Shadow Creeks Mental Asylum

My name is Andrew Dennis Biersack, I’m currently sixteen years old, and I suffer from anorexia.

It began from an early age. I used to be a slightly pudgy kid. I would be teased for it on the playground and during lunch and nap time in preschool and even kindergarten. In first grade, I was bullied by fifth graders and shoved in the mud.

In second grade, I was beaten up by some of the older kids because I had refused to give up my cookies. Third and fourth were no better, and by fifth grade, I was being harassed and bullied on a day to day basis.

When middle school rolled around, that’s when it all started. During lunch, I sat alone, picking at bits of apples and peaches, with a bottle of water by my side. Kids would stare at me, and gossip about why I wasn’t eating.

I ran more during gym class, and by the time I reached eighth grade, I was running faster than all the boys in my class, and eating less than all the skinny girls combined. I had gone from cookies and milk, with large portions at dinner, to bottles and bottles of water, lots of exercise, and maybe a cracker or two.

I had gone from an extra-large to an extra-small. My jeans were sized ones, and they sagged slightly over my long gazelle legs.

When high school hit, I felt even more self-conscious. I exercised even more, and ate even less. I was lucky if I ate a cracker every two weeks. It had become really bad. By the end of my freshman year, I was a walking skeleton whose clothes fell off and hung from my fragile frame.

My parents were fed up with this. They finally decided it was time to take action. By action, I mean dumping me at this place and maybe visiting for the holidays. I haven’t seen them in almost a year.

I live here, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, four weeks a month, twelve months a year. I have a cellmate named Ashley, and he’s even more fucked up than I am. But I guess you’ll hear his story later.

In here, I’m forced to attend counseling sessions every day, and they keep track of everything
I eat. When I say everything, I mean everything. This big guy named Dave watches me eat every day. They give me tiny portions, due to my small stomach, and they’re trying to help me recover from my ‘disease’.

I’m forced to take pills to control any anxiety or depression that could occur while I’m here. Four pills every day are shoved down my throat. It’s not a fun time.

There isn’t much to do here except sit in your cell and read, or sit and talk with your counselor. Boys and girls are completely separated, for good reasons. There are some sex addicts in here, and if they were to see the opposite sex, well, you get my point.

I am on a slow road to recovery to say the least. I don’t want to become fat again. I don’t want to go through that ridicule once again, listening to the kids pick on me, ridicule me, or even hurt me again. I just want to stay the way I am.