FADE IN:

JOSH (VOICEOVER)
It’s weird, looking at yourself and not
recognising what you see. I’m not used to
this new shape, new size, new model. All
this extra fat around my thighs, my
wrists, my fingers, toes, arms, neck,
face…
It’s unfamiliar.
I know this is for the better, that this
is better, that it’s good to get better, I
should know better than to tell myself
this is bad.
But you still do.
You’re telling me that I’ve ruined all our
hard work, our efforts.
All you seem to be screaming about is this
extra flesh on my body. The extra flesh
that is keeping me alive. The extra flesh
allowing me to function like an actual
human being!
But you’re still trying to tell me that
I’d rather be wandering around, as this…
lifeless vessel than looking like this!
“This” is healthy! ”This” is keeping me,
us alive!
But you really don’t care about that, do
you? You’re always somehow still here.
Tap, tap, tapping against my skull like a
persistent salesman at my front door, like
my dog at the back gate, like a prisoner
trying to escape, like my legs during meal
time.
Like the beeps on the scales, like the
cracks of my knuckles, like the words you
etch on my skin, like the fingers you put
down my throat!
I’m fed up.
It just all comes back to you. Everything
I do, everything I have ever done and
everything I will ever do. You’re still
here. It doesn’t matter is the screams are
faint or deafening. You’re always still
here.
You miss it; the weekly numbers, the daily
numbers, the hourly numbers. You miss the
control, the power, the life!
311, 67, 214. I still know what’s in every
piece of food I touch, you still make me
want to peel back the paper and let the
guilt sink in -
You push my face in harder, you’ll hold me
when I’m weak.
You just want anything purged from my body
that isn’t you.
You tell me you still have power over me,
that at a click of your fingers I’ll come
running back into your comforting arms of
warm, loving control.
You never felt guilt, you never felt
remorse and you never felt sorrow – but
that is not me. You are not me! You don’t
care about me, how I feel – you just want
me back and will do anything to get me
back.
You still expect me to feed off of
numbers. You still expect me to throw up
everything I eat. You still expect me to
lie about everything to everyone. You
still expect me to lose the love of my
life!
You know I’ve already done those things,
all of those things and more… you know
that. But you don’t give a shit! You want
me to do all of those things over and over
and over again.
No one can get in the way of our
relationship, apparently.

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For years you told me it was just you and
me and no one else. So, I’m sat here with
you, whilst you’re sat with someone else.
So many other people. You’re a liar and a
cheat but you twist it, I’m the liar. I’m
the one disobeying.
Slowly, I am detangling myself from you.
Slowly, I am undoing the thousands of
knots and kinks between us.
Slowly, I am crawling out of your web of
lies.
Slowly, I am creeping away.
It’s hard, this is worse than any break
up. Any death. Any loss that I’ve ever
experienced. I’m losing my best friend, my
confidante. You’ve stuck with me through
everything, you’re the only one who
stayed. You told me what was right and
wrong. You’ve been here for me… so why do
I desperately want you gone?
Sometimes I wish I could just rip you off
quickly and not feel the pain. But my skin
is sticking and the peel is slow;
painfully slow.
I’m so tired.
Tired of you.
Tired of me.
Tired of us.
But “us” is not “us”. It was never “us”.
We will never, ever be an “us”. “You” are
not a “you”. “You” do not deserve a “You”.
“You” are not my friend. “You” are a
disease rotting away in my head, slowly
eating me alive.
Like any disease, there isn’t a complete
cure. Your face will sometimes show and I
will say hello, you will always remind me
of your presence. But this time it’s going
to be different because along with my

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 thighs being thicker, so is my skin and I
know how to control you without you
controlling me.
Truly, recovery isn’t the absence of
illness, it’s just the ability to live
with it.
To live with you.
FADE OUT:

THE END