Mia’s POV
I could feel the food sitting heavy in my stomach, I felt it weighing me down with every step I took back up to my room. I had eaten all of the food that my mother had placed on my plate. The sight of it made me feel sick. I had become so accustomed to counting my calories that now, whenever I look at a plate of food, I can give a pretty good guess at how many were on that plate.
Five hundred give or take a few.
I was kept in the hospital overnight, so my birthday meal was a day late.
My mum asked if I would like some birthday cake. I said no.
Deep down I wanted some but I just couldn’t bring myself to have it. Is this what recovery looks like? Constant fighting with yourself.
Instead of walking into my bedroom, I shot into my bathroom, heading straight for the toilet…
