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Submitted on
November 1, 2012
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Warning: Sensitive material ahead. If you are uncomfortable with reading about bulimic activities, please don't go any further.


Her steps are clumsy and desperate as she stumbles along the hard and tiled floor.


She falls to her knees, grasping the cold, porcelain sides with trembling fingers.


She stares down into the watery depths, hot pricks of saltwater threatening to drip down her cheeks. A whimper and sob, caged deep in her chest, refuse to be let loose. It is a sign of weakness. She can’t be weak--not now. Not when she’s come this far.

Make everything go away.

All the voices swirl around in her mind. Taunting, cruel, ruthless, inhuman. All the comments, all the words that were said, rising up in a wave of turmoil. She had lasted this long, just taking the rebuttal with a blank slate for a face. She couldn’t do it anymore. She just couldn’t.

Everything has to go away.

Before she knows it, she’s prying her lips open with a determined gaze, shoving her finger down as far as she can, and leans over the porcelain bowl as an earthquake erupts deep inside her. Hot tears prick at the corner of her eyes and spill down at last with the force of her heaving sides as acid rising up in her throat. Bile coats her tongue, spewing forth and into the toilet bowl beneath her as pathetic gasps accompany the sounds of retching. There is nothing else in the world in those moments, save for the satisfaction of purging the worthless pieces straight from her body and into the outside world.

The bitter taste and burning pain just meant that it was working.

Finally she is finished, and she stares down at her handiwork before a shaking hand feebly fumbles along, slapping weakly on the handle and watching as her ugliness swirls in a whirlpool of water before finally disappearing into the pipes for good. Her cheeks are stained with water, eyesight slightly blurred, and mouth bursting with a rancid taste. Slowly, she forces herself on her feet, reaching for a toothbrush and going through the motions of ridding her tastebuds of the flavor of the monsters deep inside her.

She makes no other sounds, instead merely slumping back to the floor once finished and wrapping her arms around herself, body numb with the realization of what she has just done.

“(Name)! Hey, (name), you in here? You’re not answering my texts!”

Her eyes widen at the sound of the familiar voice, so cheerful and animated. Shame instantly spikes through her body, and all she wants to do is run away so no one can see what she’s done. Yet all she can do is remain on the linoleum floor, cheek pressed to the cold and unyielding tile as she listens to the door closing and footsteps coming closer and closer and closer.

“(N-Name)? (Name), are you all right? W-what’re you doing on the bathroom floor?”

The moment she has been dreading arrives.

When she makes no sound and just continues to lay there in silence, arms gently slide around her and heave her into a lap, fingers softly angling her face to stare upwards. Empty (e/c) eyes meet anxious baby blue ones framed by glasses. Those same (e/c) eyes scan the familiar face, over every handsome contour of his tanned skin and up to the sandy blonde hair with the little cowlick. His hand carefully brushes away a strand of (h/c) hair that is sticking to her forehead, and he stares down at her in absolute distress.


Finally, (name) finds her voice at last, and it’s a small and barely audible one. “Al...Alfred...” she whispers shakily, trying to swallow but finding she can’t. It’s too much of an effort. She wants to say more, but no more words come to mind.

No more except “I’m sorry,” which stays tucked away in the back of her head.

Alfred suddenly switches his gaze to the toilet, then to the sink, where the damp toothbrush lay on the side. His eyes widen, and with a lurch (name) follows his gaze. Her stomach threatens to repeat the act of defiance she had forced it to do earlier when she realizes she hadn’t yet had time to clean the rim of the porcelain bowl, ridding it of all evidence of what had just occurred.

All (name) can do is tremble in her best friend’s arms, too ashamed and too frightened to say anything.

Finally, Alfred is the one to break the silence. In a voice thick with unidentifiable emotions, he whispers, “(Name)...why didn’t you just come to me? Instead of...” He trails off, uncertain what to say, though (name) knows what the next words were going to be.

Instead of making yourself throw up.

