventually finished our meals, and I looked at Dan. His face was all smiles, but I could see the guilt pooling in his eyes. We both had secrets. The only difference was that I knew his, but he didn't know mine.