14.0 walking the tightrope of being perfect

(◞‸◟)

something was off. for sure.

minhos mind, which was usually clogged with comebacks, music and dancing, was starting to think about only one single thing;

food.

well, also working out and numbers, especially weight. he started thinking about food so much, it started to become ridiculous. while he was eating his first meal, minho already thought about what his next one could possibly be. or not. while eating an apple, he thought about how nice it would be to eat his favourite chocolate smartie bar again. but he didn't, of course.

his mind was constantly clouded by either hunger, food or guilt. there was no space to think about anything else.

but the thought of wanting to lose weight, which was basically in his head all day, made minho so hungry. he wanted to lose weight so badly, that it just made him want to eat.

and on nights like this, when minho found himself eating ramen package after package and chocolate bar after chocolate bar, the tiny voice in his head finally seemed to shut up.

just for a moment though, until the realisation of what happened finally hit and minho ended up tip toeing to the bathroom, locking the door and shoving his fingers so far up his throat that he almost choked himself.

the fact that nobody had noticed still baffled him. but it was good, that meant that he was safe - there was nobody to stop him.

minho wasn't someone that liked to talk about his feelings anyway. he was one of the oldest members of the group, he should be strong enough for his younger members, strong enough that he didn't need to talk about his feelings to anyone.

it was better if they didn't know.

—

with the majority of the comeback stages and shows being over now, the stress slowly but steadily began to calm down in the group.

they had shows every now and then or photoshoots once a week or so, but all in all, it was much quieter ever since their first comeback stage.

which gave minho loads of time to think about everything.

some days it felt better. some days, he could simply just eat breakfast with the other members and worry about nothing else but win the silly game jisung started to play with them. some days, he couldn't help but read every single comment on twitter about him, look at men he could only dream to look like and then get so frustrated that he ate everything in sight, just to barf it all up again.

It can take anywhere from 18 to 254 days for a person to form a new habit and an average of 66 days for a new behavior to become automatic.

for minho, it took exactly 27 days.

at some point, the over eating just happened, and throwing it up was, in his opinion, just an annoying aftermath of his failed attempt of self control - some kind of sick punishment he had decided for himself.

minho groaned and sank his head into the bathtub. his ears filled with water and a rush of bubbles flowed past him as he closed his eyes. it was quiet down there - the cold water made his mind clearer than ever and somehow the lack of oxygen seemed to make it easier to think.

his mind was, after throwing up, blissfully empty. no more anxiety, no more reminders of how he looked in the mirror, no more concept photos with chubby cheeks and no more thoughts about how he looked like on stage. while throwing up, his mind went haywire and everything was loud, but when he was done, all he felt was nothingness.

it was easy to ignore the puke in his mouth and nose - all he did was breathe and clean himself up; his mind is simply empty, numb, and it's the most intoxicating feeling ever. it only held on for a while until that rush finally gave up and his mind gave in to all those crushing feelings again. if minho could create a drug with that feeling and fill his veins with it, he would.

when his lungs finally started to burn in protest, he slowly lifted up his head, just enough so his lips were above the water. he breathed in and then sunk to the ground again, just to think about the same meaningless stuff. not being able to breathe underwater almost felt like the same dizzying rush he got after throwing up, just that it went away whenever he filled his lungs with air again.

minho opened his eyes - they burned a little under the surface.

whatever. he would deal with this some other time.

~

"what?", minho quickly blurted out and tried to hide his own surprise after he noticed how baffled his voice sounded.

"because you guys did so well", chan answered with a big smile on his face. "they will pay for everything".

the staff took the boys to a restaurant just down the road - some cheap restaurant so they could buy double the food for half of the prize for boys with devilish metabolisms.

the kids quickly piled into the restaurant and sat down, already chattering loudly. minho ended up sitting next to chan and jeongin, felix and jisung sat pretty much exactly in front of him.

they ordered almost everything on the menu and minho couldn't help but feel the wave of sickness overcome him as he stared at the food on his plate, which changbin had put on it as soon as the food came. the other boys were already deep into a conversation, but minho couldn't concentrate on what they were saying. he bit his lip and looked at jisung, who was smiling and eating his food just like everyone else.

that was also a stupid habit he had picked up; watching and analysing how other people ate their food. by now he had memorised who ate the fastest or slowest, who got seconds and who never even finished their plate. and sometimes minho would find himself judging the other person for how much they ate - he felt awful about it and quickly held himself accountable, not that he was in any position to judge anyway, but he just couldn't help but notice it.

losing control over yourself in private is different than in public, that's what minho understood rather quickly. usually, he was able to restrict fairly well when he was with others, but as soon as he was alone in the kitchen, all that self control went down the drain.

