Two Years Later...
"Dan, wake up, bear."
"Phiiiiiiil, I don't want to go," I mumbled, pulling the pillow tight over my head.
"I know, bear, but you have to. It will be quick, and I'll be right by you the whole time." He was using my pet name because he knew it would ease me more. Cheeky bastard.
"Ugh, fine," I said as I removed the pillow from over my head. A breath of fresh air hit me, as I'd been breathing through fabric. Phil sat next to me on the bed, where I laid on my stomach. I knew I was being childish, but I was scared. It'd been two years since I woke up from my coma, two years since I committed to getting better, and I was nine months clean.
Today I was due for a physical and mental check up on my progress. I had done this same thing exactly one year before, except I was absolutely shitting myself and had about five anxiety attacks before and during the process. I was still scared, but Phil made it all better. As a flatmate of a year and a boyfriend of two, it's no wonder he does.
"Thank you, babe," he said as I sat up, kissing me on the cheek.
"I've made Delia Smith pancakes for breakfast," he told me as he put his arm around my waist and walked me down the hall.
"Thank you," I said meekly, though I wasn't feeling up to eating them. It wasn't that I was relapsing, or maybe I was, but I was nervous, and I can never eat under nervous conditions. I'd been better at eating, though it took a year to get here. I still occasional problems, but I'd had at least two meals everyday for a month. We've been keeping track of what I eat and how often I eat everyday for about a year and a half.
"Dan, you're going to be fine. It's just like last time. Just a quick physical, a few questions for both of us, and we'll be gone. We can get starbucks or bubble tea after if you want, anything, okay?" He said, trying to ease me. I just nodded and let him kiss me again before we sat down. There was a pancake with butter and syrup on it, and I couldn't help but feel sick. Why was I feeling like this all of a sudden? Was it just the nerves? Was it relapsing? Before I could ponder further, I was up and sprinting to the bathroom to throw up whatever I had eaten the day before.
"Oh my god, Dan," I heard Phil remark as he ran down the hall to find me bent over the toilet. "What's the matter? Have you been feeling ill?" he asked when I seemed to be done, putting the back of his hand to my forehead. I shook my head.
"No, I just, I don't know. I sat down, and I looked at my food, and I just felt sick..." I drifted off, trying to think of an explanation. The only one I could come up with was what Phil said next.
"Dan, be honest, do you think you're relapsing?" I had to think about it. Was I? I've been doing so good for so long, I couldn't be, right? "Dan, bear, can you answer me, please?" Phil pressed when I didn't answer after a minute.
"I-I don't know," I said, rising to my feet. I looked in the mirror, turning to my side and lifting my shirt. My stomach was flat, no longer caving in, the scars almost gone entirely. My ribs were barely visible, and my hipbones relevant. I couldn't tell what I thought about my appearance. Disgust? But about what? Did I think I was too fat, or too skinny? I'd had days where I was so disappointed with how skinny I made myself that I binged until it made me throw up. But I didn't think it was one of those days.
"Dan, baby," Phil said, standing up. "I don't think this is a good idea..." he proceeded to lower my shirt and turn me to face him, where he looked me right in the eyes. He seemed to be searching for something, for what I wasn't sure. Hate? Disgust? I wasn't sure. But what he asked next made my mind spin more and my stomach churn.
"Dan, are you okay?" Okay? Okay? I was going fucking mad. I didn't know what was wrong with me. Was all of this because of a stupid doctors appointment? Some stupid checkup? Am I so fucked up that a checkup I've been to three times before makes me physically and mentally sick? Before I could answer myself or Phil, I was balling and falling to the floor, Phil following me. I was curled up in his lap, him holding my hand and combing my hair with his fingers.
"Shh, bear, I promise it'll be okay. I'm with you every step, you know that. Forever and ever, I will be here with you," he comforted me, brushing my hair and whispering sweet nothings.
"Dan, baby, your appointment is in an hour, we need to get ready," Phil said. We'd been cuddling on the couch for almost an hour after my outburst, Phil continuously pushing me to eat something.
"Come on, Dan, please? You need to eat something, especially before this appointment. What would you like, you can have anything you want." I had shook my head, making him sigh. I could tell how frustrated and sad I made him, so I agreed on letting him make me some toast, which I still had only taken one bite out of.
