Author's note: Forgive me, for I got lazy on you guys. You all have my deepest apologies! Thank you so much for all the kind reviews. Here's the next chapter you wanted!
[] mean a character is thinking something.
* means emphasis on a word(s).
Quest for Perfection
| Chapter Four: Deterioration |
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Move it, Lizzie," I heard a familar voice shout from behind me.
I turned my head to see Ethan Craft standing there. I used to be in love with that boy. I used to think that the entire world revolved around him and *only* him. It wasn't like that anymore, though. Now my world revolved around dieting, and losing weight, and desperately hoping that I wouldn't drop dead on my way to the bus stop one morning.
"Sorry," I apologized and shifted toward the left, "You can just walk ahead of me."
"Thanks," he mumbled before taking up my offer.
I was on my way to Science class, and each day, it took me longer to get there. I had it right after English, and the Science room and the English room are on opposites sides of the building. I was *always* late for Science because walking to that class was such an extremely difficult effort. I never thought that I would make it.
"Sorry I'm late again, Mr. Connelly," I said, trying to catch my breath as I walked into the room and dropped my books on my desk.
He smiled. "It's okay, Miss McGuire."
He started teaching, but I wasn't listening. Instead, I was falling asleep. I couldn't help it. Just as
I nodded off, I heard something about the visible spectrum and then my name. Quickly, I opened my eyes and looked at Mr. Connelly. Apparently, he was waiting for me to answer a question. The problem was, I didn't even know what he asked.
"Could you repeat the question?" I asked, clenching my fists nervously.
"That's what I thought," he said, shaking his head. "I'd like to see you after class, Miss McGuire."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"You wanted to see me?" I said politely, standing in front of Mr. Connelly's desk while all the other students exited the room.
"Ah, yes," he nodded, "Listen, I do not allow sleeping in my class. I'll let it slide this time but if it happens again, I'll have to give you detention. Is that clear?"
I replied with a nod and he began to speak again, his tone sounded like one of concern.
"If you don't mind my saying so, you look ill. Maybe you should go see Mrs. Riles?"
"No," I responded, "I don't need to, I'm fine."
He continued. "I noticed that you've lost a drastic amount of weight, and your behavior has changed. You just sit there now, looking utterly dazed. You no longer volunteer to answer questions during class. Your grades have dropped. It's obvious to me that you have a problem."
A part of me was screaming that he was right, and that I should take advantage of this oppurtunity and confide in him about everything that had been going on. However, that part was out of reach. It was there, just not able to speak louder than my illness. Ultimately, I decided to brush him off.
"Don't worry about me," I said with a shrug, "I'll be alright. Thanks for your concern. See you tomorrow."
And with that, I walked away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The rest of that week was a blur. It seemed like I did everything mechanically. I got up, went to school, came home, slept, and that was what my days consisted of. I just went through the motions, not even aware of what was occuring in the enviroment surrounding me. I would sit in school, totally dazed, while everyone around me discussed things that I didn't even pay attention to. Basically, I was just... there. Dead.
Friday evening, I was lying in bed wrapped up in blankets when Mom came in.
"Hey honey," she said, sitting down next to me on the bed.
"Hi," I said, forcing my eyes open.
"Lizzie," she said, looking really worried, "Have you been losing your hair?"
I blinked. Yes, I had been losing my hair. It was *always* falling out. At first, it just came out in a few strands but lately, it had been coming out in large clumps. Also, my fingernails were cracked and they often turned blue. Off of that subject, though, because Mom didn't ask about that.
"Yeah," I replied, "How did you know?"
"Well, it's kind of noticable. Your hair isn't full anymore. It's gotten thin. I find it lying all over the floor and in your hairbrush."
"Oh," was all I said.
"Lizzie," she said, nicely but firmly, "I... well, your father and I know that you're... not well. It took us both a while to accept it. We can see it happening to you, yet we haven't done anything about it because we just don't want to believe it. He and I talked about it last night, though, and we've decided that you're sick and we're going to get you help."
I didn't even bother to argue because why argue the truth? Mom was right. I *was* sick and I needed help.
"Alright," I said.
"Okay, then. I've made an appointment for a checkup with Doctor Kendell tomorrow. And, also, I made an appointment with Doctor Shaw."
My eyebrows bunched in confusion at the unfamilar name. "Doctor Shaw?"
Mom nodded. "She's a brilliant psychiatrist."
Oh great, a shrink.
"Fine," I said.
"Well, you'll have to be up bright and early tomorrow morning at ten, okay?"
"Okay."