usually.

this time he just wanted to be present. he wanted to be part of the group, or at least feel like he was, without having to worry about every single bite and before he knew, minho ate everything changbin put on his plate and then felix reached forward and put a few dumplings on his plate, then some more and then again, more - he didn't even notice until chan softly elbowed him with a big grin and pointed at his plate. "lino! I haven't seen you eat this much in a while, I'm glad!".

minho blinked and suddenly stopped in his tracks. his eyes wandered to jisung, who wasn't even looking at minho, then went down to jisungs plate, which was definitely still his first one and wasn't even half empty.

and all at once, everything crushed down on him. as if someone had pushed a button, minho started to feel how tight his pants had become, how bloated his stomach was and how all the food was still stuck between his teeth. all the satisfaction the food gave him just a few seconds ago was washed away and all that was left was minho feeling like a disgusting, fat pile of shit.

"I mean, of course", minho answered while he physically felt his throat tighten, "the food is very good".

"we're all eating like pigs today", hyunjin laughed from the other side of the table and earned a few cheers from the group. minho only shot a quick smile before he lowered his head, the guilt already rising in his chest.

he didn't want to eat like them. even if everyone ate like a pig today - minho didn't want to be like them. he wanted to be better, he wanted to eat less, he wanted to be skinnier, prettier, smaller...

he wanted to cry.

after five minutes, which felt like eternity, minho started to feel how his mouth got greasy and as he swallowed down the first chunks of vomit, that already threatened to come out, just because he leaned over the table to get a glass of water, minho knew what he needed to do.

he would just get rid of the damage quickly and then go back to the table, no big deal.

that's what he deserved for eating so much.

minho tamped down the nausea and slowly got up, excusing himself with a quiet "I'll be right back" and swiftly walked, no waddled, to the toilets.

he didn't even notice a pair of eyes watching him carefully as he closed the door behind him.

minho hadn't drank enough water between each bite - after all, he didn't plan to throw up in a restaurant today.

the toilet was rather smelly, the floor wasn't wiped clean and minho felt disgusting as he hovered over the toilet and choked on each and every bite of food that left his stomach.

minho didn't actually feel like throwing up. he never did. purging was so very exhausting, but there was also so much guilt. as if programmed, minho lifted his right hand and wrapped it around his left wrist, to check if it still felt like it always did.

no, no, no it didn't. it was fatter. he was ugly, ugly, ugly, he had to get it all out.

it didn't go as smoothly as it usually did - there were foods that were easy to purge and foods he needed to avoid because they just wouldn't go up. this time, it was something in between.

the food went up his throat, got stuck right before his moth and only got out by coughing violently and shoving his fingers even deeper inside his mouth until-

"ouch!", minho quickly took his fingers out of his mouth and looked at his knuckles with wide eyes. despite them being covered in puke, minho was still able to see how his teeth had scrubbed open his knuckles. they burned a little, but it was still endurable.

"stop whining", he quietly whispered to himself and lifted his hand again, ready to get rid of the last few dumplings and noodles. "this is all your fault".

a few miserable minutes later, minho finally got up, flushed the toilet and went back to the others without saying another word.

~

later that night, minho sat at the table and stared at the blank pages of a notebook he had gotten a few months ago - a present from his mother. she told him to write her letters with it, but he never ended up using it for that. it was much easier to just write a message.

he skipped a few pages and picked up a pen, opening it up and placing it on the left upper corner of one of the pages. the paper was soft, untouched, and minho almost felt bad for destroying them with what he was about to do.

his mother told him, a long time ago, that talking to yourself made you more aware of what's missing, or how you're doing, or what you want.

but talking to yourself in a dorm full of people that could listen was too risky, not to mention that it felt kind of weird to him.

writing it down felt like a better idea.

minho sighed and finally started to move the pen.

I used to do well.

no, that's wrong. minho quickly crossed the five words out and tried again.

being me is like walking a tightrope of being perfect.

I used to be able to lose weight whenever I wanted to, as much as I wanted to and as quickly as I wanted to.

I used to be able to learn all the dances the quickest, I used to be able to dance on stage and I used to be able to feel okay.

I don't know what changed. I don't understand why it's all suddenly too hard for me. it feels like I fell down this stupid tightrope and got pushed into the life of a failure altogether.

minho tried not to cringe as he continued to write. he was never the best at expressing feelings - this was no different. seeing his own feelings written down in his handwriting felt surreal, but he still continued to do so.

