Let’s talk infections. I have seen many posts asking about infected cuts and i currently have a couple. I have had many infected cuts/scratches and had some treated by a doctor. Every infected cut should be seen by a doctor but if you cant see one there are some things that you can do at home to prevent further infection. Please repost to help others.
Preventing Infections in New Wounds:
-Use sterile supplies/clean with rubbing alcohol
-Wash cut with warm water
-Apply antiseptic cream
-Keep the wound dry with a clean dressing on it (gauze, bandaid, etc.)
-Avoid picking at the scabs
Signs of an Infected Wound:
-Edges of wound are red
-Wound is hot to touch
Treating an Infected Wound at Home:
-Clean the wound 3x a day
-Apply triple antibiotic cream 3x per day after cleaning the wound
-Apply a clean dressing and change it often
-Keep the wound dry
-Let the wound heal without disruptions (don’t pick off the scab, don’t reopen the cut, don’t make new wounds)
BEWARE: The wound will probably take longer to heal than your normal wounds. Making a new wound with an active infection can cause the infection to spread, making it worse/possibly life threatening.
When to see a Doctor:
-Redness starts to spread
-Aches and pains
-General sick feeling/fatigue
COTTON CANDY ➯ EYELESS JACK
𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈 𝐃𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐓𝐨 𝐘𝐨𝐮?
"—𝔸𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕞𝕒𝕜𝕖𝕦𝕡 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕝𝕕, 𝕨𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕞𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕖𝕔𝕦𝕣𝕖."
ᴛᴡ: ᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ ᴅɪꜱᴏʀᴅᴇʀꜱ, ʙᴜʟɪᴍɪᴀ.
When you'd had so many influences around you, and so many people that didn't know how much their words would impact you making you hate yourself so much. Choking on your own vomit whilst you threw what you felt you didn't need back up, almost felt healthy.
You'd felt it was justifiable.
Eating an obsessive amount so that when you'd dispelled of all of it you'd hoped at least a portion would compensate for whatever you'd gotten rid of right?
So why did your boyfriend hate it so much?
Why was he disagreeing with the only method of survival that made you feel comfortable and made you feel as if you were doing something to reach a goal that was non existent.
He hated when you'd hated yourself.
But was it really hating yourself if your body would be 'healthy' enough to pass a BMI test that was defined by the constitutions of society?
You thought not.
Your head rested against the silent beast's chest. The sound of his beating heart had long ago ceased, leaving you with the sound of his breathing to compensate for it.
He rested his hands tenderly against your scalp, treating you delicately as if he was afraid that if he'd loved you too hard he'd break you.
He could practically smell your starvation; the way your organs pulsated with nothing being pushed around them.
The sound was so tempting, but despite all of that he'd known better.
He loved you too much to even be around you when he was hungry and so avoiding you at all costs was something he'd made sure he'd remember to do. And if you'd ever came around him, he'd make sure to lock you in his lab until he'd found a way to sate his hunger.
Thoughts like this made him feel, greedy.
He hated to think that he could put so much time and energy into his appetite whilst his girlfriend was living off a diet of her own stomach acids digesting her stomach line whilst it waited impatiently for something she'd eat.
He'd always make sure to try his hardest when it came to taking care of you, but it was so hard with the stubborn mindset she'd had, doctor or not.
Food was like poison to you, and if he'd tried to make you consume it the consequence would come back in the form of your own sick and he'd despised it. Watching you exercise even when you'd told him you'd hated it, just so you could reach a standard that was unrealistic.
He'd loved you, for you. He'd loved your mind, body, flaws; he'd loved everything he'd hated about you because he'd loved taking the time out of his day to be with you learning how to love them. He loved all of you.
But that information alone would never be enough for you. No matter what he'd said or did, you'd still seem to find a way to hate yourself.
He'd learned to stay quiet about it as he didn't want to irritate you to the point you'd want to leave him, which was something he wasn't emotionally prepared for. and so you continued.
Eating, only to discard of it later.
Pushing yourself to the limits on a workout you'd hated passionately.
Ignoring the dizzy spells that came with your unwillingness to eat, but blaming it on dehydration and drinking as much water as you could to compensate.
The process repeated, worsening your condition day after day, week after week, month after month.
Until your heart stopped.
