I see it now. I didn't then. Not when it mattered.

Now I'm walking alone down an unfamiliar street, with unfamiliar people and unfamiliar thoughts.

Everything else is the same though. I don't know what I thought I would achieve.

How did I ever get here?

Not here, as in somewhere in west London, hopefully; but here as in finally alone. Finally. Nobody got me. Nobody understood. I'm sure there are people that would have, but they were never the people I was stuck with. I didn't even get a Dad.

Did that make me more loving and appreciative of my mum and vice versa? Ha, no.

I'd never really fought with her, she just ignored me. One time, when I was about 10, we went on a family visit: her, my sister, Becca and I; to the posh parts of London and she actually forgot me! Left me gazing up at Big Ben, while she hopped on a train home. To be honest, it probably pained her to come back when I call. She could've had her perfect life with her beautiful, skinny, sporty, little girl and no fat lump of a teenage boy with no friends and no life. I don't even remember if she apologised... Doubt it.

So today was the first time I had a full conversation with her, let alone an argument.

She shouted at me.

She shouted at me saying “your a fat, good-for-nothing, wast of space, Jacob,” and then shouted at me, screaming I'm anorexic! She didn't make sense but I understood. Finally. She didn't even realise, let alone care, her words had cut me. I'm fat – right? I've always been fat? It's meant to be teenage girls, worrying about their weight all the time that get this disease- this mental problem. Even now, standing here alone, against a broken wall with broken thoughts, the edge of her words sink deeper as my realization settles in. Words, words, words. Her words.

Her words, and she was finally right.

Why did it take, of all the times, when I needed a motherly figure to tell me it's all okay and she loves me and we'll get through this together; why did it take the absence of that for me to finally figure that she would never change and it would always be like this and I could just run.

I know where he is, after all.

My whole life, I figured she can't have been that bad until just before I was born and so he couldn't take it and left. She said he was a bad man. But she was a bad Mum. She said he couldn't take it when things got tough. She was down the pub every weekend ever since I was seven, ditching me with a three year old Becca. She said he would have hated us. She also had said I smelt horrible and needed to shower or she would puke, when I had thrown up the food I just ate because I couldn't stand the thought of it in my stomach - Obviously she didn't know I'd just chucked up, but still. It still felt like she was purposely smashing up every little piece of self worth I had attained and not thrown away when I threw everything else up. Still, I never stuck my fingers down my throat again though, so, thanks mum.

What if I hadn't been so ignorant – got help at the early stages? But then, I didn't realise at all. What if anyone had cared and actually pointed it out in the hope of helping me? But then, no one cared. Avoiding this seems impossible. Bullying was probably a main cause but I don't think there's a reason that I could have been prescribed pills to help with. It was pretty inevitable, the way my life was going. My mum hated my life as much as I did, and she didn't have to live it! So she tried again and actually got her perfect little girl.

Well, at least I know my dads alive and they were married at the time.

I used to think my mum might have been okay at some point in time and would turn back to being a great, loving mum. I blamed here rubbishness on Dad leaving. But on the times that was clearly a fairytale idea, I knew where I was but not where he was. Now I know where he is but not where I am.

Thing was I never realized my size. Never had a proper judgement that wasn't laughing. Am I just stupid or is there something wrong with me? I never saw it till now. I saw distorted images of pounds clinging from my sides, laughing and laughing - like everybody else.

When I was nine, I was six and a half stone. Yes, I know, I was BIG. So the fat jokes came as I grew up. It was only for two years, but it came from everybody, including my Mum, especially my mum. Years go so slowly when every day people would laugh at something I was trying so hard to change. Every second soaked in sadness – to quote the hero himself. Music. Lyrics. Sometimes- a lot of the time - it felt like the artists and their words where more real and genuine than most of the people around me. Cliché, but true. Still wont change, even now.

More and more, and as we got older, they 'jokes' got worse. Fat, Jacob. Worthless, Jacob. I picked up a blade a few times – yes, a nine/ten year old trying, wanting to self-harm. The 'jokes' got more frequent especially when I thought I was doing well and it got more and more tempting.

But I never did it. I felt I couldn't even do that. Attention-seeker, Jacob. Weirdo, Jacob. No one would have known, but I would have, and I felt judged. Every spared glance my way, my mind created a situation of how they would know and what they would say and how I would get even more judged.

Only now I can see it might not have been that bad and the jokes got worse later because I was already normal weight again – I think.