"Okay," I mumbled, getting up so I could get dressed.
"And, Dan, you know I'm going to have to check your clothes for any extra weight, okay? It's not that I don't trust you, it's just, the hospital makes me, okay?" Phil asked.
"Yeah, I know, Philly," I said, smiling before walking off. I put on a loose t-shirt, loose because it was Phil's and I was a skeleton, and some black skinny jeans before straightening my hair.
"Okay, you're good. Thank you, Dan," Phil said after searching me clean. I sighed, hating that I had to do this. Phil must have noticed, because soon his arms were around my waist and I had my head nuzzled in his neck.
"I know you don't like this, bear, but if it goes well, it just might be the last one you have to do," he said, making me feel better. I nodded before he pulled away. "But, it can't go better if you don't eat your toast." I let out a breathy laugh before nodding and eating my toast, sending us out the door for my appointment.
"Alright, Mr. Daniel Howell, correct?" The doctor asked as he stepped into the room. He was different than my regular, being a tall and buff man with a husky voice and muscular forearms, with greeny-yellow eyes that uneased me.
"Um, yes," I responded. "I don't mean to seem rude, but, um, where is Dr.Nickles?" I questioned, wishing I had my normal doctor as I would be more comfortable.
"Oh, right, I'm sorry, he had a family emergency that he had to attend to, so I had to fill in. I hope that is okay?" I nodded before he said "Sorry for the inconvenience," and shuffled through some paperwork. I waited, sitting on the weird paper covered table all the doctors rooms possessed, Phil sat right next to me, holding my hand.
"Alright, let's get started shall we?" He sat in a tell wheely chair, stethoscope around his neck like every typical doctor. I nodded, a cue for him to begin.
"Good. Now I'm just going to have you step onto the scale here," he said, standing and gesturing to the scale in the corner. I looked at Phil, and all he did was nod and squeeze my hand, allowing me to hop off the table with him close behind, only letting go because it would mess up my weight.
"Alright, weight looks to be 144.6 pounds. That's an improvement. Last year at your last appointment you were at 121.9 pounds. That's a gain of 22.7 pounds." This statement made me want to throw up, knowing how much weight I gained in that time. I looked at Phil and he seemed to be able to tell, because he took my hand and led me back to the table, where I sat through the doctor checking my eyes, nose, ears, and reflexes.
"Okay, now that the physical test is over, it's time for the mental. I will have your normal mental specialist come in and finish you off. It's been a pleasure checking up on you today," the doctor said, shaking my hand and exiting the room. My doctors were always pretty late, one minute meaning thirty, so I enjoyed the time.
"How are you doing, bear?" Phil asked, pecking me on the cheek.
"I'd be better if you gave me a real kiss," I joked, earning a laughed and a loving kiss.
"But really, how are you doing?" he pressed. I didn't want to tell him, but I was so used to telling him everything that my mouth spilled my thoughts.
"I felt sick when he told me how much weight I gained..." I confessed, hanging my head.
"Bear, your weight gain is a good thing. It means you're healthy, and that you're improving," encouraged, rubbing my back.
"I know, I know, it's just, I don't know..." I said, not having the right words. After a moment of silence, I spoke again. "You know, two years ago when I went into a coma, my goal weight was ninety," I whispered, my voice barely being heard. I saw Phil's eyes widen, and I swear I could hear his heart break. I probably shouldn't have said it, but I did.
"Dan-"
"No, it's the past. I don't' want that anymore, at least I don't think so, so it's okay. I'm okay." Phil seemed hesitant, but he nodded and let it go, me leaning my head on his shoulder and us waiting out the next ten minutes.
"Hello, Daniel, nice to see you again, of course, not under the circumstances, but you are a delight," my specialist, Dr.Hathaway said, her northern accent music to my ears.
"Hello, Dr.Hathaway," I said as she took a seat.
"No, dear, call my Patty. I hope this will be our last meeting under these circumstances, so I wish it to not be so formal," she said. She had always eased me, being very open and welcoming. I nodded and let her continue.
"Now," she said, eyeing up Phil. "Do you have all of his charts and paperwork?" Phil nodded and handed it over, watching her flip through it.
