Like Swallowing Rocks

By James Brave

Eating Disorders, anorexia, bulimia, whatever name you call it, it is synonymous with suffering and heartache . . . but what happens when boys find themselves trapped within a disease that society identifies predominantly with girls? How do they find their identity? Who can they turn to?

Thomas Drake is one of those boys. In denial, he turns to the cyber world, and finds himself drawn into the morbid world of pro-anorexia websites. Thomas believes he has found the support he desperately craves, but instead of positive support he is catapulted into a negative downhill spiral.

James Brave, uses his personal experience of ED and Body Dysmorphic Disorder to create a character, Thomas Drake, who speaks to teenage boys about their eating disorders in a way they can relate to. Thomas deals with the everyday issues affecting teens — Social media, Internet deviants, Family violence and Identity issues. Thomas provides a positive role model, and proves that Eating Disorders are not only for girls, and whatever girls can overcome, boys can overcome to.

This book contains low level swearing and teenage language.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Brave
• Release date: Feb 7, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311563088

Book preview

Like Swallowing Rocks

Published by James Brave at Smashwords

Copyright © 2014 James Brave

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this eBook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favourite authorised retailer.

Thank you you for your support

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my mother who stuck by me through my darkest hours, when many others had drifted away. For loving and caring for me during my struggles with my demons, and my eating disorder, and for being my one true friend.

For my sister who also struggled with an eating disorder and won.

It is also dedicated to those who are struggling through an eating disorder, for their families that struggle along with them and those who have overcome their eating disorder.

Well done.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

The early morning bathroom

The comment

The hash-brown horror

The lecture

The role play

The macaroni and cheese dinner

The twenty questions

The drunks

The cinders

The challenger

The best birthday present

The grenade

The revelation

The snowy tree

The revolution

The next bus

The vodka and perfume experience

The rejection

The bedside manner

The handcuffs

The kiss

The age of truth

The Queen

The meal

The assessment

The plan

The nut-jobs

The break-in

The blue

The smiles

The painting

The shops

The snakes are coming

The moment

Epilogue

1

The Early Morning Bathroom

Thomas woke extra early so he could use the family bathroom without interruption. He was afraid to use it during the day because there was no lock. His father felt there was no need for one.

What have you got to hide? We don’t need a lock, he would say, when Thomas suggested a lock was needed.

The lock was a contentious issue in the Drake household. What often started as a discussion about a teenager’s right to privacy, was often blown out of proportion, ending in a full scale war where punches were thrown, instead of a reasonable debate. The punches were never meant to injure, but to imply that all possible words had been exhausted, and the only viable option left was violence; the typical male bravado on show for all to see.

Thomas hoped that this particular morning wouldn’t result in a tirade of screaming or a physical argument, but was instead, a peaceful morning where his presence and actions in the bathroom would go unnoticed.

Thomas pushed slowly on the crumbling bathroom door, ensuring he didn’t make a noise. He listened to the hinges squeak ever so slightly from the moisture and precipitation that had settled on the metal work overnight.

He opened the door just enough for his body to squeeze through. Once he thought he had ample room to enter safely and quietly, he did.

The bathroom lay silent in the darkness, with only a slight breeze perforating throughout the room from a small gap between the window and the sill. If it wasn’t for this soft sound swaying through the room it would have been as silent as outer space.

The bathroom was the perfect place for Thomas to marvel in his debilitating obsession. He pushed the door closed as surreptitiously as he opened it, ensuring once again no sound was made.

When it was evident to Thomas that no one had heard him, he carefully flicked the light switch on.

The room was left just the way he remembered it from last night. A sodden towel lay scrunched up on the floor after being used by his sister, Mia, to dry herself. The toothpaste lid sat on the edge of the vanity basin, straddling the sheer plummet of the drain. Thomas also noticed that the medicine cabinet was still slightly ajar, after he had forgotten to close it last night.

He could see through the opening, the range of feminine products that his sixteen year old sister, Mia, used daily, and peeping out from behind the feminine products was his father’s prescription medication for depression.

Lying next to the sink was what he wanted. The one item in the house that was both the bane of his life, and the remedy for his anxiety.