I like being an idol. I like getting so much love and appreciation, I like that my fans send me presents and try to make me feel loved. the name really fits. it's like being an idol for people that simply idolise you.

and that's why we, I, have to be perfect. when people idolise you, they see this perfect version of you, wether it be your personality, looks or traits, in their eyes you're simply perfect. so, it's not wrong to want to be perfect, is it? I used to be able to be all this.

sometimes I feel like I fucking lost it. because how can eating become a mental illness? I've read about it - there are many types of eating disorders but I still just don't understand it. how can food control your life? how can a mental illness be a reason to starve yourself or make yourself throw up? I don't understand. it's necessary if you want to live, but people still do it, they die from it, even if all they need to do is eat. it feels like such a stupid modern problem to me.

what I'm craving, now that I'm not walking the tightrope of being perfect anymore, is the feeling of control. I want success, but beneath it all, it's the self-loathing that's starting to overwhelm me.

I've never hated myself before.

which makes it so easy to refuse to eat sometimes, because it's so confusingly frustrating. then I can see my cheeks carve in, my legs getting smaller, but when I check the scale and beg for it to change, it still barely does. and then it hits me; I'm starving. and suddenly all I can think about is food, food, food and I can taste the temporary happiness until the realisation finally hits.

it's not when the spoon hits the bottom of the container - it's when my body yells at me to stop because it's about to burst. that's when I feel like I snap out of it. and suddenly my body feels different, I can feel the fat on my sides and my chubby face looks rounder than before. and I keep telling myself, next time this won't happen, but I'll tell myself this next time too and I wonder how many times I have to tell myself this until I can finally stick to my words or actually go crazy.

throwing up is messy, it hurts and it's exhausting, but as long as I can't control myself, it's necessary.

but I know there's no first place medal for waisting away. I feel like sometimes I lose sight of what's worth destroying myself for.

layer over layer of self hatred glides over my skin and changes me, and all that's left is an empty me, a shell that doesn't feel or look like myself anymore.

minho cringed as he noticed how poetic his diary entry had gotten and made a mental note to cross that part out later, too.

I can feel it myself and I know it's true, when I don't think about weight and food, I can just go on with my day and everything is okay. but when it starts to consume my life? I don't get it out of my head. my animal hindbrain doesn't seem to agree that what I'm doing is fucking stupid and I have no actual reason to be sad.

no, actually I'm not sad. most of the time, it's just nothing. numbness, which is even worse than being sad. it's different from what kind of numbness I feel after I throw up. the not-sad-not-happy-just-nothing numbness is not comforting like the post-purge numbness is.

I don't even know how to explain it.

and every day when I look in the mirror I feel like I hit a new low.

and it hurts a little.

minho looked at his hands, which were clenching the pen so hard that his knuckles turned white.

okay, maybe it hurts a lot.

theres something inside of me that wants to stop now, that's wants to hear some nice words of confirmation and hear words like "whoa, did you lose weight?" and maybe I want them to worry about me too because SHIT I feel fucking awful and I wish someone could finally notice and help me.

and yet there's something that keeps pushing, that urges me to keep feeling that sickening, twisting pain in my gut.

why does it hurt so much?

a single tear dripped down minhos chin and landed on the last sentence. looking at it now was like minho starred in a movie and had his first break-through scene. it was kind of overdramatic.

why does it hurt so much, actually?

minho wasn't even sure why he was crying now, he just suddenly felt so upset. it was like he finally admit that something was indeed wrong. and it wasn't as comforting as he had made it out to be.

his face didn't scrunch up or anything - only a few tears blurred his vision, but the fact that he was crying and that he heard his own sniffles echoing in his ears - the thought of it was overwhelming.

with slightly shaking hands, minho picked up the pen one last time.

I won't write it down, or even say it out loud, because my idiotic self thinks that if I do that, my fear will come true.

I feel like if I tell anybody, everyone will just see me as the guy with an eating disorder, who doesn't even look like he has one.

or maybe they won't even believe me. god, in this industry all of this is normal, isn't it? and then I'll end up being the cry baby and the attention seeker and boom everything is destroyed.

I wonder if they would believe me.

nope, it shouldn't matter. Im supposed to be perfect, it shouldn't matter what's happening on the inside.

I guess I am different from the other people with eating disorders. all I want is to look good on photos and stages, is that so wrong? fine, I throw up every now and then, so what?

I've still got everything under control.

because I'm not sick, why should I be?

-

and there we are, about 3/4 done with this book, I'm probably gonna write 20 chapters but it depends on how the book continues lmao,

anyway, I want to say thank you to everyone who reads my story. It might seem small, but reading all the nice comments and hearing that this book is comforting and helps you through hard times or that you like my writing always manages to put a smile on my face. whenever I sink into my own pile of dirt, even if it sounds silly right now, stuff like this always manages to cheer me up.

hold onto the little things, right?

thank you a lot guys and I hope you liked this chapter!! <3