1 I

I CAN FEEL my little foot tap against the cream, carpeted floors. Where was she? She already was 5 minutes late, which was very unlike her.

I triple-checked my emails - turns out the date and time were both correct - and not a figure of my imagination; perhaps that was more worrying, the fact that my tiny little head was able to comprehend the fact that I could get something right for once.

I was sitting on a disgustingly bright green sofa as the light beams and my daring blue eyes decided to cross paths. The unpleasantness could be tolerated, however, as a middle aged woman with blonde hair and a swooshing maxi skirt entered the room and brought out my worst graces as I gasped in astonishment.

Although Beverly was expected, my able state of mind assured me that she had rushed in caution of being late, which then caused her to be completely unaware of her surroundings that a taxi headed her way completely unbeknownst to her, and well - my mind likes to leave a little for the imagination.

"Quit sneezing, Miss Eve - maybe if you took your medication you could deal with that sleeping problem; what's it called, insomnia? What would I, a pediatric psychiatrist, know about that anyways?" Beverly teased, a little glint in her eye becoming more prominent as she went on.

"We have been through this, Bev. 7 years ought to do the trick to teach you my name - Kim. I am taking that medication, why don't you trust me?" I argued, hoping she wouldn't catch my lie as I looked her dead in the eyes. Seems that my anxiety likes to kick back when I fight to nurture it.

"7 years ought to do the trick for other things too, Eve," she retorted, and I knew this was only the beginning of her kick ass defense. "I have done my part in school - you're sneezing because your immune does not look as good without its beauty sleep and the only thing that would be slightly worse is the prospect of of gaining a few pounds - the side effect of the medicine you're supposed to take, all 24 locked safe in your bag that you've left on display just for me," Beverly replied, without a breath's gap.

"Beverly - you can figure me out better than anyone, but let's quit the games. You called me here before school, as in the ass crack of dawn for you. Your timings are different from the others. What's going on, Bev?"

Beverly seemed overwhelmed. "Change in plans."

I bit my cheek, hoping for the worst. "What kinds of meds am I going to be on now, Beverly?" I spoke, my voice raspy.

"Water doesn't have calories, Eve," She reminds me as I sigh. Of course it doesn't. It boosts my metabolism and makes me feel full. What else would I want? "Obviously your insomnia isn't getting any better," she mumbled, fiddling with her files.

"Nothing is getting better," I reply, as though I am stating the obvious. "I had one before I came here."

She begins to scribble. "Attacks every half hour, purges-" she pauses and eyes me carefully. Most would think that she would ask me but why would I tell her? I want to get better, not fatter. "Every change given and sleep - well we have established the rarity of that."

I rub my neck. "I just want to be like everyone else, Beverly."

She took off her glasses. "If you don't make an effort soon, Eve, it will be more than therapy; supervised eating, hospitalisation, rehab... Make it easy on yourself."

I glared at her. What exactly would be easy about that? Gee, getting fatter sure would be a treat. "I'll eat what I want, Bev. Some fancy place will not change that."

She smiled sadly. "I'll let it sit with you kiddo - despite what's going on, you're a smart girl. Treat yourself that way."

Oh, how I love the smell of freshly cooked bullshit. I take another deep breath. "Alright," I whisper.

"Here is this month's report," she chirps, most obviously proud of it.

"Thanks, Bev," I attempt to smile, but fail miserably as it turns into a frown due to my lack of energy.

I stand up and grab my bag, about to leave the room before Beverly takes hold of my wrist. "Who's taking you to school?"

"Mum's outside," I lie once again, biting myself on the lips, dreading school by the minute.

I don't know what it was but I saw her face, her features become more soft, perhaps a little vulnerable. I smiled at her and she returned the favour.

"These years have been hard on you, I am sure. Believe it or not, I want the best for you. Treat yourself as you would others, and that voice will surrender."

I say nothing in reply as I fumble with my backpack straps.

"Look, if you want to talk before appointments, we can - no charge," she offers and I nod, still not saying anything.

"I'll give you a half hours notice if I want, but I'm sorry Bev, Mum's probably worried," I speak, now actually feeling the desire to leave the school.

She nods in response and gives me a small, polite smile.

"See you next week, Bev," I say and leave the large rectangular room, painted with bright colours, perhaps to bring positive thoughts or whatever else.

School would begin in 2o minutes but I couldn't peel myself off the back of Beverly's door. Some things really do fail to change.

I personally didn't believe in any of this therapy stuff. I believed in mental illnesses though therapy only helped for certain illnesses and people. And I was definitely not one of those people. I had been diagnosed with anxiety seven years ago, and a year later I was diagnosed with insomnia and at last another year later I was diagnosed with anorexia due to my body image issues.

