South Park © Matt and Trey.

General Warning:

This story includes slash pairings, as well as heavy eating disorder content and may be triggering to some viewers. Please take care while reading. I would also like to add that this work is not pro mia in anyway, whatsoever. If you personally are struggling, please feel free to contact me at any time and I will be happy to direct you to support resources.

Thank you so much for the lovely reviews everyone! You're all so supportive and sweet.

Craig's POV:

Five days ago, I would have gone home after school. I would have locked myself in the kitchen pantry or gone to the gym with Clyde. I would have been able to spend an ounce of time by myself.

Now, instead, I'm sitting on a doctor's examination table twiddling my fucking thumbs.

My mom insisted that we check in with some god damn healthcare professional because I won't talk to her. She says that if we can't figure out some sort of agreement at home, I'm going to need to keep coming back.

The doctor weighed me on a type of scale that I've never seen before—one that has a disconnected screen so I can't see what it says.

I don't think I've ever been so stressed out.

When I asked what it said he very quickly replied that I shouldn't be seeing how much I weigh, and that any scales in our house would have to be removed. He says that it might be easier for me to focus on something else if I find a new hobby. Fuck a new hobby. My weight is my hobby.

I snapped at him to fuck off and that it was my body, and my mom told me that if I didn't cut it out she'd have to sign me as an inpatient. It shut me up, but I still have no intention of letting some guy I don't even know tell me what was wrong with me and how to fix it. I'm almost an adult and honestly, I've known that what I've been doing isn't okay for a while. If it was something I was capable of fixing, I would have done it by now.

I just want everyone to leave me alone.

Luckily, the doctor told her to not be hasty, and went right to tying off my arm to take a blood sample. He missed my vein a few times, leaving me with a nasty, growing bruise, and then handed the vial off to his assistant, finally taking my mother out into the hallway.

So now I've been waiting, naked apart from a fucking hospital gown, for them to come back and tell me I can leave.

They tried to take my blood pressure and listen to my heart beat, but I couldn't sit still enough. The stethoscope was too cold and I didn't feel okay showing my bare chest. I gave him a flat no, and eventually he gave up and listened through the scratchy gown fabric and my back. He said we would try again next time because it just was too hard for him to hear my heart clearly.

When my mother comes back into my room, she looks upset, like she's been crying. The doctor follows her, and explains to me directly that the potassium levels in my blood are "extremely low, and that confirms the need for concern."

That's probably why my mom looks so sad. She was still holding onto some small sliver of hope that Clyde had been wrong, and the lie that I was trying so adamantly to cover up wasn't, in fact, a lie.

The doctor tells me that he's referring me to a specialist down in Denver that should be more equipped to help me with my "condition." He wants us to see her twice a week, and ignoring the fact that I'm only a few feet away tells my mom that she made a good call in starting to bring me home for lunch.

Doctors are always so condescending, I can't fucking stand it. They're all the same—acting like I'm just some child who can't take care of themselves. This is my shitty body, and I'm the only one who's going to be making the calls here—not some bloodwork lab.

I won't let them bring me home for lunch every day, and they can't make me drive all the way to Denver once a week in order to see some specialist. I know seeing a doctor won't help me at all. I don't want it to help me at all. I'm a mess, I don't deserve help.

More than anything, it's too obvious. The last thing I need is kids from school getting involved in my personal life. Token and Tweek are probably weirded out already, and they're both so perceptive that it won't take very long for them to figure out what's going on.

"That is, if Clyde hasn't already told them." I think bitterly.

I know that they've been my friends for a long time, but I really haven't been connecting with either of them lately. I could never handle people breathing down my neck, so instead I generally chose to just steer completely clear. Token and Tweek have always been so wrapped up in themselves that I didn't have to worry about them snooping around, but the only reason I've let Clyde stick around for so long is because he's stubborn, and cares so much more than everyone else.

I've always felt bad telling him that he was getting too close, and that I needed some space. He was such a sensitive kid. I think that's why our parents had us start hanging out in the first place. They wanted us to balance each other out. I can't help but wonder how things might be different if our relationship had turned out like they planned.

We support each other, that's for sure, but the job always felt a little uneven.

Maybe that's because Clyde struggles with things like sports and math, and I struggle with my life.