Life
Story: Life
Type: one-shot
Genre: drama/life
Rating: T
Credits: characters and storyline are the result of my imagination and thus mine, so don't even think of stealing or copying
Comments: Done after nearly a year... I really can't explain why I seemingly never finish stories within an acceptable timeframe. <.<
Life
It was an entirely stupid decision to begin with. I had known about the consequences, the dangers I was putting myself into should I actually follow the crazy idea my mind had produced. Therefore it's even more surprising that I've dismissed all the doubts, threw caution into the wind and simply decided to go for it. Because I knew what I was doing. I would be able to stop it should it get out of hand. Really, there was no need to worry. That attitude brought me to where I am now. In a hospital bed. With a needle in my arm which connects me to a tube, the essence of life slowly flowing through the clear material. And a cheek which still burns from the slap I've received moments ago.
I lost control. Not that I ever had it in the first place.
Being naive about certain things is usually the first step towards disaster. Calling it innocence would be too weak especially now that I know how wrong I was from the start. But in the beginning it didn't even occur to me that some things cannot be controlled. That they are bound to develope into something dangerous like an avalance which simply keeps on rolling and leaves behind nothing but debris. Said debris being a weak body in my case, with not enough life in its limbs, only moving thanks to the power of ones mind. A power which is partly responsible for this disaster.
Only that I'd call it stubbornness instead.
It had been a day which seemed completely normal. The same old routine as every day, at work and at home. Until I decided to step on the scales that evening. A decision completely on a whim with no real reason behind it. Though I hated my curves at times, I didn't feel too fat or uncomfortable either. I was content with my weight. Or so I thought. The number flashing up in bold digits was enough to make me gasp, it didn't fit my personal feeling at all. Despite having felt comfortable all the time, despite no one ever saying anything, I suddenly felt fat. Followed by the piercing thought that I had to do something. It had to change, as quickly as possible.
However, wanting things fast isn't the best solution.
The first step was to be more conscious. To control what I eat and especially how much. I soon concluded that eating between regular meals was a burden and decided to get rid of that. As I never ate breakfast at all I could scratch that from my diet plan as well. What left only lunch and dinner. Enough to fill your stomach for sure but I wanted to lose weight and that meant to eat less than actually needed. And so I began to lower the food I consumed. At first I was restraining the urge to eat more even though I was already full. Then I decided that one plate per meal is enough. Followed by replacing lunch with two apples and dinner to one barely filled plate. In the end, two apples had reduced to one and my plate at dinner was more empty than full.
A threating process which I didn't take seriously.
My weight dropped every day and I felt happy. With each pound lost I felt happier, more pretty. Where I first had wanted to shed the weight which was really too much, I suddenly found myself wanting more. I had made it that far, I could reach other goals instead. The weight I had originally aimed for was lowered rapidly and I continued. If I was slim I would be more desireable for sure. I could wear the clothes I want, carrying them with the figure of a real model. The scales became my best friend, being used twice or sometimes even five times a day. Somewhere in between I began to measure my new figure by buying clothes. But, thinking I was in the process of losing more weight, I bought them two sizes too small. That should be a motivation to go on.
In the end it was more of a silent cry for help.
Ever since I had started the diet, the people around me seemed to be more conscious. When I first told them of my plans they were just telling me not to overdo it. I shook that warning off, like all the others which should follow. When I started to refuse tasting just a simple cookie, I was rewared with weird stares. When I suddenly stopped eating at work, claiming that I simply didn't feel hungry, they told me it wasn't healthy, accompanied with worried looks. When my baggy clothes indicated how much weight I lost, the worried looks were everywhere I went. At some point they had given up to get me to eat, all except the colleague I shared a bureau room with and my best friend with whom I was living. For them the change was clearly visible and they tried their best to nudge me back onto the right path.
It didn't help. A hard punch would have been better.
With me refusing my body the food it desperately asked for my health my health was declining, a lot. Sometimes I felt so weak that even the regular bag for work seemed too heavy. On other days my vision would blurry and I felt close to fainting. In a desperate attempt to get rid of these side-effects I started taking pills. Pills filled with all the vitamins and nutrition a body needs to keep going. It did work in the beginning. But you can't rely on pills alone. The effect started to wear off after a few weeks. And from that point on it all spiraled downwards. Until the day when I came to work, feeling like I had caught a bad virus, all tired and worn-out. I collapsed on my way to the tea kitchen. My body didn't have the strength to endure the diet any longer.
I've been careless with the life I was granted with.
The doctors are positive that my condition will improve a lot within the next days. As long as I follow their instructions, I'll be fine. Meaning I'll have to learn how to eat again, this time in a healthy way. And I'll have to gain back some of the weight I had lost, simply because I had been too blinded to release that I had already entered a state of underweight. Along with it I have to deal with the foul taste of shame. And guilt. When I woke up in the hospital I was greeted with the face of my best friend, wet of the tears which continued flowing. She let it all out by screaming, crying and, finally, slapping me hard. The pain, the worry, the state of helplessness I had caused, in which she had been trapped during all this time. And it was only then that I finally realized what I had done.
I'm sorry.
I've been too weak to fight.
I've been too foolish to realize.
I've been too selfish to notice.
But, from now on, I'll treat this precious life of mine with all the care and love it deserves.
