Member-only story
Mind Games
Eat Yourself Alive (Or Die Trying)
All she wanted was to be pretty. Her body had other plans.
You haven’t had hives in a decade. Barely even remember what it was like to live with a body fighting against you, every inch raised in rebellion.
One night you go to sleep smooth, exfoliated and more exhausted than you realized was possible, and the next morning wake with your face tight and eyes swollen shut. Everything protests as you wrestle yourself free of the covers, alarm blaring, bones weighing you down.
Deep in your gut you know something is wrong. Your first instinct is to run to the mirror to assess the damage. Face, neck, shoulders. Even the palms of your hands. When you lift your hoodie they are there too, and pulling down your pajama pants reveals more of them slowly marching toward your feet. You run your fingers over the bumps, feel the valleys between them, their raised surfaces red and stark against paper-white skin. Disgusting.
You are nothing other than disgusting.
“Steroids,” the first doctor says.
“Look, they aren’t good for you, but your hives are likely caused by stress. These will help them go down.”