The usually calm killer was terrified for the second time in his life.
He trembled in fear as he tried everything to bring you back from the eternal slumber that gripped you tightly. Black tar rolling from the holes of his mask in abundance as he cursed and screamed, throwing things across the room when they didn't work, only turning the small living space into the aftermath of a hurricane.
He couldn't believe he was losing you. He'd been listening to your heart so carefully as you'd slept, with his head rested comfortably on your chest. So when it'd started slowing, growing fainter and fainter as your body pleaded for some kind of nourishment, he'd been running back and forth between the bedroom and the lab.
Injecting you with necessary nutrients, breathing air into your lungs, but not willing to break your ribs with CPR because he would never forgive himself for hurting you regardless of the matter at hand.
He'd tried various methods of repercussion. Repeated multiple, over and over until a small gasp escaped your lips.
Relief washed over the killer like a wave as he made sure to bring you back into a stable condition, coming down from the insanity he'd almost lost himself to as he'd almost lost you.
You were confused at first, very confused. But, as you'd became lucid and more familiar with your environments the reality settled in.
You'd almost lost your life to an unrealistic desire. However looking at your frail bony body lying against the duvets of your boyfriend's bed, you almost couldn't be happier with the fact that you'd inched closer towards your goal.
Seeing that look of accomplishment in your eyes, the demon in Jack almost took full control, nearly pushing him into a frenzy of rage.
He stared at you in silence. The blue mask hiding his real expression, but you'd known all too well that he was furious with you in that moment.
You stared back, holding a blank expression, unwilling to lose the small staring contest that screamed so many words between the two of you.
With a growl, Jack broke his gaze before storming off over to his bedside, dragging open the draw on the bedside table and pulling out a protein bar he'd left there in case he'd ever came across your starved figure in a more reasonable state.
You jolted as he slammed the drawer shut before reforming your composure and fixing your unbreaking gaze onto him once again.
He extends his hand with the bar out towards you earning a sigh.
"EJ." You let out in a frustrated breath.
"Eat." He demands in that cold, deep voice.
"No." And he lost it.
Pinning you down with a tight grip on your neck to the bed as his large figure loomed over your smaller one. You let out a small squeak, gasping for air as the oxygen struggled to enter your lungs. Taking notice, he loosened his grip whilst letting out a sigh.
"Stop being so fucking stubborn."
You scoffed at his comment, pushing him away by his chest. As he extends the bar out to you once again, you smack the snack out of his hands, sending it half way across the room.
A thick silence unlike any other fell between the two of you.
You knew you'd messed up as you'd felt his gaze burning holes into your skin, but you avoided looking at him, nervous.
"Are you gonna fucking behave?"
"Yes..." You lowly got out, sitting yourself up to get up from the bed, only for him to push you back down, not wanting you to move around too much as you'd literally just died beneath him.
Picking up the bar, he sat himself down beside you, growing less tense as you politely accepted the bar from him this time round, opening the pack.
You stared at the bar in silence.
"I love you." He spoke as you eyed the bar in hand with doubt on your face. "And I wish you'd love yourself the same way I did you."
Teeth sunk into the bar as you ignored him.
"You're fucking beautiful, why can't you see that Y/N? Do you know how it felt to almost fucking lose you just now?"
"I was terrified..."
Eyes welling with tears.
"Please don't ever do that to yourself again... I've lost so much already, I can't cope with losing you, I fucking need you. And you are perfect just as you are. No matter what you look like I'm still going to love every inch of you, and I'll kill anybody that tells you otherwise."
Tears began to cascade from your eyes as you chewed in silence, repressing the sobs you'd desperately wanted to let out.
You wanted to be better for him. You really did, but it was hard.
So fucking hard.
My Dms are open if anybody ever wants to talk about the subjects listed above, and anything else that may be bothering them.
Do not let societal standards define what you feel a perfect body should be.
The perfect body does not exist. The word perfect is unrealistic.
If you are seeking further help, please get into contact with someone you are comfortable with, speak with a counsellor, or local GP.
My intent with this chapter was not to encourage this activity, but to raise awareness and provide the reader with an outlet.
You are not alone.
We all feel it too.
𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬𝐚 𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐚𝐝. 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐦𝐲 @ 𝐢𝐬 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐒𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