"Nine months clean?" She questioned, to which we both nodded.
"Only one month with at least two meals?" She asked seeming disappointed.
"I-it was five, but, I was feeling down one day, and wouldn't eat anything, and ruined my streak..." I said meekly, ashamed of myself.
"That's alright, Dan, everyone has a bad day. I'm proud of how well you have done, and glad to hear it was only one bad day. Has the eating been doing well?" She said, the last part seeming to be aimed at Phil.
"Oh, uh, yes, it's been well. Only one bad day every once in awhile, but he's doing well," he said, looking at me and smiling, making me happy and blush.
"That's good to hear. How about the self-harm? Care to inform me on how it's been going since our last session?" I really didn't want to talk about it, as the time I relapsed was pretty bad, but Phil squeezed my hand and I knew I had to.
"Yeah, well, um, I was three months clean after my last session, and it was pretty good, but, then I had a really bad day- I wouldn't eat anything, I locked myself in the bathroom with a knife, and Phil was outside the door crying and begging for me to come out." My voice was just barely a whisper, my brain fighting with my mouth to let the words out. I wish Phil could tell it for me, but I had to tell everything from my perspective. "I was hysterical, crying and practically screaming. I couldn't stop, and I wanted it to end, so I took the knife, a-and," I felt like I couldn't continue, the words caught in my throat.
"That's okay, Dan, take as long as you need." Phil nodded, squeezing my hand and kissing my on the cheek to ensure I was okay. I took a deep breath and nodded before continuing.
"I-I cut myself. Not too deep, but, um," I held out my arms for her to see the scars, "good enough. Sixteen times on my arms and almost thirty on my thighs," I said, having to take deep breaths again to calm myself down. "It was awful. Phil wouldn't stop begging me to come out, and I was crying so much... after sitting there for almost an hour in my own blood and tears, I let Phil in. He wrapped me in his arms before noticing the cuts and crying harder- if possible. He wrapped them up and cared for me, cuddling me until I fell asleep and then making me talk about it the next day. He sat with me and made me talk about it with my therapist, and I've been pretty good ever since," I finished, wiping away a few tears.
"Well, sounds like a bit of a rough time, I'm sorry to hear. But it's good that you've picked yourself up and improved, which I'm glad to hear." She scribbled some stuff on her paperwork before continuing. "Has Dan seemed emotionally stable since our last session?" She asked Phil, to which he nodded. She nodded and wrote more stuff. "Has he been taking all of his medication?" Phil nodded, she wrote. "Has he been going to all of his therapist appointments?" Phil nodded, she wrote. This went on for about five minutes before she asked one more thing.
"Dan, do you believe you have recovered and are stable enough to be taken off of this treatment that we are currently keeping you on?" She asked. I had to think. Am I stable? Or am I going to relapse and fuck everything up? After a moment of thinking, I finally answered.
"Yes. I think I'm emotionally stable enough to stop the treatment." Phil squeezed my hand and smiled, while the doctor smiled and nodded.
"I'm glad to hear, Dan. Well, I guess that wraps up our session, and, though I will miss your bright eyes, I am glad we will not have to meet under these circumstances anymore," she said, standing to hug me.
"Thank you," I said. Phil nodded as to say goodbye as we exited the room. It wasn't until we were halfway down the hall that he finally spoke.
"I am so, so proud of you, bear. You did it. I told you you could do it, and now you have. I'm so proud of you." He squeezed my hand, and for a moment all I could do was smile.
"Yeah, I am too. But it's all because of you. I did it because of you, Phil, all for you." For Phil, I thought.
(Sorry that was kind of long but) Ayyyee that's over now. I don't know, let me know what you think, because knowing me I'll decide three days later that I don't like it and delete any form of it's existence, so. But THAnk you for reading, I really hope you found it interesting/enjoyable, and if you didn't, I'm sorry to waste your time. But yeah it was fun to write and whatever so yeah, thanks <3 I hope you have a WONDERFUL and AMAZING and HAPPY and FULFILLING life, because that's all I could ever hope for you, even though you deserve even more than that.But yeah, I guess that's it. Let me know what you think, have an amazing day/night, thank you SO so much, and goodbye! ^-^