There are no good days and bad days. There are only the bad ones or the ones, that are even worse. Today is one of the worse ones. I am locked in the bathroom, starring at myself in the mirror. The members use to tease me about how much I like to look at my own reflection, but they don't realize why I am doing so. You see, there are no shadows in the mirror and it always shows you your flaws so you can fix your image and appear perfect. However, sometimes it's hard to get rid of those imperfections. Like right now. My eyes are bloodshot and there are dark circles under them. I guess, a few eye drops and a ton of make-up will help a little but what scares me more, it's how thin I am. My cheeks are hollow, my complexion is too pale and you can clearly see my bones. I tremble a little. This is how an anorexic would look like and I don't understand how can someone choose this. Why would people try to look like this? It's horrible and disgusting but I am not being fair. I shouldn't blame them. They are also sick. We are different, and yet so similar. I stare at myself and feel helpless. I don't know what to do, how to make this better. I think about food and the mere thought makes me feel sick. I sigh. I feel light-headed and have to grab the sink for support. My breathing becomes shallower and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to compose myself. After a few deep breaths, I open them again and stare back at the mirror. My reflection is blurry and I can see myself slowly disappearing, like I was melting into nothing. I even feel a little hot and a few drops of sweat appear on my forehead.  I close my eyes again. I don't know why I am being like this. It's not a typical attact or a flashback, I just feel weak and weary. My stomach is churning and my head hurts. I sit down on the cold floor and think about the past, about the day when it all began. My recollection is still fuzzy, I can't remember everything, but certain things came back to me.... I sincerely wish, they didn't.

***

I remember the darkness. I think, they blindfolded me. I could feel the hands on me. They were pushing me, carrying me, beating me... I'm not sure... all that remains is the feel of touch. The cold hands all over my body. No faces, no voices. Only the deadly silence and those hands. I didn't understand what was happening. I didn't know where I was, how long was I gone or who took me. I was hungy and thirsty and the chilly air made me shiver. I think, I drifted in and out of consciousness. The time started to blur, the monsters from fairy tales turned into the shapeless phantoms, circling around me and I was still blind, still chained, still just a kid lost in the darkness. I started to wonder. Was it my fault? Have I been bad and this was my punishment? Did I get what I deserve? My dad used to tell me, that if I don't behave, the bad people would come and take me. Was this it? I kept apologizing. If I said I was sorry, maybe they would let me be. They would know, I've realized my mistake and that I don't need to be punished more. But no matter how many times I've repeated the words, how many times I pleaded to just let me be, they never listened to me and nothing changed...

***

The memories keep torturing me but I am running out of time. Soon, the other members will wake up and I can't stay in the bathroom forever. It's funny how this small room is my only safe refuge. I splash water on my face and take out the bottle of pills, I always have it with me. It's the prescription from my psychologist. He says, I should take them daily, but I don't like to take them. They make me feel drowsy and I am inteligent enough to know, that every single drug is addictive, whether it's a medicine or not, doesn't matter. I don't want to be dependant on something superficial. But sometimes, I can't help it. Sometimes, I really need that additional support, because my will is not strong enough and my facade is falling apart. I swallow the white pills and finish my make-up. Once I'm done, I look at myself in the mirror and smile. I still look like a skeleton, but it's not as noticeable. I'm no longer the walking zombie, just an idol who is tired due to the busy schedules. Mission accomplished. 

to be continued