justaoifethings

The head of the homicide department slammed a newspaper down on the desk of the lead investigator, making his coffee quiver. "Eight homicides. Eight. A mass serial killing. All a week ago, and you don't even have a suspect!" the gnarled old man spat. "There really wasn't any evidence sir-" "No evidence?! There were eight people killed, there has to be some evidence! Hell, you haven't even identified a couple!" the old man raged. "The bodies were pretty..." The investigator trailed off, grimacing. "You're a homicide investigator, don't be such a pansy" he told him sharply. "Sir.." The young man handed him a photo of one of the most mangled victims. The older man struggled to keep the disgust off his face. He sighed, putting it down. "I go away for a week and eight people are left dead, and no one might as well have called the police." Agitated, anxious, he took a cigarette out of his bre...

"I am fat." I think this to myself most days. Am I actually overweight? No. I'm five foot eight and eight stone ten pounds. In reality, I'm rather thin. Doctors warn me to not lose any weight, people regularly comment on my size and relatives give me as much food as possible. But I feel fat. Feel. That's the keyword. Feeling fat and being fat are two very different things. When I feel fat, I eat something and feel ridiculously guilty. I feel as if my stomach is protruding. I feel as of people stare at me in disgust. I stare in the mirror and scrutinise myself. Especially my stomach. I study myself, and pull at every ounce of fat I can find. When I feel fat, I measure my weight whenever I can. I starve myself, I exercise until I gag, and all because I feel fat. Why do I feel fat? I'm not sure. I've been too afraid to tell many people. I do have GAD, a chronic anxiety disorder that gives the sufferer the inability to relax. When I'm feeling p...