He hated that some very small part of him in the back of his mind didn't want treatment, didn't want to have to eat again. The thought was simply too awful to voice, even to his mother, but he liked how he looked. He liked the sharpness of his hipbones, the concave recess of his stomach, the ridges of his spine that he swore he could feel ripple when he practiced with his lightsaber. The pain and aches made him feel alive. The whispers and glances in the First Order had been validating. Kylo Ren had conquered basic human needs, conquered the body with the mind, needed only the Force to subsist on. It was a monstrous thing, a sick source of pride.
But much like most Solo decisions, doubt came only when it was too late to back out. He straightened up as if he were reporting to a superior officer, watching Doctor Kalonia with open curiosity. She was nothing like the exasperated medical droids and permanently frustrated doctors of the First Order, which left him not entirely sure how to address her under ideal circumstances, let alone now. He bit his lip to keep his nerves down and managed not to wince too much at 'Mr. Solo', which just felt like it was too soon to use, emotionally. His empty stomach twisted at the attention being focused on him.
"Ben is fine," he agreed, deciding not to add that he'd been an expert at avoiding his routine physicals in the First Order. He hated doctors' visits even as a child and had never really improved. "I... I don't know quite how to phrase this, actually. I'm not even sure there are terms for this. And the problem is really two-fold, more two separate conditions that fuel each other."
He took a deep breath, gathered his thoughts, and tried to come up with a place to start. His childhood? His lack of personhood sometimes? The addiction to starvation? There suddenly seemed to be too much to discuss to ever get through. All at once he felt a crushing sense of depression, a realization that he had such an overwhelming litany of issues the risk of him being cured was virtually zero, and the thought was so hopeless he looked at his mother, lost, ready to call this a wash already.
no subject
But much like most Solo decisions, doubt came only when it was too late to back out. He straightened up as if he were reporting to a superior officer, watching Doctor Kalonia with open curiosity. She was nothing like the exasperated medical droids and permanently frustrated doctors of the First Order, which left him not entirely sure how to address her under ideal circumstances, let alone now. He bit his lip to keep his nerves down and managed not to wince too much at 'Mr. Solo', which just felt like it was too soon to use, emotionally. His empty stomach twisted at the attention being focused on him.
"Ben is fine," he agreed, deciding not to add that he'd been an expert at avoiding his routine physicals in the First Order. He hated doctors' visits even as a child and had never really improved. "I... I don't know quite how to phrase this, actually. I'm not even sure there are terms for this. And the problem is really two-fold, more two separate conditions that fuel each other."
He took a deep breath, gathered his thoughts, and tried to come up with a place to start. His childhood? His lack of personhood sometimes? The addiction to starvation? There suddenly seemed to be too much to discuss to ever get through. All at once he felt a crushing sense of depression, a realization that he had such an overwhelming litany of issues the risk of him being cured was virtually zero, and the thought was so hopeless he looked at his mother, lost, ready to call this a wash already.