It’s hot, and humid, and I’m in no mood to stay at home, so I grab my bag with tools and make my way down to the forest. Maybe being out in nature will ease the tension.
My parents were looking at me again. I apparently didn’t eat my dinner fast enough last night. Well, I was enjoying myself. Why would they be so uptight about that? I’ve been good, I’ve been really good lately, but still, that look in their eyes won’t go away. I even offered to step on the scale just so Mum would stop hovering. But she rejected it, almost offended somehow that I offered.
They don’t see me anymore, they see my illness. Ever since this started, they stopped seeing me as a person. Now I’m nothing more than my illness, a list of symptoms that need to be solved. I’ve become this thing to be fed, anything else