“...b-because,” she whispers brokenly, limp in his arms as they tighten and bring her closer. “I...didn’t know what else to d-do, Alfred. I-I was sick of...s-seeing nothing but...f-fat in the mirror...and ugliness...a-and I felt s-so worthless that I...”

Her voice cracks, and the dams break behind her (e/c) eyes once more as yet another wave of tears cascade down her cheeks.

“I had to make it all go away...”

The next thing that happens is not what (name) expects. In fact, it’s the complete opposite.

Instead of the yelling that she had expected, the pushing away and being dumped from Alfred’s warm arms, what she gets is his face leaning down towards hers. There is nothing but the sound of their breaths exhaling from their noses, and then his mouth meets hers in a soft touch, just a brushing by of two pairs of lips. (Name)’s eyes widen as Alfred’s close, and the pressure becomes harder against her mouth, just gradually, until it is a true and meaningful kiss.

And just as soon as the kiss begins, it ends, and Alfred pulls away while simultaneously using a thumb to gently caress a tear from her cheek. There is nothing but remorse and sorrow in those beautiful pools of sky of his, not even a hint of anger or rage. (Name) just stares at him, dumbstruck, until she croaks out, “W-why did y-you...?”

“You are not fat, (name),” Alfred answers calmly, adjusting her still slightly limp body in his arms so her face is pressing close to his neck. She instantly hides it against his skin, too distraught to meet his gaze once more. “You are not fat. You are not useless or worthless. And most of all, (name), you are NOT ugly.” A hand slides under her chin, forcing her tear-stained face back into the world and to look at him. There is now simply kindness and truth in his bespectacled gaze as a small, somewhat guilty smile stretches across his perfect mouth.

“You’re beautiful to me, darling. In every single way. I don’t give a damn what anyone else says. You’re beautiful to me, and you always will be, (name). Never let anyone tell you otherwise. And if they do? You come talk to me, and I’ll tell you a hundred times that you’re fucking beautiful. Hurting yourself won’t do you any good. Because you’re beautiful, (name)...and I love you.”

She just gapes at him in disbelief, unable to speak out of sheer astonishment. But then his words sink into her mind, and she shakes almost violently, before her arms are throwing themselves around him and she’s burying her face against his firm chest, sobbing and crying out. “A-Alfred...! O-Oh, Alfred, I-I love you t-too...! I-I’m s-so sorry...! I-I didn’t w-want to t-tell you, I-I didn’t know HOW...I-I just th-thought this...w-would help...I-I...I-I...!”

Alfred merely rocks her in his arms, stroking her hair and whispering sweetly in her ear. (Name) continues to sob against him for what seems to be an eternity, until there is nothing left but a few sniffles and hiccups here and there. Alfred rests his forehead against hers, closing his eyes and embracing her as tightly and protectively as he can.

“Please, (name), always’re beautiful. Don’t believe the shit you hear others tell you. They don’t matter. Nothing matters but you. And you’re so goddamn beautiful it hurts when I look at you. So don’t hurt yourself anymore, because I do plenty of it. Please, (name). Please.”

She nods shakily, taking a deep breath and gripping a fistful of his shirt tightly. “I...I-I promise, Alfred...I promise...I promise...”

“Good.” There’s a smile in that simple, one-worded answer, and (name) can’t help but form a tiny smile of her own.

Alfred would always make her feel beautiful. No matter what.

It was why he was her reason to keep living.
This...I'm sorry I'm posting this. But you know what?

I've dealt with feeling fat, ugly, and worthless my whole life. I really have. I've made myself throw up a number of times. And I'm sure I'll do it again, no matter how much I know it doesn't help.

And it doesn't help. So please don't do it.

But I had a very hard day today. And then I went to therapy. And my therapist told me to write something about my self image issues, because it would make me feel better.

So I wrote this.

I'm actually crying as I upload this now.

