Young Writers Society

Imagine this...You wake up every morning and experience but thirty seconds of pure happiness which is followed by a crushing, tidal wave of self-loathing and disgust. You drag yourself out of bed, stand up - too fast of course - and fall back onto your bed seeing stars in your tunnel vision. You slide onto the floor and drag yourself over to your alarm clock which is not set to go off for another half-hour.

Imagine this...You dread yet long for the day ahead. 17 stretching hours before you can return to the 'safety' of your bed, 17 glorious hours when you get to pretend that everything is as it should be.

Imagine this...With nothing but coffee and green tea in your stomach you begin the long walk to school in the cold. The chill climbs up your legs and aches through your back and kidneys.

Imagine this...You arrive at school overheated from the effort of walking. You get books from your locker and the stack seems even heavier than yesterday, if that is even possible. You throw yourself behind your desk and hit your tailbone hard on the unforgiving chair. Sitting up straight, perfect posture, you force yourself to look confident, to look enviable. Your friends smile and laugh, asking about your weekend. You play along; smile brighter, laugh louder, all the while silently screaming.

Imagine this...You can cry without your smile faltering or shedding a tear.

Imagine this...You drink 3 litres of water daily. You eat for the first time at lunch, only in order to stop your friends asking questions.

Imagine this...They still ask.

Imagine this...You tell them you are simply tired. All the while the room slowly spins and you have to concentrate on not throwing up your small piece of fruit; the only thing you've eaten in 19 hours. You hate them for asking. you love them for asking. You want to yell at them. You want to let them look after you.

Imagine this...You are surrounded yet painfully alone.

Imagine this...You see Her in the hall and your whole world stops. Everything falls away and it is just you two. Her disgust shoots from her eyes as she looks you over and you feel sure that now you really will throw up.

Imagine this...You don't. You match her disgust; looking her up and down followed by a subtle flick of your head and the flash of a smile; as if enjoying some personal joke at her expense.

Imagine this...It's the end of the day and you don't remember any of it. The notes are in your books, the homework printed neatly in your diary. This the product of your coping mechanism, your auto-pilot.

Imagine this...You make a delicious dinner and force a child-sized portion down your throat to placate the parents. Promising yourself you will run extra hard tonight to make up for it.

Imagine this...You only run 25% of the time, usually you simply drown yourself in a pool of emptiness, emotionally disengage in front of the television or pour out your pathetic feelings to a virtual world of billions where no one is listening.

Imagine this...You are a drop in the ocean. You are a grain of sand in the desert.

Imagine this...You change into your too small, too big pajamas. The sight of your body in the mirror sickens you. Every move causing a rippling of jelly. Every move causing a grinding of bones under translucent skin. The top fits all too snugly over the rolls of fat. The top hangs loosely, awkwardly, painfully from the frame of your body. You can barely pull up your pants over the expanse of your thighs. You can barely pull the drawstring tight enough to keep the pants up over your hips.

Imagine this...The only person who could understand, who could help, is not interested.

Imagine this...You slide into bed and the aching in your bones ebbs slightly.

Imagine this...You lie awake for hours. Trying to imagine anything but this.