He disrobed down to his underwear, let out a deep sigh to expunge all the air from his lungs, closed his eyes and stepped on the scales.

Thomas stood still on the scales with his eyes closed. He was afraid to open them. He didn’t want to see the number displayed in front of him.

His right hand started to shake at the realisation that he would have to open his eyes eventually, and face his fear. The fear of the dreaded number.

With one hand still shaking violently, and the other wedged between his bare skin and his waistline, he held on for dear life, in anxious anticipation as if he was a mountaineer clinging to a crevice.

He opened his eyes. The red digit on the LCD display confirmed his worst fears . . . 41.3, he murmured to himself.

Thomas was not happy. The number wasn’t what he wanted. It wasn’t the daily goal he had set himself. He began to ponder such absurdities as, what if the machine was broken, to perhaps it showed that number because he still had air in his lungs.

He used the only ounce of logic left in his brain and stepped off the scales. He removed his underwear, prayed that no one would walk in, closed his eyes again and stepped back on the scales. This time he had nothing to clutch onto. He had no choice but to dangle his hands down the side of his body.

He knew he couldn’t keep his eyes closed for too long, as every minute that lingered, increased the prospect of someone waking up and walking in, and he knew that if this happened an argument would be forthcoming.

‘41.2’the scales now showed.

Fuckin’ hell, 41.2kg, Thomas angrily spat out with a cantankerous frown.

Thomas had set himself the goal of weighing below 41kg. He had expected to walk into

the bathroom, step on the scales, and have the figure gleaming back at him, to be anything

below 41, but it wasn’t to be, Thomas hadn’t lost enough weight.

He slipped his underwear back on and huffed.

There was little rational thought in Thomas’ mind. It was once again colluding against him in an attempt to give him mixed messages about his body. His irrational thought was successful in denting his logical thinking. It was good at its task. It knew when to strike and when to back down, but more often than not, his irrational mind knew when to strike.

Thomas had another fixation that needed to be fed — the mirror. He needed to know what the mirror thought of him.

He walked over, adjusted the medicine cabinet door to ascertain a better view of his entire body and took a few steps backwards. His almost full body from knees to forehead appeared in the mirror.

Any passer-by would see a gaunt body begging for weight — A body with tightly formed skin protruding over bone. Nowhere was it more apparent than his elbows. . . They jutted out like a promontory on a rugged coastline.

However, this wasn’t the image that Thomas saw, he looked down to his concave stomach and grabbed a small portion of fat. He pulled it forward and imagined he had a pair of scissors ready to lacerate it.

He snapped back the skin and lifted his left hand directly into the air as if he was trying to touch the ceiling. He looked down at his chest with such dislike that he accidentally expelled a few derogatory expletives about his chest before using his right hand to feel his ribs.

His hand undulated up and down as he slowly glided his hand over each individual rib. He started again, this time counting each rib as he went.

1, 2, 3, 4 . . . he counted until he got to his underarm, and pinched the sag of skin that dangled between his chest and upper arm.

After several rounds of counting, Thomas lowered his arm and slouched. He picked up his clothes and put them back on.

He looked back in the mirror to find that his size 14 T-shirt, that once was a perfect fit, now looked like a loose nightie on him. He spun around on the spot, marvelling at how good he looked in the shirt.

For Thomas, it was the fix he needed after the scales didn’t deliver on what he wanted . . . weight loss, but it was the oversized shirt that gave him the motivation to push ahead, to be happy for the day. His shirt was a reminder of just how much weight he had lost, and how he had almost succeeded in his goal. Achieving his goal of maximum weight loss, and not to have others consider him fat was all he wanted, and he was clearly on the right path.

Thomas took one last glimpse in the mirror, picked up his pants and pulled them on. He made sure to fold the waistline several times so they were snug around his waist and they wouldn’t fall down, then he took one final look in the mirror. The shorts that only a year ago sat at his knees, now lay uncomfortably high on his thigh.

He flicked the switch to turn off the light, closed the bathroom door, and tip-toed back to his bedroom.

He pushed open his bedroom door, made his way through the mess of dirty laundry spread over the floor, and hurled himself back into his bed.