At the time, all I wanted was to get 'un-fat', but I knew I couldn't cut it off with a knife. I knew that wouldn't help. Sometimes I did loose my head and look for ways. Ways to do anything other than what I was doing. Anything other than what made me happy – which wasn't and isn't much. I didn't deserver happiness. What? I know that was crazy now, but then... 10 years of life and I was already sick of it. I wasn't suicidal exactly. Just mad at myself for getting like that.

So, I guess that's how it started. I told everyone I was dieting, but really I just stopped eating almost entirely. I didn't eat at school and at minimal amounts at home to keep mum of my case- not that she cared. When I started to get stomach aches and pains, I took it as a good sign. I thought it meant it was all working and it would be worth it. Even the swellings were okay, my overall goal marred my thinking. I became like a crazed businessman, determined to get what I wanted.

When I changed school, age 11, I didn't know why, but the fat jokes stopped. I was so confused, sure and terrified it was going to get so much worse. Utterly convinced I was so overweight and I should be embarrassed. Now I'm 15 and still can't stand looking in the mirror, I still do it though, all the time. I guess it's obsessive. I can't stop. Reflections I see are unattractive worthlessness. Wastes of spaces. Sometimes, the best times, I imagined I was so worthless I disappeared and all I saw was a blank reflection in an empty room.

It was me that was empty, not the room...:

Depression's another symptom of anorexia.

Along with dying; I guess that's more of an effect.

So that is how I ended up here. Here being...

I finally looked up from my hands that were knotted together nervously. I kept rubbing them against each other till they were red and whipping them down my black jeans. The view that greeted me wasn't much improvement on my dark thoughts. Graffiti-covered, decaying, brick walls lined the ally; various piles of old litter collected around a single fading lamppost and around the gutters by the walls; dank mud sloshed underfoot.

I didn't even remember walking down here, let alone leaning against what might just class as a wall. It probably wasn't the best of ideas, being alone in a dark ally, in west London. My shoe got caught in a mix of a tired crisp pack, thick mud and some green brambles - the only things that weren't black and white in the whole street. Including me. Crawling out of their grasp, I stumbled out onto the street, where there was a bit more light and signs of life. The road ran straight before me and disappeared behind a bend and lines of crumpling brick. Over the other side of the road, towered a tree who's branches clawed at the sky, grasping, searing anything that came into contact with the talons. Tangled with an array of coloured leaves, the tree focused my attention to itself, driving it away from my problems and my thoughts. For a second, I forgot about my worries and my loneliness and my brokenness. For a second, my only wonders were for the desperate tree. Did anybody else ever spare a thought for that tree? That tree probably never starved itself. If a plant can sufficiently feed itself then why can't I? Questions, questions, questions. I'm going insane. Too many questions. Infuriating questions.

Ones I wouldn't have got the answers to by standing wondering about a stupid tree.

My biggest question right now?

What if my mum was right again?

I've never know or met my Dad, I didn't even know he was alive until a couple of weeks ago. What if Mum wasn't lying? He could be a drug dealer with an alcohol addiction for all I know. Although, I might have been able to notice that on his Facebook profile picture. He followed me 4 and a half weeks ago. I didn't befriend him back – just stalked him. His friends and new family seem like nice people.

I don't hold anything against him for leaving if he put up with the thing for a decade.

Oh, I'm sorry, that was rude.

The monster.

It's more descriptive at least.

Too much hatred's been bottled up inside me for too long. Is any of it even my fault?

The pavement suddenly got very far away and the cars sped up and the tree spun away from me, as colours collided into a mess of blurry images that sunk into a grey that deepened into a sharp black. What was happening? I could hear shouting but it was all black. It hurt so bad.

"Someone help him"

"Heart attack?"

"Call an ambulance"

"999"

------

Straight from to black to white. Blinding, unnatural white.

"He's finally stable, but only just. He was on oxygen for a couple hours but looks like his positions more positive now."

"How long was he out?"

"3 and a half hours. Pretty bad for acute heart failure."

Heart failure?!

“Looks like malnutrition, huh?”

“Yeah, probably self imposed.”

My eyes adjusted slowly and two figures appeared out of the blur.

And... and... It was him.

It was so him.

I've only seen his endless Facebook pictures, but I would recognise that face in any hall-of-mirrors. I had the big eyebrows and slightly goofy front teeth.

"Dad?"