Panacea:
a solution for all difficulties or diseases. A cure for all ills.
Problem, I'm not too fond of that word.
The word problem seems to rupture humans. That word, in my opinion, seems to separate the 'average' from the quote-on-quote troubled.
I'm very sure people that suffer or are labelled with a problem, and/or problems, aren't crazy. I'm not crazy and I'm positive of my statement.
So what?
So what if my hair is too long for the average boy, or my sexuality isn't what others prefer?
So what if I'm not dedicated to brushing nor combing my hair and that leads to the minor tangles hidden within it?
So what if I'm a male whom happens to be suffering from EDNOS?
No one cares. Except for my mother.
That results to why I'm here: standing in front of a large cabin. Watching my mum register me to live in the middle of the woods for the next four months. Because of a problem. My problem.
My problem is the worst and I'm only allowed to say that.
Only because I've been suffering from an eating disorder for the past three years and none of my treatments have actually helped me. Instead, the multiple talks I've had with various therapist prior only caused my disorder to worsen.
Once before my therapist said I if I wanted to starve, I should try starving the healthy way. Another therapist told me if I feel fat I should cut down on food.
At least she agreed with me.
I knew deeply that their advice weren't the very positive. I also knew their advice would damage my body even more but quite frankly, I didn't care.
Their suggestions were a help. A big help for me to lose weight. Weight I didn't and still have no use in needing.
But the suggestions, I used them more than a daily need apart of a routine. My therapists advices were my excuse for everything.
After my mum heard the excuses she freaked. Rambling to me that nothing will ever work if I don't try. Try to stop worrying about adding more calories upon my weight. And I honestly couldn't argue with her on trying because I don't try.
What's the point of trying anyways?
The process of trying to explain your situations to others and they have no understatement whatsoever.
That happens to me constantly and I've grown use to it. Accustomed to people, most likely my therapists, never bothering to actually hear my story out. I just needed at least someone to hear my story for once.
Someone whom would actually hear my story, not just listen, but actually hear me. Get to know and understand me for me but that'll never happen.
However, my mother differs. She thinks enrolling me into this program I'd come out a better person. And that's what we're not agreeing on.
It's too late for my opinion anyways.
We're already here and I'm already registered into their system. Whilst my mum's never felt more determined.
Dedicated for me to return home a different Harry from the one she's use to seeing for the past three years. But, I have a guaranteed feeling I'll be the same Harry within the four month period here.
The same Harry that'll restrict food for important reasons. The Harry that'll only take in a handful of saltines along with tea because of the lesser calories. The Harry that'll continue to suffer from an eating disorder; my eating disorder in general.
I know for sure.
I'm not usually an open person. It takes time for me to develop trust in another, so it will take time for me to open up to someone. It might just take me four months estimably.
It isn't that I'm an antisocial adolescent, I just have trust issues and I don't rely on one solid opinionated suggestion nor advice, at least not anymore.
"Tape will accommodate Harry practically everyday."
That's the name of this forest like place: Tape. Four months of living in a place named Tape.
"And this is his schedule and card granting him access to both his cabin and free activities." I hear the same feminine voice inform my mother, whom looks highly satisfied.
Too bad I'm not. It isn't like she cares anyway.
The conversation lasts a few more minutes between them and I hear every word of it.
My mother begins walking from the table and towards me with the same satisfied facial expression. Her frame edging closer to me within the second.
"You have cabin nine," My mum informs me as I nod.
"You also have a roommate-" I cut my mother off with a dramatic groan but she intentionally ignores it, "You need to communicate with him, Harry."
"I don't want to," I say.
Once the words leave my mouth, my mother gives me one of the most frightening glares I've yet to see from her-- until now of course. Eyes squaring in on me in abrupt anger.
It was rather intimidating. Especially when she's staring at you in a hard expression, waiting for you, well me, to say that one word.
I obey though.
Letting out a defeated sigh I crack, "Fine."
"Good." My mother replies, frown transforming into a broad beam, whilst I in-prominently scowl.
-
What seems to be ten minutes later, my mum leaves me to go search for my temporary home, cabin nine alone.
Once I reach cabin nine, I realise how isolated it is from the other cabins.
Sure, all the cabins are spaced out, but cabin nine gaps itself further from the others. Placing itself in the opening of the woods.
I use the card I'd just been given to unlock my temporary front door. Taking me quite a while to figure out how to unlock the cabin door but I get in eventually.
The wooden door opens and I look around the small boxed in cabin:
Two beds were placed opposite of each other, one on the left side of the room and the other on the right. A rug placed in between the distance of the two single beds.
Next to the left bed placed a wooden chester. And above the chester stood two lamps. One on the left and one on the right upon two beside tables. On the right side of the chester stood another door and I easily assumed it was the bathroom.
At least I'm hoping it's the bathroom.
The second door—in which I still assume is the bathroom, loudly opens causing me to jump slightly at the suddenness. Instinctively looking to the cause of the loud noise.
And there I saw. An adolescent boy with bicoloured hair. Dishevelled blond quiff with revealing brown roots, nonetheless quite stylish.
I couldn't see much of him since we were so distanced apart. Him standing so close to the doorway of the second door and myself still remained, standing, by the entrance door.
All the same I squint my eyes for a better view of the unfamiliar boy though it was no clearer-- I gave up.
"Are you staying here too?" the unknown boy questions me. He'd already moved from the doorway of the bathroom to the left bed.
I guess the right bed's now mine.
"Uh, yeah," I nervously answer the unfamiliar blond boy, showing him a small smile in intention of amiability but knew it wasn't too convincing.
"That's cool, me too," my now identified cabin mate says, returning the smile I'd shown him prior. "What's your name?" he questions.
"Harry," I answer between a pause. "And what's yours?"
It doesn't take the bicoloured hair boy anytime to respond. He smiles another friendly smile and answers, "Niall."
I nod as our cabin room grows silent. Hesitantly I walk towards the bed on the right to sit down, slowly.
I could feel Niall's eyes burning into me. I wasn't so certain since my eyes found comfort in the wooden floor below me to avoid any awkwardness between Niall and I.
My plan wasn't working too well.
"Is Harry a nickname for Harold or something?" I hear Niall question.
I look up slowly to face him whilst repeatedly shaking my head.
"Nope, it's just Harry," I answer, lowering my head back down to stare at the floor below me again.
"Are you the shy type, Harry?" Niall questions.
Shrugging, I admit, "Not all the time."
"You don't have to be shy around me. I'm nice," Niall says. "At times."
I couldn't help but quietly laugh at Niall's words. I haven't known him half hour yet and he already seems very sociable for a person I've just met. A person I'll continue to live with for the next four months.
Four months in the middle of an unknown woods, in an institution that's guaranteed to fix adolescents problems—adolescents with, most likely, problems similar to mine.
And if Niall's living in a cabin with me, in the same institution as me, then does he have a similar problem to mine, or just an entirely different kind of problem?
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A.N: If you aren't okay with reading about eating disorders or any disorder in general, then I strongly suggest for you to not continue any further into Tape. Very sorry.
Tape's an institutional cabin site that helps adolescents with disorders and Harry isn't the only character suffering from a disorder. Well—
Happy Reading!