My self-esteem is shit, so I'm not confident on the way I look. I limit my food to one snack maximum a day, and most days I don't even eat anything at all. I just don't deserve to eat. I want to get skinnier, and I know that once I am skinny, I will be happy.

Yes, my parents made me eat, but I had my ways around it. I could lie to them and say I'd eaten already; that's exactly what I did. I could say I was going out, I felt sick, I was tired - whatever. But, I was running out of tricks. It wouldn't be long before my parents would decide they had more than enough.

My mother wasn't here, I had my penny board. Yes, I had lied to Beverly but that didn't matter. I wasn't allowed to travel alone, but I could break the rules every now and then. My anxiety ruined that for me, but not all the time. I just had a panic attack in her office, so in another half hour I was bound to get one.

Placing the penny board on the ground, I placed my feet on the board and used my right foot to make me move and joined it together with my left foot. My school was only five minutes away, and some people said I shouldn't even go to school because of how severe my anxiety was; I didn't care, everything had the potential to trigger me. Being at home, listening to my mother's worrying cries was worse, in my opinion. Delaying school was not an option. A bonus was that it would distract me from how hungry I felt.

In my opinion, my anxiety was just irritating and completely inconvenient. In class it gets so annoying to be noticed as the girl who always has panic attacks. And I had to try and disguise it, because I didn't want people to see me in my panic and vulnerable state. It's hard to do though; every time I have a panic attack I feel like I'm going to die.

As I finally arrived at school, I jumped off my penny and placed it inside my bag; it was quite portable. As of my social life, I didn't even own one. I had one friend who was close to me. I knew this friend of mine before my anxiety really started to develop and take a massive toll on my life.

My only friend was named Richard Glen. I was still confused as to why he wanted to be my best friend. He was popular, but he didn't go to parties; it wasn't really his forte, he just stayed with me and stuck up with me. He was so great.

He was also quite attractive, though I was only a friend to him and I wasn't even attracted to him, though I wish I did sometimes. He was blonde, like me, but wore his hair in a quiff, which emphasized the most ice blue eyes. He also possessed a build that girls would die for. He only had a few serious relationships, but nothing since then.

If I were him, I would enjoy the fact that I had all amazing qualities that were admired by the opposite and same sex. He also had quite the accent as well. He literally had everything that I wanted in myself.

Approaching me, the devil arrives himself, dressed quite casually in his normal attire, skinny jeans, top, and trainers. As for myself, I definitely was not good at all when it came to outfits. All I wore were band tees and jeans; today was one of those days.

My blonde hair was scraped back without care in a messy bun. You see, this shade of hair was meant to be attractive, though I managed to make it look worse. I managed to make everything worse.

"Hey, Kim," Richard greeted in a happy tone and joined me to support me in walking very slowly to school. I smiled at him, as he smiled back.

"Alright, Richard?" I say, and try so very hard not to sound tired, with my voice raspy and thin; though unfortunately the polar opposite itself had occurred.

He placed his hand on my shoulder. "You're feeling suckish, aren't you?" He asked with a smile, which I also attempted to return.

I laugh in response and shake my head at him, hoping to make light of the situation instead of another therapy session.

"I feel like shit," I say, speaking the truth and Richard's slightly happy face is swapped with a sympathetic one. I hate getting sympathy; that's all I get.

"What did Beverly say?" He asks curiously as we continue to walk inside the school.

"Well, surprisingly she didn't prescribe me to any meds," I say and he widens his eyes in pure shock.

He clears his throat and furrows his eyebrows.

"She always puts you on meds though," he says, quite confused as to why Beverly had not prescribed me on anything.

I shrugged my shoulders. "I guess she just knows that I'm sick of all these meds. They don't even do me any good anyways," I ramble and bite my lip.

He nods in agreement. "Always right, Kimberly," he speaks, amusement clear in his Irish tone. "But," he continues, "we both know you don't take them anyways. Give it a chance."

His dark hair was styled perfectly inI laugh dryly and fuss my arms up and down. "We've done nothing but talk about me, Ri. Oh, and I thought by being my friend for ten years that you'd at least know by now that you can call me Kim."

"What d'you have for first period?" Richard asks, taking a look at his planner.

I quickly glance at mine and notice I have English. "English," I speak and a grin appears on his perfect, unflawed face. And from that cheeky little grin, I know that he has English as well.

"Room 302? I think that's just straight ahead, let's go Kim," he says quickly and I chuckle at his eagerness to get to class.

"Why so eager?" I say, humour quite clear in my thin, raspy tone that definitely wasn't sexy, like people thought raspy was. It just sounded thin, throaty and weak.

He scoffs.

"Come on, get your ass here," he says and I chuckle, following him to class, 302, English.

Approaching room 302, we appear to be late, which isn't the best start, though I don't really care and I'm not surprised at all. Being late did bring a lot of attention, but it did bring the end of the lesson much sooner.

