For the past year, she practically lived in her pyjamas. Her body never strayed too far from the couch and her eyes never strayed too far from a screen. She rarely talked to anyone. If you asked her to go out in public, she'd have a panic attack at just the thought of being around people. Slowly, you could see her skin becoming tighter around her bones. No one could remember the last time she ate a full meal.
Her muscles were wearing away. When she stood up, her legs would shake and she could only walk for maybe 10 feet before she would collapse. She had stopped playing the piano, and she didn't sing while she was in the shower anymore. Scars began to appear on her right arm, then her left. When she ran out of room, she filled in her legs. At first, she would attempt to hide them, but it eventually got to the point where she just didn't care anymore.
But, for some reason, no one ever got her help. We just watched her fade away, right before our very eyes. Soon, she was like a walking skeleton, covered in purple splotches. Her eyes were red, because she was always crying. Her nails were yellow, and her hair was brittle. If we hadn't known it was her, we never would've guessed it was.
Poor, poor Sarah. She was so lovely, so kind.
And we just let her die.