I woke up to the sound of the heart monitor that was beeping away at my ear. Everything was just so blurry and white; it doesn’t look like the dance studio to me, it was too quiet to be a dance studio. 

“Hey there,” a warm gentle smile shone as the familiar voice was heard, “do you feel uncomfortable?”

“Can’t be any better.” I said with a monotonously voice as I looked at the foreign tubes that were stuck onto my hands.

I turned towards him again and asked, “What am I doing in the hospital?”

“You fainted in the dance studio,” he caressed my head as he spoke, “and your heart stopped beating.”

Stopped beating? How is that possible? I’ve been doing fine all these while.

“Where’s Yongguk and the rest?” asking, looking at my surrounding.

“They went back to the dorm to get some rest. You were out cold for almost a day”

“And why are you still here?”

“Well, um, I just thought maybe you would feel safer when you see someone familiar in this foreign surrounding and I was too worried to leave my best friend here.”

Just then, the doctor in charge of my case, Doctor Yang, came in.

“How are you doing? I’m sure you’re tired and weak due to your health issues.”

“Nah, I think I’m doing just fine.” I said.

“Well, let’s check on you. You know that you almost died from a heart failure don’t you? I suppose your friend here told you about it. As you can see, you’re literally skin and bones, so, to tell you in medical terms, you are suffering from osteoporosis and a disorder called Anorexia nervosa. It is an eating disorder and I will have to transfer you to another hospital which specialises in it.” Doctor Yang explained.

“Eating disorder? Osteoporosis? Are you kidding me? I’m perfectly fine, gosh, Doctor Yang, you’re such a joke.”

He looked at me with a serious face, “It’s not a joke, if you continue this unhealthy diet of yours, and you’ll die. Your bones are already in serious condition this is one of the many effects that has taken place due to your disorder.”

Daehyun looked at me with those convincing look, “Youngjae-ah, I-I think you should go and cure it.”

“What do I have to cure? I don’t see myself having a problem at all, okay? I’m not going to eat all those sickening disgusting fatty food.”

“Anyhow, I will still transfer you over because you are in serious condition.” The doctor said, giving me no rooms to argue back with him.

When I was in the other hospital which I was rehabilitating, my condition gotten worse, I refused to eat the food that was given to me, I refused everything and I was ended up being force-fed through a tube.

The anorexia had ravaged my body and I was severely dehydrated and weak. My skin had this green yellow leathery tint to it and I was full of lanugo hairs. My eyes seemed gigantic because of my gaunt face. I had no feelings – just a constant numb, stale mood. I couldn’t walk and could barely talk. I felt like a little old man trapped in a young man’s body.

The doctors and nurses told me I could die if I didn’t start eating. You’d think that would have terrified me but, as bad as it sounds, the thought of eating scared me even more. I didn’t want to eat; I rather die than to eat those things that would make me fat.

During my stay in hospital, the plan was to have me make small, manageable changes in my behaviour. Sounds simple, right? Well, these changes were neither small nor manageable.

They asked me to do things that horrified me, like eating regularly whether I was hungry or not. They explained that because I’d been ignoring my body’s hunger signals for so long, the signals weren’t working properly anymore. To me, however, eating more often sounded like a quick recipe for weight gain.

I read the notes and discovered I was being fed more than 3,000 calories a day through the tube. I was so horrified and shock knowing that it was 10 times more than the amount I usually eat so that was when I pierced holes in it in a bid to stay emaciated.

I was so afraid of gaining weight that I would exercise by doing jumping jacks, jogging on the spot and sit-ups in my hospital bed.
 

No matter what the doctors and nurses said and how much sense it made, I told myself I could never do any of it. Being thin and perfect was more important. Asking me to just change my eating-disordered thinking would be about as successful as asking someone with a tumour to change their cancer cells back into healthy ones. Whenever I went to eat something, the eating disorder always had something to say, dictating what I was allowed to eat.

My dietician said that I was fainting because I was weak and needed to eat something. But my eating disorder said that I was just being lazy and that everyone was trying to make me fat.

The doctor told me that I was getting dizzy during exercise because I wasn’t eating enough to sustain physical activity. My eating disorder told me that I was just being a wimp and that my doctor didn’t know anything about fitness. I firmly convinced myself that if I listened to them, I’d lose all control, and become a lazy, pathetic, sloth.

This time the doctors gave me an ultimatum – live or die. There was no more pussyfooting around. They made it very clear that if I relapsed again I would die.
 

My body was rotting away; I can feel every cell withering away because there weren’t enough nutrients to circulate around my body. I always needed two to three blankets to keep me warm because I had hypothermia due to my excessive dieting for a long period of time.

Half of me wanted to get better but the other half didn’t; it was as if there was a devil on my shoulder.

The band members had started their concert without me and many of the concert items had to change due to my absence for the concert; my family had to go through heartbreaks because they didn’t know why I did that and the way I had become.

