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The mirror reflected a face he couldn’t recognize anymore, was it his? Was it someone else’s? Was it even anything anymore? He didn’t know a single bit at all. It felt so confusing seeing himself like this. He even forgot himself and if he was even real anymore — is the person in the mirror someone he recognizes? Is it someone that used to be dear to him? It was so, so, so weird to think about.
The bathroom lights flickered every once and a while, maybe it was time to replace them soon, if he finally has the money to do it. The long trail of blood on his wrists, the blood from his mouth, and his long purple hair deducted into such a state that seemed too confusing to think about. Was this person in the mirror even him? Why did his eyes look like that? His hair? It wasn’t him. It never was. He swore it isn’t.
Maybe this is the conclusion to the fact that he basically pukes his guts out almost hourly, and he’s practically shaving off the numbers of his fucking body. He really doesn’t get the messages — they come too quickly. Everything that he can say is spoken for him anyway. Every few months, he checks how much weight he’s lost — and it just gets more and more concerning by then.
The skinny, yet healthy build he once had was now only left in old pictures and history — replaced with the bodies of K-Pop singers and their diet that is basically built for 3-year-olds. The only actual way he can cover up everything is with clothes. Every meal he eats, every small snack he’s supposed to eat by Egg whom is already concerned deeply for him, would be removed or retracted from his intestine after 30 minutes of eating.
Eating was always a problem for him — he always felt too insecure, too conscious. Until all of it got ahead of him and an abomination of an addiction consumed him alive with a hatred that can be compared to an inferno. He never expressed any emotion, nor he liked doing it — but his mental state and his mind is too sick for anyone to witness unless they’ve done the most atrocious things to mankind.
All he repeatedly asked was ‘why’ without aa actual end.
Why is my skin so, so, so pale?
Why is my body so overweight?
Why is the daze of bloodstains, cruel and gory so beautiful?
Visions of violence and harming to himself powered a fuel to his mind that can never be fulfilled properly. He knows that’s everything left in his sick mind that was wasted is just a depiction of the human apocalypse. And theres nothing you can actually do anymore to think of it in a more positive way.
Before, he knew he didn’t feel so empty, like this. One comment from his ‘friends’ was a spark. His parents noticing his eating habits added fuel to the fire. And one was just a harmless joke. It’s so stupid — he internalized things that can be brushed so easily as something he should take seriously. And that ended with him now, so different from the person he used to be a few years ago. He wants to go back, but he can’t.
It seemed confusing. He was a growing child that time — 7th grade, if somebody wants to be specific. Now he’s 17, 5’8, and weighs 33 kilograms. And that’s the weight a 4th grader should have. Oh my fucking god what has he done with his miserable, terrible, and broken life he can never fix?
A deep breath came from him — huh, it seems like something has got him doubting it seems. Is he anything? Is he even a person..beneath? The days go by unformly — tightly controlled, and determinded for him. He’s showered with ‘love’ and ‘affection’ daily! Of course the only to fuck it up is to fail an exam or to be boring. Everything comes so by so quickly, and he can barely breath.