Mom smiled and looked at me endearlingly. I could see the pain in her eyes. I knew I was hurting her, and that made me feel like shit. She gave me a kiss on my cheek and got up to leave, but before she walked out, she turned around.
"I love you, Lizzie. You mean so much to me. You're my little girl, and you always will be. I'm so thankful that I have you. You are a true blessing, and I will *always* love you no matter what happens. I just want you to know that."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I was walking through a dark alley when suddenly, all these fatty, sugary treats began falling from the sky. Cakes, candy... you name it. I was so disgusted, and so tempted simultaneously. Then the devil himself appeared and was shoving a twinkie in my face. He kept telling me to eat it. His voice sounded like one I'd heard before and after thinking about it for a few moments, I realized that he sounded like the voice inside my head. The voice of my disease. The devil was the voice of my disease in disguise. I turned around and tried to run away, but I couldn't. I was just too weak. I fell to the ground and when I looked up, I saw the devil... the voice... my disease... or whatever you want to call it... hovering over me with a knife. I tried to scream, but it came out as a whisper. Just as the knife was a mere inch away from my fragile, starving body, I woke up in a cold sweat.
"A dream," I said, breathing heavily, "It was only a dream."
I began to shiver and wrapped the blanket even tighter around myself. I began wondering if I was thin yet. I knew I had lost weight, but I just didn't *feel* thin. Everytime I looked in the mirror, I saw this fat, overweight girl. But the thing is, I *wasn't* fat. It took me a while to realize that my mind was totally screwed up and it was causing me to see things wrong.
Slowly, I pulled myself out of my bed and walked over to the mirror. I let the blanket fall from my shoulders and onto the floor. Then I examined my reflection in the mirror. My hair had lost it's wave and just sort of wilted... well, what was left it, anyway. My skin was pale white, virtually transparent. My eyes looked dull and faded, and were slightly sunken in. There were large dark circles under them, and I could even see my eye sockets. My face was gaunt and my cheekbones were popping out of my skin. My collarbone stuck out farther and my ribs were visible. My hips stuck out sharply and my legs were so tiny. I turned around and looked at my back. My spinal column was visible as well. I couldn't believe it. I looked so sick. I began to shiver again and wrapped my blanket around myself.
"Tomorrow," I said, climbing back into bed. "Things will change tomorrow when I go see the doctors."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter five coming soon!
[] mean a character is thinking something.
* means emphasis on a word(s).
Quest for Perfection
| Chapter Four: Deterioration |
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Move it, Lizzie," I heard a familar voice shout from behind me.
I turned my head to see Ethan Craft standing there. I used to be in love with that boy. I used to think that the entire world revolved around him and *only* him. It wasn't like that anymore, though. Now my world revolved around dieting, and losing weight, and desperately hoping that I wouldn't drop dead on my way to the bus stop one morning.
"Sorry," I apologized and shifted toward the left, "You can just walk ahead of me."
"Thanks," he mumbled before taking up my offer.
I was on my way to Science class, and each day, it took me longer to get there. I had it right after English, and the Science room and the English room are on opposites sides of the building. I was *always* late for Science because walking to that class was such an extremely difficult effort. I never thought that I would make it.
"Sorry I'm late again, Mr. Connelly," I said, trying to catch my breath as I walked into the room and dropped my books on my desk.
He smiled. "It's okay, Miss McGuire."
He started teaching, but I wasn't listening. Instead, I was falling asleep. I couldn't help it. Just as
I nodded off, I heard something about the visible spectrum and then my name. Quickly, I opened my eyes and looked at Mr. Connelly. Apparently, he was waiting for me to answer a question. The problem was, I didn't even know what he asked.
"Could you repeat the question?" I asked, clenching my fists nervously.
"That's what I thought," he said, shaking his head. "I'd like to see you after class, Miss McGuire."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"You wanted to see me?" I said politely, standing in front of Mr. Connelly's desk while all the other students exited the room.
"Ah, yes," he nodded, "Listen, I do not allow sleeping in my class. I'll let it slide this time but if it happens again, I'll have to give you detention. Is that clear?"
I replied with a nod and he began to speak again, his tone sounded like one of concern.
"If you don't mind my saying so, you look ill. Maybe you should go see Mrs. Riles?"
"No," I responded, "I don't need to, I'm fine."
He continued. "I noticed that you've lost a drastic amount of weight, and your behavior has changed. You just sit there now, looking utterly dazed. You no longer volunteer to answer questions during class. Your grades have dropped. It's obvious to me that you have a problem."
