Today was the day. It had been three weeks since Jason had had his cast removed and he had kept up with the simple hand exercises that Lindsey had shown him, making sure to complete them everyday. It seemed to have worked, because when he went back to visit Dr. Redfield for a check-up, he was told that he was fully recovered and the he was free to go back to his usual exercise routine, but to keep it low intensity for a couple of days just in case.
He had headed straight to the garage after college (thanking his lucky stars that everyone was out) with one sole intention. Changing into an old long sleeved shirt and sweats, Jason began wrapping his hands (he was taking no chances this time) before stretching.
He hadn't had another... incident since starting college and the cuts on his arm were healing nicely. Hopefully they wouldn't scar, but as he stretched he could feel them straining slightly, threatening to open up. Ignoring the slight pain, he turned to the boxing bag, trying to keep his breathing in check.
His boxing bag was in the exact same place it was before he broke his hand, although there was a light layer of dust covering it from complete lack of use. He wiped it away quickly, before he started lightly punching, getting back into the rhythm of it.
Thump Thump
This was exactly what he needed. He switched himself off, letting only the constant hits from his fists and where to punch next enter his thoughts, He knew he had missed boxing, but he hadn't realised how much.
All the stress and the anger from the last eight weeks left him, he could finally let it all out.
Thump Thump
There were boxing sessions at the gym every Tuesday night. He was thinking of signing up, a partner would do him good. After all a bag could only provide so much. He needed to rebuild his strength up first. The last two months had played havoc on his body, he could already feel himself tiring.
It wasn't just his injured arm that had been affected. The muscles in his whole body had shrunk and he knew that they were the main cause for his dramatic weight-loss (3 stone so far). But he had also lost a bit of fat, the pudge of his stomach was almost completely gone and the puppy fat on his face was now practically non-existent.
Thump Thump
Sure the loss of muscle was disheartening, but he knew that he could work to get it back. Would work to get it back. And he knew that he would look so much better than he once had. Before he had been trying to convince himself he looked all right, but now he knew better.
Although he had worked out regularly and therefore did have a decent amount of muscle, it was completely hidden by the thick layer of fat that completely surrounded him.
But he had gotten rid of that. Or the majority of it at least. Now, once he gained back what he had lost, the muscle would be a lot more visible. He would be a lot more visible. No-one would see him as the unattractive one in the family. The useless one. The fat one.
Thump Thump
Jason managed to continue his workout for a further fifteen minutes before pulling away, gasping for water, drenched in sweat. His fitness levels had dramatically decreased too, but he could fix that. A run around the village tomorrow morning would help.
For the first time in months, Jason willingly took his insulin injection with no guilt. After all, he no longer needed to continue with that. The insulin wouldn't make him fat any more, not with the exercise to cancel it out.
Finally things were going his way.
HOHOHOHOHO
The first five pounds he gained were disheartening but Jason reasoned they were nothing to worry about. After all, some would no doubt be water weight and he had heard that muscle did weigh a lot too. When he had gained ten pounds in the space of a week he started worrying, although he tried to ignore the niggling sensation in his mind that was consistently telling him he was a fat failure who would never be able to do anything right.
He continued feeling awful, the increased exercise and lack of food doing nothing to improve his mood. But the final straw was when he couldn't button up his jeans one morning before school.
They were new, like many of his clothes were nowadays, they had to be with a three stone weight-loss. When he had first got them, they had buttoned up with ease, but now they got stuck halfway up his thighs and refused to budge.
Who was he kidding, that weight he'd put on wasn't muscle or water weight. It was fat, plain and simple.
What he didn't understand was how that happened. He had been exercising plenty and only eating healthily but all he was doing was putting on all the weight he'd tried so hard to lose.
The only thing that he could think of that could cause the gain, was the increased dosage of insulin he was now taking. Had he permanently fucked his body by taking such a small amount of insulin for the better part of 3 months? Now his body couldn't handle it and was getting fatter and fatter by the second.
He shouldn't have gone straight back to six shots a day. That was stupid, his body had been in starvation mode for the last few weeks so was clinging on to the insulin and making as much fat as possible, he should have realised it sooner.
He began formulating plans in his head to try and fix the sorry mess he'd gotten himself into. He couldn't gain the weight back he had lost, not in fat format anyway. If he went back to the one/two shots a day, he could easily lose the weight he had put on. The sick feeling in his stomach was a small sacrifice for perfection and one he was willing to make.
Once he was back down to his old weight and it had stopped fluctuating he would slowly increase his insulin dosage. Go up one dose every week till he was back at the recommended six. It would take a while and it wouldn't be fun, but it was worth it.
Surely slowly increasing his insulin would be more beneficial to his health in the long term. An extra 4 shots in one go would be a shock to his body and he had been feeling funny all week. Doing it gradually would mean his body could grow accustomed to it. And what could an extra month really do to him in the long term?
The really bad things like loss of eyesight only happened to people who did this sort of thing all the time for years, not months after all.