Please, don't resort to this. It's not healthy. It's not going to help. I'm trying my damnedest to stop--and yes, I know it's hard. It's probably one of the most hardest fucking things I've ever had to do. Because it's so easy to just believe all the tauntings and comments and then hurt yourself because of them.

I'm putting this as a reader insert as an attempt to get to those like me out there. To maybe try and reach out. I'll be honest--after writing this, I really do feel a lot better. Because all of those emotions are my own. Minus America showing up and being my knight in shining armor. God knows I would fucking love one of those right now.

I'm sorry if this is offensive. I'm not condoning bulimia. Or anorexia. Or any eating disorder of any kind, or any sort of activity that involves causing yourself pain and injury. It isn't the right way to deal with these feelings. It may feel like the easiest, but in the long run it's worse.

Just remember. You're beautiful the way you are. Don't let anyone else tell you otherwise.
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Quathra Featured By Owner Apr 13, 2014
I've never been there, ask I cannot even try to under stand how you felt. But goshdangit, thank you for putting this beautiful, loving, truthful story on this website. I have never felt more loved about my weight. You are an amazing person who is so brave to face the world and its stupid beliefs. Thank you. And to quote an awesome Prussian, "Keep being AWESOME! For the world benefits from YOUR awesomeness!" :)
AmericanDreamgirl98 Featured By Owner Apr 1, 2014
I was bulimic for ten years. At the end of this month I will be purge-free for two years. I will tell you from experience, it does get better.

Oddly enough I have a very close guy friend that I have fallen in love with and he looks and behaves exactly like America. He knows a little bit about my struggles, but I've always been a little scared to get close to him and let him help me when he says he wants to help me. Your story inspired me to let someone help me the way America helps the reader. 

I hope writing this gave you the peace you felt you needed. 
RandomPerson1011 Featured By Owner Sep 25, 2013  Student Writer
I never really considered myself beautiful or pretty since I was always on the tomboy side. I'm not exactly the popular type too I mean, yeah I have many guy friends and a handful of friends that are girls but I never really can make friends easily. Maybe it's because I tell really lame, stupid jokes that doesn't make sense... But that's just me I guess.
animeloverme Featured By Owner Aug 23, 2013  Student General Artist
Oh my gosh.....
Your story..... 
The only story that made me cry even a little...
And so descriptive.
I hope you stopped making yourself vomit.
And I like it

LupiniunStar Featured By Owner Jul 19, 2013

Now I cried. 

This really is amazing. You write so well, capture feelings so well, and write characters well, too. 

This is really good. It's terrible for anyone to feel that way. And I in no way want you to feel that way.

This was very striking, and it gets to the heart of the matter. And America's a sweetheart as always.

Thank you for writing this. I'm not sure what else to say, but thank you.
DubstepCat Featured By Owner Apr 23, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
Y'know, I've never cared about my/other's looks. I don't see why people are so obsessed with being "pretty" ;n;
DubstepCat Featured By Owner Apr 23, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
I like my little "muffin top," as my mom calls it <3
NettiBear Featured By Owner Feb 2, 2013
I understand. If anything, I understand. It's hard to go through the day and hear "fat," "useless," "whore," "ugly," whatever it is. It's something that no one can get used to; it hurts every time. And I'm sorry that it does.
About the bulemia, it's there, and it's real. Honestly, It's not until someone knows that you can stop. It will seem like the only thing to resort to, but you are loved, beautiful, intelligent, capable, and talented.
That pain you feel isn't worth your heart, and neither are the people who make themselves feel superior by making your life hard.
Love, hugs, and America, sweetheart.
sarpndo Featured By Owner Jan 13, 2013
*hugs* I just want you to know that you are not alone, that there are people who care about you. And we all dream of that knight in shining armor, and one day, one beautiful day he really will come. So don't give up. Thank you for this beautiful, heart-felt, sincere story, and Keep Going. You are Amazing. :)
shizziroui830m Featured By Owner Dec 28, 2012
Your story and the idea behind it brought tears to my eyes...
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