Trigger warning - eating disorders, depression, talk of suicide

Remington Biersack: I've been married for more than a year and only now do I change my username to honour my beeeeaaaauuuutttifffullll husband?? Honestly ashamed of myself, sorry Andy. This is a bit of a strange thing to be posting, I know. Not that I haven't taken photos in hospitals before. But this is different because I'm not here temporarily this time. After another (very bad) relapse and break down, I'm accepting that I need more help and have been committed into hospital as an inpatient. Not something I thought I'd ever be sharing with the internet, but I think it's important for me to show that I'm not perfect. No where near, actually. I struggle immensly with things I don't even fully understand and I wanted to tell you all that it's okay not to be okay. Andy said this to me a couple of days ago and for some reason it's been resonating with me. Also if u ever need someone to sing u to sleep, my husband does a great job. Stay safe everyone, I'm gonna be fairly active on here probably because there's not much to do in hospital, so expect constant mirror selfies and replies to comments. Just please please no comments on my weight and if i see u telling me to 'eat a sandwhich' or whatever, u will be blocked. Thank u, I love youuu!!!!

"So, Remington," his new doctor begins, while the two are sitting in the hospital cafe, where inpatients come for lunch. "I've checked over your vitals and your heart because of your recent heart attack, and can just say I'm very glad you decided to come here now. Your heart is looking very very weak at the moment and you're blood sugar levels and so on are way too low. You'll definitely be on the tube for two weeks, as we need to make sure you're getting enough protein, vitamins, etcetera. After that, it depends entirely on how your body is responding, and on how you're managing with regular eating. Every lunch time I'd like you to come down here and get yourself something small. A bag of grapes or a pot of cous-cous, or something similar that you can manage. I'm not expecting you to jump straight in to having three meals a day because I understand how overwhelming that is for you, and it's probably why you've been unable to recover at home. For some people that works and for some they need a different approach, which is what we're finding for you."

"Won't I get fat if I eat while being on the tube?" Remington asks timidly.

The doctor shakes his head. "Absolutely not."

"How many calories are you gonna feed me every day?"

"I can't tell you that."

"No, please," Remington begs, "please, I need to know."

"I'm sorry, Remington, I can't tell you. It's only gonna make it harder for you."

The boy looks down at his fingers. "Is it over five hundred?"

"Here is a weekly outline of how things work here. Every Sunday you're scheduled for a weigh-in and every second Monday your daily food reccomendation is increased." He slides a booklet across the table, trying to change to topic so Remington doesn't get worked up about the calories he'll be fed.

"Is it over five hundred?" The singer asks again, "please tell me."

"Visiting hours are every Saturday and every Wednesday."

"Is it over a thousand?"

"Remington, you're not allowed to know.

"I need to know!"

"Follow me and we'll insert the tube."

Remington puts his head on the table. "I can't go over five hundred! I can't! I'll get fat! I'll get fat!"

"You need to go over five hundred to be healthy," the doctor says, "we need to keep you alive."

"I don't wanna be alive!" Remington shouts, "I don't wanna be fat! I don't wanna..."

The man, Dr Halls, manages to persuade Remington to follow him to his room, where he is told to lie on the bed and take some deep breaths. Once the tube is safely inside and connected to the metal frame by the bed, the doctor leaves Remington to calm down and get settled in, and the boy turns onto his side and cries into his hands, fumbling for his phone when it rings. "Hi, bub," Sebastian speaks.

"Sebby," Remington cries, "it's going so bad!"

"It's gonna be okay."

"No! It's so bad! It's so bad! I'm so lonely! And they're not telling me the calories they're feeding me and I need to know! I need to! I don't wanna be here anymore! I wanna go home!" He wipes his eyes. "Sorry, I need to go," he says, because he realises how stupidly pathetic he sounds and it's better to just hurt on his own in here. He hangs up.

Sebastian sighs. "Well shit," he mumbles, looking up at Emerson.

"Shit," Emerson agrees, "we might wanna postpone the bad news."

"I'm thinking we might, yeah."

"Or we could just...get it over with?"

Sebastian shakes his head quickly. "No way. He's barely coping now. Imagine how he'd be if we told him we've been dropped by Sumerian. He'd lose it, Em. We can't tell him. At least not for a week or so."

Emerson closes his eyes for a moment. "I thought Andy was with him today, since it's his first day there."

"No, Remington made him go to America. Said he'd not let Andy stay here while he's in hospital. I don't know. It's a mess. All I know is that we need to visit him every time we're allowed and we need to make sure he knows he's not alone, okay?"

"Okay."

"And no spilling the bad news."

Emerson sighs but agrees.