Mind made up, Jason stepped off the scales and pulled on his jogging bottoms and an old t-shirt before making his way downstairs.
"Going out," he called, although only his mum was up to hear him. The rest of the household were taking advantage of the weekend and were choosing to lie in, many choosing to sleep off their hangovers that had come from one too many drinks the previous night.
Sandy Roscoe however. was the only early riser in the whole family, accustomed to early starts and unable to 'waste the day' by lying in bed all day like most people.
"Where are you going at half 7?" She asked, very obviously stunned by the fact that at least one of her children was up and about so early on.
"Robbie's snoring woke me up," Jason lied smoothly, pulling on his trainers as he spoke. "I decided to go on a run, otherwise I'd have probably smothered him with my pillow,"
"All right then love." Sandy smiled, still obviously slightly stunned. After all she rarely saw any movement till at least 10 on the weekends. "You taken your insulin?"
"Yes mum," Jason rolled his eyes. "I'm not stupid." That was debatable. "See you later yeah?"
"Have fun," she smiled shaking her head in amusement as one of her youngest quietly clicked the door behind him.
HOHOHOHOHO
"You were gone a long time Jase," Sandy commented when he walked through the front door a couple of hours later, panting lightly. The house was now bustling with life and Jason had to fight his way to the sink to get a glass of water.
"Where were you anyway?" Robbie asked around a mouthful of toast. "I woke up and you'd scarpered."
"Well someone's snoring woke me up," Jason said pointedly, drinking the full glass before turning to refill it. "So I just went on a run,"
"Since when do you get up before nine to exercise?" Ziggy asked, he was well aware of Jason's laziness, sometimes having to drag him to the gym with him kicking and screaming.
Jason shrugged, muttering a feeble excuse under his breath, all though no-one paid him any attention. "Well don't push yourself too hard sport," Joe said, clapping him on the shoulder. "You're scrawny enough as it is, don't want you looking like a stick do we?"
The others laughed lightly, and Jason made himself join in, trying not to grimace. It wasn't fair. They all had great bodies, none of them were fat or scrawny. They were the ones to get attention from any girls and whilst he was often referred to as cute it was normally said in the way one would call a cat or a baby cute. Not exactly ego-boosting.
That would change though, he would make sure of that.
"Anyone need the loo? I'm going for a shower, I'll have breakfast later," When no-one went to move, Jason grabbed a clean towel from the airing cupboard and made his way to the upstairs bathroom, ignoring Ziggy's yell to not use all the hot water.
Locking the door behind him, Jason quickly turned the shower on, watching the steam rise from the boiling water. The beating of the water drops against the bath tub soothed him and he tried to focus solely on the noise, ignoring all other thoughts.
Within moments, the thoughts that had been haunting him for the last couple of months were back with full force, circling through his head at lightening pace. Turning the water up in the hope of blocking out his own thoughts had no effect. In fact, as the pace of the water sped up, so did the negative notions until they were perfectly in time with each other.
Fat
Failure
Worthless
Freak
DIE DIE DIE
He couldn't breath, his chest felt constricted. The light-headed feeling returned in full force as Jason only managed the shallowest of breaths. Without thinking, he grabbed his razor from the side and swiped the blade across his arm. With every cut he made, the voices became quieter, until they were practically non-existent.
Watching as the blood from the five separate cuts mixed together to run down his arm, Jason realised that he had never felt so numb. The cuts all stung lightly, but that was it. He could still hear his heart beating, but compared to just a few minutes ago, it was nothing.
As if he was on automatic, he stood up and stripped, stepping into the shower, not even wincing at the high temperature of the water. It was only as the water seeped into the cuts, increasing the stinging and the pain, did Jason truly realise what he had done.
He had done it again. The first time, well that could be explained easily enough. Freddie – his own brother for crying out loud – had threatened him, treated him like he was a stranger or a liability. For obvious reasons, he wasn't used to that sort of treatment and gone into panic mode, the sharp pain from the blade as it sliced his arm being the only thing to bring him out of it.
But this? He had no need to act like he had done, but there it was. A full blown anxiety attack out of nowhere. The fact that yet again his first instinct had been to reach for a razor had spoken volumes to him.
Two times he had... self harmed. Even thinking of those words made Jason want to hide out of shame. Why was he so weak? Only mental people cut themselves. He wasn't mental, he knew that. Everyone always called him the sane one in the family after all. Yeah right.
It had helped though. The cutting. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing after all. He knew it wasn't a positive thing by any standards, but so far it was the only thing that got him out of his panic attacks. If that hadn't happened, then his family would have found him freaking out (and probably crying) in the middle of the bathroom at some point during the day.
They would have asked questions. Do everything in their power to find out what had caused it. And that conversation would have gone down like a lead balloon.
"Sorry mum, I was only freaking out and basically having a break-down because I'm a fat freak who can't do anything right."
Yeah, that was never going to happen.
Satisfied that his cuts had stopped bleeding, Jason stepped out of the shower, prepared to face the rest of the day.