He pushed his legs under the sheets to find the cool temperate spots before he searched through his blankets to find his mobile phone.

Upon contact, the mobile display flicked on to show 5.42am.

Thomas swiped his hand across the phone, unlocking it in the process. He scrolled until he reached the app named ‘Skinny Me.’

The mobile quickly opened the forward facing camera. He placed the mobile down momentarily whilst he removed his oversized shirt. He threw the shirt to the side and picked

the phone back up.

He held the camera out with one hand, ensuring his emaciated chest was in the shot, then posed and clicked. He had taken a ‘selfie’ of his hungry body.

He lowered the phone to his eye level, and used various slides and taps to upload the ‘selfie’ to his ‘Skinny Me’ account. He scrolled down the user names and selected the name Urmyfetish, then sent him a photo with the message, ‘41.2 ENJOY!’ before pressing send.

Thomas listened on as the phone indicated the photo had been uploaded, before he set his phone aside and laid back down.

He folded his hands under his head and looked at the ceiling. Amongst the absolute nothingness waffling through his mind, the thought arrived that maybe 41.2 kg might not be enough to appease Urmyfetish. Thomas had promised him that he would get below 41kg overnight. Thomas was worried about what Urmyfetish would think of him — he worried that he would be angry, so instead of stewing in a litany of anxiety and doubt, he picked up his phone to make contact with him.

2

The Comment

Thomas held the phone tightly in his hand as he navigated his way through the ‘apps’ to the chat room section. He entered the chat room and looked through the list of people online. His name sat at the top, as the most recent to log in.

Thomas had chosen the alias LittleTom out of the idea, that he wanted to be depicted by the internet community as little.

He scrolled down the list, past such user names as GauntLover, Lovetheribs and Teenageskin until he reached the bottom. Urmyfetish wasn’t on.

Thomas put down the phone, and collapsed against the pillow in despair. He twisted his thumbs as he began to panic.

‘Why isn’t he on, where is he?’ he thought to himself, ‘he’s always on.’

Thomas was worried that he had annoyed Urmyfetish or that Urmyfetish was deliberately ignoring him because he wasn’t happy with Thomas’ last photo post.

All of a sudden the phone chimed to indicate there was a notification on the screen. Thomas leapt over to the phone in the hope that the notification was alerting him to Urmyfetish’s online presence, but it wasn’t. It was a notification that ‘comments’ had been left on his current photo. Thomas clicked on the drop down notification, which immediately

took him to his last photo post. He scrolled past the photo until he hit the comment section.

‘24 Views’ it read.

‘2.5/5’ stars it rated.

‘Uploaded by LittleTom at 5.44am.’

Then the disparaging comments started.

You’re still too fat! LBJ commented.

41.2, weren’t you 41.5 the other day? HuckleberryThin commented further.

Leave him alone, h8rsh8 another read, in defence of Thomas and his current photo.

It’s good, but need to see more skin, 3wayAngus stated, in a comment that hinted of lecherous manipulation and deception.

Fuck me, I’ll still do him, just the right size, Jadedgirl added further.

Thomas paused at Jadedgirl’s comment and revelled in its suggestion. It boosted his ego. It made him realise that his plight towards reaching maximum weight loss, in order to seek and gain attention from anonymous people online was working. He ‘liked’ the comment back, then sent her a friend request to join his friend’s list.

He looked away from the mobile phone for a moment, lifted his shirt to look at his stomach. He was happy with what he saw because Jadedgirl liked what she had seen — his gaunt stomach and accentuated rib cage.

He looked back down at the mobile phone and continued to read through the comments. The comments were a mixture of praise and disparagement, subtly posted as a way to make him work harder.

Thomas stopped at a comment near the bottom from a username that he loathed . . . A name that made him cringe with anxiety. Behind the name was a person that always had something negative and personal to say. Hateyourselfnotme was a glorified internet troll. His sole purpose in life was to attack already vulnerable teens into further despair and disdain of their bodies. Hateyourselfnotme saw it as his constitutional right to speak his mind. An individual who stretches the truth and helps people through life by providing critical feedback when they are unable to critique themselves.

