Chapter Three: Impure

TRIGGER WARNING: GRAPHIC DETAILS OF EATING DISORDERS

Last period was history, where I had John, Ed and Nina on my table. Weird combination, but I got on well with all of them, for some reason they all hated each other.

As usual, both Nina and John were told to take off their jumpers because they were non-school uniform, which was cruel in such cold weather. Either way, they did, but I was astonished to spot a cut on John's arm. I'd have to ask about it later. We were all "self harmers" on that table, but we didn't talk about it.

John did it because he was schizophrenic, but we both managed to stop during our relationship (at least, he did and he thought I did too).

Everyone knew Nina was a cutter, because she first did it for attention, whilst John egged her on.

Ed did it once with a compass because I told him I didn't love him.

I told my table I felt ill, but they were all beyond caring - I was like a broken record in regards to illness: I always had a problem, and never had a solution. I knew that eating a healthy, balanced diet would solve my problems at least a tiny bit, logically. But mental illness isn't logical, and I truly believed that the voice I was hearing was Ana herself, and I simply had to listen.

As an A grade student in history, I found it extraordinary learning about the history of medicine - how they used to treat epileptics like Sapphire, by drilling a hole in the head, to release the evil spirits. A part of me wondered if it was cathartic, and wanted to do it to myself sometimes. As an intellectual human being, I wondered why all the creative people in the world were mentally ill.

The bus journey always made my head spin; people (year nines) always chucking food all over the place - school bullies able to pick on their victims in an enclosed space, where they cannot run away. I'd not really been bullied since middle school, which I was thankful for. I would intervene if I saw someone being bullied - in most cases. 99%. But this one kid that was the prey for our whole bus really deserved it. He would aggravate people to the point they would snap, but then cry when they did. He would call the Black boys "n****r" and the Asian girls "terrorist", and he thought that when people called him "ginger", it was a racist slur. Hayley and I sat next to each other every single bus journey, and many a time prevented things from getting too rowdy. The sixth-formers ignored everything, and no-one bothered them - it was as if they were school bus royalty. Despite that, I convinced myself I could never go to sixth form unless I had a car, because I would be the one year 12 that was not immune to immature teenagers. The journey was usually only half an hour, but that was half an hour too long.

My brother was at university, my mother worked until 6pm, my father 'til 10pm. I had two hours to myself, where I would usually exercise whilst catching up on TV, or going on social media. Homework was something I never missed a deadline for, and I always did it after "dinner".

I restricted my phone usage to only checking it once every hour - self discipline - but something told me that I had an important pending message. I still, however, ignored it until 5pm, where I discovered I had a message from Jane.

"Do you have an nqb account?" Nqb was a forum for people with eating disorders.

I replied. "Yeah. Under the alias 'Ryan'".

"I'll find you and friend you."

Self destruct mode was on. Toxic relationships were something I knew intimately well. At some points, I desparately wanted Sam to yell at me, hit me, be nasty. John was abusive, but I allowed him to treat me badly, firstly because I could blame his behaviour on mental illness; the second reason was that he said he would kill himself if I left him.

He didn't kill himself, though, after I ended it with him, although he did start dealing drugs. I was on the verge of committing suicide - I had a plan and everything. But then other people in my life died, and I decided I couldn't be selfish.

However, I seemed to need a person in my life to cling to, so I spent most of my time flirting with Jake, or using Ashley as my emotional punching bag. I let him call me beautiful, and I let him love me, even though I told him we would always be just friends. During a phone call, he said: "What would you do if I asked you out?"

I replied with: "I would say no."

Ashley did things to me I begged him not to, and I realised it was like John all over again, so we just stopped talking. I never said sorry to him, but he never said sorry to me. He believed he was impure because he was raped as a child.

When my mother came home, she complained about her day, as per usual, and I offered to make dinner. 'Magic' 0 calorie noodles, with stir fry. I loved making dinner, because I could count my calories perfectly, and if I was cooking on my own, I didn't have to worry if people saw me reading over and over again the nutritional info.

My homework was relatively simple, and I hoped for an early night. But insomnia wouldn't let me, so I lay in bed for hours, thinking about whether recovery was an option, when I didn't want to admit to myself, let alone anyone else, that there was a problem to begin with. Nightmares about food were unfortunately too common for me, and many a time I'd woken up in a panic, terrified that the binge I had, had actually happened.

Waking up in the morning was always the most difficult on Friday. Mondays weren't actually that bad, but by Friday, my body was begging for me to take a break. Therefore, whilst most people were out partying, I was hanging out with my parents, force fed dinner, and in bed by 10pm.

Jane seemed to skip every class that day, except tutor in the morning. I'd never skived off school before, and although I would never do it, I was curious as to what exactly it would entail. Nqb was blocked on the school system, so towards the end of the day, Jane texted me. We'd exchanged numbers, but I gave her the name 'Jen', in case anyone saw my messages pop up. Jane had asked me to meet her at the local coffee shop that teenagers never went in because it wasn't Costa.

I agreed, and texted my mum to see if I could get a lift back with her. I told my mum I was going to hang out with my friends, and told my friends I was meeting with my mum in town, and told Hayley I would not be on the bus.

As we walked to the coffee shop, I stayed a few feet behind her, and continuously looked over my shoulder to make sure no-one I knew was behind me. When we went in, Jane ordered coffee and I ordered tea.

We both stared at the milk on the table, so I decided to say: "Let's not make this into a competition. If you want milk or sugar, take it."

"Okay," she said, and put in a pinch of sugar, while I poured a little milk into my cup.

"No competing for BMI's or weight or calories," I continued. "I just want a friend."

"Agreed," she said.

"Do your family know?" I asked.

She spluttered a little. "Ha, no. They just think I'm a b***h. And, well, I am."

"It makes you feel superior in a really screwed up way."

"Yes. It does."

I sipped my tea, but it was still too hot. "Do you still get your period?"

"Yeah," she said, "do you?"

"No."

"What are laxatives like?"

"Bad. Don't go there. I can't take a dump during the week, then s**t my brains out at the weekend."

Our voices were extremely quiet, even though we were relatively far away from everyone else - and everyone else being old people.

"I'm not scared of dying," she said.

"I am."

Small silence ensued.

"So hey, did you bump into me on purpose?" I asked.

"Not really, but I bet you're grateful."

"How come your hair doesn't fall out?" I asked. Earlier on in the year, I had my head shaved, because my hair was falling out and it scared me. Like everything I did, it was seen as a fashion statement.

"I eat healthy, I just don't eat much. I don't know."

"Why do you want to be friends with me?" I asked, realising I was firing questions at her.

"Partially because I envy you. Because I want to. F**k it, honestly: I think you're awesome, and funny, and you seem to be a nice person.

"I'm not a nice person," I said. "I'm a b***h too."