CreepyPasta Parent Scenarios

34. When You Get Sick/An Illness

Regarding heavy topics in some sections, disorders that are not to be taken lightly.

Jeff The Killer

Warning: Eating disorder

For the past week, you couldn't stomach anything. It worried your father, who'd hear you upchucking your breakfast every morning.

You, on the other hand, didn't think anything of it and was able to get up not long after vomiting your meal.

In the back of your mind, the thought of eating made you feel off and repulsed. You had assumed it was just a stomach bug though and brushed off the emotional feelings. Although you had slightly acknowledged the small weight drop you managed to get in the short time of your ill days. Was it hope and happiness you felt?

You didn't mind vomiting anymore and even helped your reflexes out with a finger.

Your father hadn't known about this until he noticed your body growing weaker and smaller. You were looking sickly and your father had to do something about it.

He barged in one day as you were throwing your guts up, he saw how you had used your finger to make it happen and was a mix of sad and frustrated emotions in a flash.

Upon seeing him, you couldn't help but jump in surprise and quickly shout out. "Get out!" You had no idea why though.

He didn't leave, the arms that wound around you and hugged you into a warm embrace told you that. Did you hear sniffing?

"D-dad...?" Your question was muffled from your head being squashed into his shoulder.

"Why are you doing this?" Your father asked in a soft tone, trying not to cry.

You were frozen, racking your brain to form the words in the back of your mind. "I-I don't know." The tears welled up in your eyes finally spilled and you had a good cry with your father, who had just as many tears as you did.

After, the memories seemed to blink away fast. You were out of the bathroom, cleaned up and cuddled with your father for the next few days. You were never left unattended, not even for doing your business in the bathroom.

It was all happening too fast. Locks that were once within the house were gone and sharp things were out of sight.

It hurt. Your father's trust dwindling down to a pin, but you understood. He must be ashamed of you. You still couldn't process what you had initially done that could cut him so deeply and mindlessly apologized.

But now it was torture. It was like you were a baby again. Strapped to a chair by duck tape and a plate of food in front of you.

"Eat."

You shook your head, staring at the food that would fill the empty pit in your stomach. It sounded refueling but you knew it would cause you misery.

He sighed at your silent response. "You have to eat something. You've been scraping by and you're physically weakening." He gently lifted your arm that felt heavy, too heavy for you to even lift without getting exhausted.

"I-I can't. Please don't make me." You pleaded.

But your father stood strong, a stern look that scared you. You hesitantly started slowly eating.

Minutes later, you barely ate half and ripped the tape that strapped you down, rushing to the bathroom. Throwing up the rejected food that was once in your stomach.

You felt hands supporting your head, that you were too weak to hold up yourself as you puked up everything in you.

When you were done, exhausted, and tired, you fell back into your father's embrace. You weren't angry at him for making you eat. It was mandatory to keep you alive, you just couldn't eat properly anymore. "I'm sorry, dad."