For a long period of time, I had a difficult time going through this rehab because I was struggling wanting to die because I did not want to be fat again, however, the moment I thought how much grief I would engrave on my family and friends’ heart, I wanted to get better.

I miss my band members, my family; I miss everyone. I went to the reception to ask the kind nurse if I could use their telephone to call my parents. As I dial the number, tears started to fall.

Ring… ring….

“Hello?” the heart-warming motherly voice was heard.

“Umma… I-It’s me, Youngjae.” I control my trembling voice.

“Yes, I know it’s you my dear son. How have you been? Things have been hard on you, wasn’t it?”

I could no longer control myself and I started crying through the phone, “Umma, I missed you so much.” Crying even louder after I said it.

“Umma knows and I miss you too. Umma loves you a lot okay? Take your time to recover. Umma will always be here for you no matter what.” She said calmly although I can tell she was also crying.

“Can you make me the spring rolls I used to love when I’m discharge? I want to eat Umma’s cooking.”

“Of course! I’ll make plenty for you and your band members to eat with you.”

“Thank you, Umma, thank you.” I cried and my tears wouldn’t stop; it kept flowing down my sunken cheeks.

“Get well soon, Youngjae-ah. Hwaiting! You can do it! I love you, sweetheart, go get some rest and we’ll talk again alright?”

“Yes, I can. Thank you,” I said while I was in a sobbing mess, “I love you too.”

Recovery is a painstakingly slow process that grapples at my core existence.  At first, recovery felt like making a path through untamed woods. I had to keep going over and over the same original path to forge a trail and shift my thinking. 

It is much easier to remain disconnected, in the throes of an eating disorder, than to face the pain of my past.  However, the joys and potentials of my future will forever be hidden unless those fears are faced.

I chose recovery because I was tired of merely “surviving” life and crushing the vessel that has carried me since the beginning. One thing I had to remember throughout this journey was that this eating disorder required so much of my will power and discipline to get into; I knew I had that same power and strength to get myself out.  

I owed it to myself to become nourished, to be healed from the inside out, to find ways to work through the tragedies of my past, and to stop the cycle of self-punishment.

I went on a healthy balanced eating plan, hoping I would

It wasn’t easy at all. I had relapses, mood swings, anxiety attacks, bloating and weight fluctuations. People said its okay to relapse, it doesn’t mean they lacked effort or motivation; in fact, it’s often an inevitable part of recovery. It’s what we learn from the relapse that matters. My support network put positive and high expectations on me. This challenged me beyond what I thought I could do.

My therapist recognized my strengths, mirrored them, and helped me to see where I was strong, which kept me in a hopeful frame of mind. New doors always open and it takes strength to walk through them, and awareness to even notice one has opened.

It took me six months to recover. I looked healthier; I was a much happier person. Everyone was happy for me. Daehyun was always there for me from the start. He always wrote letters to me when I was in rehab. He always listens to me when I was going through an emotional dark time. I was really happy that I have a best friend like him.

Changes starts here:

Although the relapses will always come back any time, I was sure that I can handle them because I had my friends and family to support me no matter what. Both Daehyun and I grew to learn that we liked each other for quite a long time now. We started out with many small dates in the middle of the night, going to those 24- hour convenience stores to eat.

Daehyun made me enjoy food and life again. H made me realise how wonderful food are and he also made me realise that when there’s someone there for you, you will have this ray of hope that you can get out of the darkness if you try.

Things all changed for the better, I’ve become a changed man. I see the world in a different perspective and I grew to learn to accept all my flaws.

Even though times like this were tough for me, I did not feel bad or anything. Instead, I felt really blissful that my family and friends supported me. Through this experience of life and death, I’ve learnt to treasure the ones I love because I may never know when my life would just end.

Words got out and soon, the entire music industry knew about my disorder; presses and interviews kept flooding in, our managers had so many calls because of me. I knew I could not hide this part of me and I decided to share with the entire people who I really am and how I find my way out from it.

Finally, it was the day of my first press conference for my health issue. I could see reporters and cameras everywhere. Lights kept of flashing and the shutter sound kept clicking away. I was scared to be honest, facing so many of them alone on stage. I kept wiping my sweaty palms on my pants and my forehead was dripping cold sweat.

Just then, a dry handkerchief touched my forehead, wiping away all the cold sweat.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m here for you. If you need me anytime, I will rush out of the door and save you.” Daehyun smiled as he continues wiping my forehead.

My band members were also here to support me, all smiling at me, telling me to give my very best. All of them gave me a sense of comfort and support, especially Daehyun.

“It’s time now,” the manager said, “You have to go now.”

I was on standby at the door, and the moment I was ready; I opened the door that will lead me to tell the world my story.

Okay, this is the alternate ending!! It's not really well done to be honest because it was just a short quick story change.

So there you go, the survived Youngjae. LOL

Hope you enjoyed!!