Thomas started reading the comment, ready for whatever followed. "Why do you bother LittleTom? Do you even own a set of scales? If you expect to be loved by us, you better start losing more weight, this isn’t a place for fatties. I can’t even imagine what your parents think of you, they must be pretty ugly themselves to create u. Try fuckin’ purging, you cunt! Don’t post again until I see your guts in the toilet."

Thomas paused for a moment. He took consecutive looks at the delete button next to the comment, eager to press it and denounce Hateyourselfnotme’s comment as unworthy to be on his page, but chose not to. The comment did exactly what it was intended to do . . . lure Thomas into a darkened state of misguided perseverance. The determination to continue on with the obsession.

Just as Thomas was prepared to answer back to Hateyourselfnotme’s comment stating that he would try better next time, his phone chimed again to indicate that another friend was online.

His eyes darted towards the drop down scroll bar. What he had wanted had just come to fruition.

Urmyfetish is online and has left a comment, ‘good pho....’ the notification read. Thomas was elated by the start of the comment. It gave him exactly what he wanted — praise.

Good photo, he whispered to himself.

It was the start that he wanted. It instantly implied that Urmyfetish was not upset at all, and definitely wasn’t deliberately ignoring him. He was just momentarily offline —Thomas thought to himself, he must have had to charge his phone, or reset it after an update. Thomas was always anxious when Urmyfetish was offline, as it was unusual for him to be offline.

Urmyfetish was a large part of Thomas’ obsession. A part that Thomas wasn’t aware of.

Thomas clicked on the notification which took him directly to the most recent comment. He opened his eyes swallowed and steadied his mind ready to fill it with the praise delivered by his most devout admirer — Urmyfetish. If there was a positive comment, it would give Thomas a reason to be more buoyant after his disappointing weigh-in on the bathroom scales earlier that morning, however if it wasn’t positive it would give Thomas reason to follow Hateyourselfnotme’s advice and purge.

"Good photo LittleTom. You still need to be lighter though. I can’t believe you couldn’t get to under 41. Gotta try harder, but don’t worry, it’s all good. I still think ur hot!!! Regardless. Trust me, Bro, when u get to 35 we can meet — promise."

Thomas read it three times before he decided to respond, Yeah, ur right, I gotta keep trying. I’ll get there, but I don’t wanna purge. It’s not who I am. I’m glad u still think I’m hot. Thanx for the comps. I’ll post another later. Gotta go schools soon, he frantically typed before hitting the post button and putting his phone down. Thomas took a deep breath and exhaled sharply, he was happy with how the morning had gone. All he could hope for now was a speedy response before he started on the morning grind of getting ready for school.

Within moments, a simple but promising comment immediately appeared, Alright bro, we’ll meet soon. Enjoy school.

Thomas lowered his body onto his bed, and rolled back over to find a suitable sleeping position and clenched his blankets as he drifted back off to sleep. Thomas felt he deserved 15 more minutes sleep before his alarm went off for school. The reward for all the hard work he had put in that morn.

3

The Hash-Brown Horror

The alarm soon sounded, and Thomas trudged out of bed and into the kitchen.

His father was running on auto-pilot with a despondent look on his face. He didn’t greet or even acknowledge Thomas as he entered, he merely continued on with the monotonous process of getting his two children ready for school.

The Drake household was not your typical loving nuclear family. Each and every person in the family had their own problems, and each considered themselves, the centre of the universe.

Scott Drake, (the father) was an overweight benighted simpleton who struggled to hold

down a job to feed his family. He had no ambition and very little insight into how his life had become one dependent on welfare and charity. He was currently in-between jobs after quitting his recent job as a factory hand at a local canned food wholesaler because he couldn’t stand the shift work. So, with his recent employment behind him, he was once again back on welfare payments.

Thomas often felt sad for his father because he saw a correlation between his father’s depression and lack of enthusiasm, and his mother’s sudden departure.

Thomas sat down at the breakfast table and grunted at his sister. She winced back at him with belligerent contempt, which sent a shiver down Thomas’ spine.

