I'm underweight. I have vivid nightmares of my ribs tearing through my skin, or my guts falling out. But I can't gain weight, for a number of reasons.

First of all, I don't sleep enough. I wake up from nightmares every night, or I can't lie down because I need to wash off whatever scum I'm worrying over, or my skin hurts too much from the shower. And because I don't sleep enough, I have little appetite.

Secondly, I smoke. Sometimes, it's the only way to calm down. It seems like something I wouldn't do, because of fears of lung cancer or whatever. But the calmness is worth it. Some nights, I sneak out of the house to smoke on one of the town routes. It's a bad habit, but it's one of my only ways to relieve tension and fear.

Lastly, I vomit a lot, due to run-ins with eager water Pokémon or concerns about food poisoning. My knuckles are all bruised and scarred from sticking them down my throat and hitting my teeth. I've come up with tons of tricks to get rid of vomit-breath.

So my skin is stretched tight over my ribs, and my cheeks sink in ever so slightly. My spine sticks up through my back, so you can run your fingers down the bumps of vertebrae. I'm not even wiry-I've fractured bones about five times now, and I can't run without wheezing.

I certainly stick out from the muscled, healthy trainers, with their skin rosy from being out in the sun. I sometimes see them picnicking on rich and nutritious food. My main sustenance is toast.

One night, I sat down to dinner with my parents as usual. They were eating salad with chilled noodles and tofu. But at my plate was a tremendous cut of meat and a tall glass of frothy milk.

"We think you need to gain a little weight," said my mother, cheerfully. "You look like a Bellsprout," teased my father.

"What is this?" I'm always wary about foods.

"It's nutritious Miltank milk and a Tauros steak! It's pricy, but it'll bulk you up in no time!"

I ate up my dinner, which was tasty, but left me with a stomachache. Mom tried to push Custap berry pie on me, but I insisted that I was full to bursting.

When I went to bed that night, I suddenly started thinking about my stomach bulging and bursting open through my thin skin. It was a quick image, but it stayed. Blood and semi-digested food everywhere. Stomach acid burning my skin as it splatters out. My limp body crying out for help.

I have numerous methods of masking my retching. I put on some loud, droning music and stuck my finger down my throat. The splattering stomach acid came true, but I felt relieved when I was done. I scrubbed the toilet to eliminate the smell, showered for a long time, and brushed my teeth like mad until my mouth smelled like mint-tinged vomit. So I reached into my desk drawer. My parents aren't the prying type, so I keep my cigarettes in there. But for special occasions, I have a bottle of Shuca berry brandy. It has an intense fragrance, and I drink it if the vomit smell is overwhelming, or if cigarettes aren't doing enough to calm me down.

I don't usually eat a lot. But I'm not anorexic, and I'm not bulimic. I'm just prone to horrific nightmares and visions of all manners of death. Toast is the safest option, honestly.