Promised.
Type: one-shot
Genre: drama/life
Rating: T
Credits: characters and storyline are the result of my imagination and thus mine, so don't even think of stealing or copying
Comments: Done after nearly a year... I really can't explain why I seemingly never finish stories within an acceptable timeframe. <.<
Life
It was an entirely stupid decision to begin with. I had known about the consequences, the dangers I was putting myself into should I actually follow the crazy idea my mind had produced. Therefore it's even more surprising that I've dismissed all the doubts, threw caution into the wind and simply decided to go for it. Because I knew what I was doing. I would be able to stop it should it get out of hand. Really, there was no need to worry. That attitude brought me to where I am now. In a hospital bed. With a needle in my arm which connects me to a tube, the essence of life slowly flowing through the clear material. And a cheek which still burns from the slap I've received moments ago.
I lost control. Not that I ever had it in the first place.
Being naive about certain things is usually the first step towards disaster. Calling it innocence would be too weak especially now that I know how wrong I was from the start. But in the beginning it didn't even occur to me that some things cannot be controlled. That they are bound to develope into something dangerous like an avalance which simply keeps on rolling and leaves behind nothing but debris. Said debris being a weak body in my case, with not enough life in its limbs, only moving thanks to the power of ones mind. A power which is partly responsible for this disaster.
Only that I'd call it stubbornness instead.
It had been a day which seemed completely normal. The same old routine as every day, at work and at home. Until I decided to step on the scales that evening. A decision completely on a whim with no real reason behind it. Though I hated my curves at times, I didn't feel too fat or uncomfortable either. I was content with my weight. Or so I thought. The number flashing up in bold digits was enough to make me gasp, it didn't fit my personal feeling at all. Despite having felt comfortable all the time, despite no one ever saying anything, I suddenly felt fat. Followed by the piercing thought that I had to do something. It had to change, as quickly as possible.
However, wanting things fast isn't the best solution.
The first step was to be more conscious. To control what I eat and especially how much. I soon concluded that eating between regular meals was a burden and decided to get rid of that. As I never ate breakfast at all I could scratch that from my diet plan as well. What left only lunch and dinner. Enough to fill your stomach for sure but I wanted to lose weight and that meant to eat less than actually needed. And so I began to lower the food I consumed. At first I was restraining the urge to eat more even though I was already full. Then I decided that one plate per meal is enough. Followed by replacing lunch with two apples and dinner to one barely filled plate. In the end, two apples had reduced to one and my plate at dinner was more empty than full.
A threating process which I didn't take seriously.
My weight dropped every day and I felt happy. With each pound lost I felt happier, more pretty. Where I first had wanted to shed the weight which was really too much, I suddenly found myself wanting more. I had made it that far, I could reach other goals instead. The weight I had originally aimed for was lowered rapidly and I continued. If I was slim I would be more desireable for sure. I could wear the clothes I want, carrying them with the figure of a real model. The scales became my best friend, being used twice or sometimes even five times a day. Somewhere in between I began to measure my new figure by buying clothes. But, thinking I was in the process of losing more weight, I bought them two sizes too small. That should be a motivation to go on.
In the end it was more of a silent cry for help.
Ever since I had started the diet, the people around me seemed to be more conscious. When I first told them of my plans they were just telling me not to overdo it. I shook that warning off, like all the others which should follow. When I started to refuse tasting just a simple cookie, I was rewared with weird stares. When I suddenly stopped eating at work, claiming that I simply didn't feel hungry, they told me it wasn't healthy, accompanied with worried looks. When my baggy clothes indicated how much weight I lost, the worried looks were everywhere I went. At some point they had given up to get me to eat, all except the colleague I shared a bureau room with and my best friend with whom I was living. For them the change was clearly visible and they tried their best to nudge me back onto the right path.
It didn't help. A hard punch would have been better.
With me refusing my body the food it desperately asked for my health my health was declining, a lot. Sometimes I felt so weak that even the regular bag for work seemed too heavy. On other days my vision would blurry and I felt close to fainting. In a desperate attempt to get rid of these side-effects I started taking pills. Pills filled with all the vitamins and nutrition a body needs to keep going. It did work in the beginning. But you can't rely on pills alone. The effect started to wear off after a few weeks. And from that point on it all spiraled downwards. Until the day when I came to work, feeling like I had caught a bad virus, all tired and worn-out. I collapsed on my way to the tea kitchen. My body didn't have the strength to endure the diet any longer.
I've been careless with the life I was granted with.
The doctors are positive that my condition will improve a lot within the next days. As long as I follow their instructions, I'll be fine. Meaning I'll have to learn how to eat again, this time in a healthy way. And I'll have to gain back some of the weight I had lost, simply because I had been too blinded to release that I had already entered a state of underweight. Along with it I have to deal with the foul taste of shame. And guilt. When I woke up in the hospital I was greeted with the face of my best friend, wet of the tears which continued flowing. She let it all out by screaming, crying and, finally, slapping me hard. The pain, the worry, the state of helplessness I had caused, in which she had been trapped during all this time. And it was only then that I finally realized what I had done.
I'm sorry.
I've been too weak to fight.
I've been too foolish to realize.
I've been too selfish to notice.
But, from now on, I'll treat this precious life of mine with all the care and love it deserves.
Promised.