A part of me was screaming that he was right, and that I should take advantage of this oppurtunity and confide in him about everything that had been going on. However, that part was out of reach. It was there, just not able to speak louder than my illness. Ultimately, I decided to brush him off.
"Don't worry about me," I said with a shrug, "I'll be alright. Thanks for your concern. See you tomorrow."
And with that, I walked away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The rest of that week was a blur. It seemed like I did everything mechanically. I got up, went to school, came home, slept, and that was what my days consisted of. I just went through the motions, not even aware of what was occuring in the enviroment surrounding me. I would sit in school, totally dazed, while everyone around me discussed things that I didn't even pay attention to. Basically, I was just... there. Dead.
Friday evening, I was lying in bed wrapped up in blankets when Mom came in.
"Hey honey," she said, sitting down next to me on the bed.
"Hi," I said, forcing my eyes open.
"Lizzie," she said, looking really worried, "Have you been losing your hair?"
I blinked. Yes, I had been losing my hair. It was *always* falling out. At first, it just came out in a few strands but lately, it had been coming out in large clumps. Also, my fingernails were cracked and they often turned blue. Off of that subject, though, because Mom didn't ask about that.
"Yeah," I replied, "How did you know?"
"Well, it's kind of noticable. Your hair isn't full anymore. It's gotten thin. I find it lying all over the floor and in your hairbrush."
"Oh," was all I said.
"Lizzie," she said, nicely but firmly, "I... well, your father and I know that you're... not well. It took us both a while to accept it. We can see it happening to you, yet we haven't done anything about it because we just don't want to believe it. He and I talked about it last night, though, and we've decided that you're sick and we're going to get you help."
I didn't even bother to argue because why argue the truth? Mom was right. I *was* sick and I needed help.
"Alright," I said.
"Okay, then. I've made an appointment for a checkup with Doctor Kendell tomorrow. And, also, I made an appointment with Doctor Shaw."
My eyebrows bunched in confusion at the unfamilar name. "Doctor Shaw?"
Mom nodded. "She's a brilliant psychiatrist."
Oh great, a shrink.
"Fine," I said.
"Well, you'll have to be up bright and early tomorrow morning at ten, okay?"
"Okay."
Mom smiled and looked at me endearlingly. I could see the pain in her eyes. I knew I was hurting her, and that made me feel like shit. She gave me a kiss on my cheek and got up to leave, but before she walked out, she turned around.
"I love you, Lizzie. You mean so much to me. You're my little girl, and you always will be. I'm so thankful that I have you. You are a true blessing, and I will *always* love you no matter what happens. I just want you to know that."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I was walking through a dark alley when suddenly, all these fatty, sugary treats began falling from the sky. Cakes, candy... you name it. I was so disgusted, and so tempted simultaneously. Then the devil himself appeared and was shoving a twinkie in my face. He kept telling me to eat it. His voice sounded like one I'd heard before and after thinking about it for a few moments, I realized that he sounded like the voice inside my head. The voice of my disease. The devil was the voice of my disease in disguise. I turned around and tried to run away, but I couldn't. I was just too weak. I fell to the ground and when I looked up, I saw the devil... the voice... my disease... or whatever you want to call it... hovering over me with a knife. I tried to scream, but it came out as a whisper. Just as the knife was a mere inch away from my fragile, starving body, I woke up in a cold sweat.
"A dream," I said, breathing heavily, "It was only a dream."
I began to shiver and wrapped the blanket even tighter around myself. I began wondering if I was thin yet. I knew I had lost weight, but I just didn't *feel* thin. Everytime I looked in the mirror, I saw this fat, overweight girl. But the thing is, I *wasn't* fat. It took me a while to realize that my mind was totally screwed up and it was causing me to see things wrong.
Slowly, I pulled myself out of my bed and walked over to the mirror. I let the blanket fall from my shoulders and onto the floor. Then I examined my reflection in the mirror. My hair had lost it's wave and just sort of wilted... well, what was left it, anyway. My skin was pale white, virtually transparent. My eyes looked dull and faded, and were slightly sunken in. There were large dark circles under them, and I could even see my eye sockets. My face was gaunt and my cheekbones were popping out of my skin. My collarbone stuck out farther and my ribs were visible. My hips stuck out sharply and my legs were so tiny. I turned around and looked at my back. My spinal column was visible as well. I couldn't believe it. I looked so sick. I began to shiver again and wrapped my blanket around myself.
"Tomorrow," I said, climbing back into bed. "Things will change tomorrow when I go see the doctors."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter five coming soon!