Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Emaciated ❯ Chapter 1 ( Chapter 1 )

He never knew why he was always the one to fix things. Whenever the Caretaker was mad, he would be the one to clean up. Whenever his roommates couldn't complete their homework, he did it for them.

 

So why was he getting into trouble?

 

Maybe he scrubbed the floors wrong…But no, the Caretaker had said he'd done a good job, hadn't she? What about the dishes then, did he forget to pick up a shard from the one Caretaker threw at him last night? Oh, wait, that was a frypan. So nothing to pick up then.

 

Maybe if he re-cleaned the apartment complex he wouldn't be in trouble anymore. Maybe if he was a good boy, they wouldn't be mad.

 

But…what if he did something wrong again, without meaning to? Then surely they'd call his father and he wouldn't get to see him for Christmas in less than three weeks, not to mention the disappointment his father would feel towards his last surviving child.

 

The puppies at his feet whimpered as another object flew at the thin kitchen wall. Taking a breath and reminding himself that the doggies and puppies he was taking care of needed his help, he began to sort them out. First he would take the two doggies into his room and shut the sliding door so that they couldn't get hit by any glass.

 

Barely managing to dodge a glass and a pot of still-hot oil, he safely got the two doggies to his room where he shakily smiled at them. Instructing them to `Stay', he ran back to the study and quickly picked up two of the four puppies before once again barely escaping a flying ceramic plate (square, just as the Caretaker liked them) and safely got the two white boy pups to his room, where he sat them down next to their mummy doggie. He felt bad when they began to whimper, obviously scared of the growing noises. A soft yelp from the Study reminded him of the remaining black and white boy pup, and their sister, the tan one. Repeating the process of getting them all into his room, he cuddled up with them all (after locking his door) and waited until they fell asleep and the noises stopped before he went out.

 

Carrying a heavy bucket and wearing nothing but a pair of black pants that were three sizes too big for him and a blue and white shirt that was too small, he set about picking up the pieces of shattered glass, broken ceramics and dented cooking utensils.

 

It was always his fault, he knew. If he hadn't eaten that night, Brother wouldn't have been hungry. If Brother hadn't have been hungry, Caretaker wouldn't have yelled at him for wrecking her kitchen.

 

Of course, his eating had been the problem! If he didn't eat any more, the fighting would stop and everyone would be happy. Smiling to himself, he finished cleaning and placed the supplies away, going back to his room and once again cuddling with the doggies and puppies, a childish grin on his thirteen-year-old face.

 

--

One week later and things couldn't have been going any better. He had stopped eating, and there had been no more fights. The Voice was assuring him, telling him that he was doing the right thing, and that if he wanted everyone to be happy, he would have to deal with the headaches and sleepiness.

 

He would join them all at the table and nibble on his food slightly, before excusing himself, saying that he had already eaten that day. Caretaker didn't mind; it was one less place to set, after all. And so it went, they stopped setting his place, and the Voice was happy with him.

 

It was when he fainted getting up from his study chair that everything started going downhill. Everyone was telling him that he was sick, and that he had to eat. The Voice stuck by him; told him that they weren't happy when he was eating, but they were happy now. They told him that they would force-feed him if he wouldn't eat; the Voice countered that he had enough fat on him to last him a lifetime.

 

They told him that he was anorexic; the Voice assured him that they just wanted him to get fat and ugly so that everyone would hate him again.

 

They tied him up and fed him though a tube; the Voice reinforced that they wanted him to get fat and ugly.

 

They made him go to a doctor; the Voice told him that the doctor hated him, and that everyone though that he was the weakest, ugliest, fattest, most despicable thing they had ever seen.

 

The Voice was like a parent; looking out for him. As time grew on and the torture continued, the Voice grew stronger while he grew weaker. It was only when he was in a hospital in London and he received a gift from his father. The Voice told him that the gift was because his father was proud; so he ripped open the packaging and gleefully placed the large ring with points, a triangle and an eye around his bony neck with his skeleton-like arms.

 

Suddenly, the Voice changed. It changed from that of his caring, kind, parental Voice to a strong, brash one. His new Voice demanded to know where he was, with which he replied that they were in the hospital; they same place they had been for the past three years.

 

He didn't like his new Voice. His new Voice told him that he had to eat, otherwise everyone would hate him. He argued against the new Voice, the old one's teachings still fresh in his sixteen-year-old mind. Suddenly he was blacking out sporadically, but the doctors and nurses were overjoyed. Not understanding, he asked them why.

 

His new Voice told him that it was because he had been eating.

 

The doctors and nurses told him that it was because he was eating.

 

His old Voice came back; it told him that it was because he was getting fat and ugly again.

 

-----

 

Written at- 11:35pm

Dedicated to- Suffers of Anorexia Nervosa and Bulimia Nervosa

Written by- Elle

Note- I'm getting sick of people using eating disorders as an excuse for a plot. I am sick of seeing people who think that those with eating disorders are merely seeking attention. They are not.

If you want to be a fool and imagine that suffers of eating disorders don't put up with Hell every day of their lives, go ahead. It's people like you who I hate.

 

Eating Disorders are so serious and so life-threatening that I cry every time I visit my cousin. If you've ever been verbally bullied, then imagine living with that inside your mind twenty-four seven and you have the cause of eating disorders.

 

This fic was written with Ryou and my dearest Cousin in mind. Not all sufferers of eating disorders only have one Voice, as shown with Ryou. He has the Voice of the Eating Disorder, and the Voice of Bakura.

One is pulling him one way; the other is pulling him in the opposite direction.

 

Using brute force to get someone with an eating disorder like Anorexia or Bulimia will only encourage them to listen to their Negative Voice, or Voices. In every single case of Anorexia and Bulimia ever reported, the sufferer has always put others before them. With these two eating disorders, the sufferer may pretend to eat (as Ryou did) so as not to make anyone worry or mad.

 

The Negative Voice works in different ways in different people. Sometimes it will repeatedly tell you that if you eat something, all your family will catch a deadly illness and die. All because of you.

 

Sometimes it acts in the way of an overprotective parent. Have you ever wanted to go to a big party with no adult supervision and your parent/guardian said no, because it's not safe? Well, imagine them going about it this way:

Adult- But, dear, what will you wear?

You- What do you mean?

Adult- Well, your old clothes don't fit you anymore, you've broken the seams in all of your pants and tops because you're just getting too big

You- No I'm not!

Adult- Sweetie, look at yourself. If you go in these huge clothes looking like an elephant, no-one will want to talk to you…

 

So next time you decide that you want to write a story with someone who has an eating disorder but is seeking only attention; remember that they have a constant bully living with them; and once something is repeated enough, you begin to believe it.

 

-Elle