Without glancing at my teacher, I scurry off rapidly to one of the seats at the back and Richard sits next to me.

"Due to your lateness, I will speak to you at the end of the class, so please wait when the time approaches," the male teacher speaks who I found out to be, was so very attractive in my female eye.

He had a 50's styled majestic quiff that I didn't like that much, but suited him absolutely perfectly; he made me adore that quiff of his. His sparkling brown eyes were put out in the open, bordered with a perfect pair of long black eyelashes. He was wearing a black dress shirt, along with black slacks and matching shoes.

In an instant I fell in love for his looks, I had always taken a liking to older men. Not too old though. As that would be a complex and difficult relationship.

I cannot believe I'm thinking about having an affair with a man I just met. Maybe I am the most naïve girl on the face of planet earth.

I didn't listen to any of the words that came out of his inviting lips, I just examined on how every syllable he tries to pronounce, the shape of his mouth changed. And I could focus on what was coming out of it, probably because it would be somewhat educational.

I did though from time to time; listen to what he was saying and he said words differently to how I did in a strong, powerful Sheffield accent. His voice was very relaxed and sounded worry free. Not 'let's go party' worry free, but 'calm down, everything's alright' worry free.

To summarise, his voice was perfect; a voice that a poet, or someone who chose words brilliantly belonged to. A voice that I would long for myself, as my anxiety made me seem like a person who worried and overthought small aspects of their lives - and that was true, unfortunately. You could hear it in my voice as well.

As if on queue; he started speaking about poetry and I jumped straight out of my little trance and began to listen to what he was actually saying.

"One of my favourite aspects of literature, that is. I love how the most simplest of words are used in the most complex phrases," he says, obviously in deep thought of admiration.

One of the smaller sized students came from the middle row, probably Alexa and squeakily asked the teacher what his name was.

He chuckled nervously and rubbed his neck. What an awkward, yet cute piece of shit.

"I'm Mr David, and your name is?"

I wanted to almost slap myself mentally as I felt a pang of jealousy. He was only a teacher and I was getting jealous over the fact that some girl asked his name?

"Alexa," she chirped in an instant and he gave her a small smile in return and complimented her name.

Mr David reminded me of the online poet who had the most beautiful choice of words, Alex David. He wasn't very well known, though he should be, for his beautiful masterpieces. He also played a variety of guitars and played the piano, as I suspected, flawlessly.

John Cooper Clarke, another amazing man, inspired Alex David's work and was also a poet who composed one of my favourite works, I Wanna Be Yours.

I always dreamt of meeting the both, so even the most slightly related topic to the both made my heart leap.

I loved poetry. Though I wasn't so good at it, I enjoyed it. I believed that it was the seed of music. The lyrics are poems, though displayed differently. That's what music was to me.

Dreading to speak, I hoped that someone would ask who is favourite poet was. Although, life betrayed my wishes and nobody did. I wanted to ask him, but I knew I was going to stutter or show an act of nervousness, and that was the last thing I wanted right now.

Sighing mentally, I tried my hardest to concentrate and stop going away in my own personal bubble.

"I'm sure you've all done this millions, but you all are going to analyse this poem; much like your GCSE's that you've all done before," he says slowly, making his way around the class and handing a sheet to each student individually, and as soon as he reached my row, my heart beat increased. He was so much more beautiful from what I saw from distance.

I began to shake and tremble as he reached me and I panicked automatically. I felt so lightweight and dizzy; I felt so claustrophobic even though people weren't that close to me. I began breathing heavily. Taking my bag, I rushed out of that room and went back outside; I needed fresh air; being inside was suffocating.

I knew people weren't questioning my presence, they were all too used to it by now, though that teacher might not be.

I tried to breathe normally and control my heartbeat, but I couldn't. I tried to remind myself that there was nothing dangerous or harmful near me, but my mind wouldn't accept it. The only thing that helped me was that this was only going to last twenty minutes.

Continuing to shake, panic and feel harmed, I let my anxiety get the best of me; I couldn't control it. Recapping that moment in my mind just made me dissolve in a world of negativity and self-doubt.

Fifteen minutes later, everything stops. I don't feel dizzy, claustrophobic or in danger and I mentally thank god for it.

Taking a deep breath, I head back to English and try to calm myself, because I knew I could get another one just by Mr David trying to talk to me or engage me in class conversation.

Twisting the silver doorknob, I enter the classroom and hear "Class dismissed, see you tomorrow, bring the poem!" and curse beneath my breath and wait for everyone to leave and then leave myself.

"Um, Miss, you and Richard are meant to stay," I hear behind me and groan mentally.

I turn around, try to smile and he smiles back in appreciation and I feel my heart flutter.

"Are you alright?" he asks out of politeness. Oh fuck.