Mia was Thomas’ only sibling and was a ‘drama queen.’ If she didn’t have things her way, there was hell to pay. Mia was like that because she was blessed with long legs, a model’s physique and long flowing blonde hair. She was well liked at school, to the extent that she could have any boy she wanted, or have anyone as a friend. So much was her charisma, that Thomas often imagined students eagerly lining up to kiss the feet of the Drake goddess just to be her friend.

Thomas sat there staring at his sister hoping that she would age ungracefully. He imagined her clear skin becoming infected with adulthood acne and her perfectly asymmetrical model’s body being riddled with stretch marks after her first teen pregnancy to a middle aged salesman.

You okay there, shit-face? Mia piped up as she saw Thomas was staring at her.

Shut up slut, Thomas yelled back.

A few droplets of milk flew out Thomas’ mouth after his comment. Half a glass of milk was all he had planned for breakfast.

Mia picked up on that, and felt the need to comment. Can’t even keep a little milk inside you, you’re that thin!

The comment, whilst intended to inflict emotional misery on Thomas was taken the other way as he accepted it as a step towards his ultimate goal.

You think I’m skinny? Thomas asked back as he patted his legs with his hands, underneath the table to feel how much fat was still on them.

You like that do ya? Mia barked back, you getting off with me calling ya skinny, off you go then, go wanking off under the table, why don’t ya.

Thomas quickly put his hands back on the table, as a way to demonstrate that Mia was incorrect, that he wasn’t choosing to fondle himself under the table. Mia was too quick though as she took a spiteful jab as Thomas highlighted the fact that his hands were on the table by shaking them around.

Yuk Dad, Thomas was playing with himself, Mia shouted with a disgusted expression on her face.

Thomas sat there stone-faced as he waited for his father’s response, but all his father could bother to do was flip over the two hash-browns in the pan, place them back on the heat and huff.

Thomas wanted his father to scold Mia for her unfounded insult, but deep down he knew his father’s mind was elsewhere, wallowing at the departure of his wife. Thomas couldn’t understand why his father was so depressed. They had only separated. Instead his father acted as though she had died in some catastrophic accident. She hadn’t, she had just run off with another man.

See, even Dad agrees with me, that’s why he ain’t answering.

Thomas chose not to respond in the hope that Mia would back down or change topics, after a few moments of silent reprieve she did.

Mia started prattling away about an ‘attractive’ boy at school that she liked. Thomas just sat there staring at his empty milk glass whilst Mia rambled on in an unarticulated manner.

Ben is just choice, Dad. He’s so hot. I can’t wait for a dick pick. When he sends it, I’ll be like, Mia paused and faked an orgasm that he shrugged off as inconsequential, before Mia continued again, I can’t wait till we have sex. It’ll be totes good.

Thomas’ father offered no reproach to Mia about her lax approach towards sexual promiscuity. Instead, he offered her a warm smile, and a plate with a hash-brown on it. He then meandered towards Thomas and set a plate in front of him.

Thomas sighed as the plate was lowered in front of him. He reached forward and pushed the plate away. The mere sight of food was enough to make Thomas wretch. He felt his stomach acid churn in disgust.

Despite the fact, Thomas was physically repulsed by the sight of the food, and ultimately the prospect he may have to eat it, his mind was elsewhere. It was focused on damage control. It was ready for whatever Mia threw at him.

Gssh Dad, why give the skinny rake any food? Waste of money if you ask me.

Thomas’ father took one look at Mia and pouted.

He looked towards his son, frowned at him with resentment, and pushed the plate with the hash-brown back towards Thomas.

See Dad, why waste good money on him. You go to all the effort to cook him some brekky and he shoves it back at ya, Mia stated with a defiant grin on her face that indicated, she knew, that she had chosen the right words to aim her father’s anger towards Thomas, for his wastage of food.

Make the little fuck stick eat it, don’t let him tell ya what to do. You’re the man in this house, not him, Mia continued.

Thomas’ father huffed again as Thomas in a defiant protest against eating, pushed the plate further away, almost to the other side of the table where Mia was seated.

I don’t want it gay boy, you eat it, Mia lashed