~~Group Therapy~~

~~~~4~~~~

Hello, journal. It's me, Bill. But you knew that, didn't you? I mean, who else would be writing here? Not Georgie, he's dead. It's my fault, which is the shittiest part. I mean, it's still suck if he just died, but I was the one who sent him out. I sent him to his death. I guess that's why I don't eat. I don't feel like I deserve it, sort of. I feel like that's at least a contribution to this family. My parents will never understand how happy not eating make me feel. I just want to

I drop the pen there, pondering that last sentence. What do I want? Everything that I want is impossible. Georgie back, to be able to come out to my parents, a group of friends who don't hang out with me because they pity my brother's death. But none of those will never happen. I think about that skank who was just hanging off of me all session. What was her name? Tianna? Yeah, I think that was it. I didn't have the heart to tell her I'm gay.

I hear my mom calling me down to eat. Ha. Good luck with that. I have eaten just enough to stay alive for the past 8 months. Why the Hell would I start now?

I scuttle down the stairs, shoulders hunched in, trying to make me look more filled out. I take my seat, immediately noticing that neither parent looks at me. I briefly think about starting a conversation, but ultimately deciding against it. Never ends well. I flatten the mound of food on my plate, trying to make it look smaller. You know how people say "silence is deafening?" Well I never understood what they meant until Georgie died. For the first month, I tried desperately to get some sort of attention. Then I learned not to try. Just gave up. Any scrap of attention I might have received is thrown out when I say "I'm full."

Clearing my plate, I run back upstairs, not listening for what my parents won't say. I'll finish the journal later. Right now, I need sleep. It's like I got slapped in the face with an energy wipe. I can barely hold my head up. I quickly change into a comfortable outfit, turn off the light, and crawl into the covers of my bed. Strangely enough, I can't sleep. I can't keep my eyes open, so I just lay there with my eyes closed. Thinking about everything, and nothing. I think about the other people in Group. That Eddie kid seems adorable. Like, I want to hug him and protect him from all harm. But the Stan kid is something else. He seems strong enough to hold his own in a day, but vulnerable enough to shut everyone out. His Nutella-coloured curls seem to be holding in a world of frenzied, scattered thoughts. And, for some reason beyond my knowledge, I want in.