You’re scared (petrified), understandably so, and ask the
doctor about a cure. “Eat”, is their reply, “and not just fruits and
vegetables. High protein is important and a lot of desserts. Initially you’re
excited (so excited). I mean who doesn’t want to be told – by a doctor no less – to
eat more ‘unhealthy’ foods. You leave the office, heading for home you make a
quick stop at the grocery store. You grab a basket and pile it high with
yogurts and peanut butter and your favorite cookies. Back at home, you take
special care to put everything away, almost like it’s a ritual (your deep mind
knows it is). Finally, the moment has come; you reach for your favorite plate,
split open the papery package, and pull out a cookie. You set the remaining
cookies in the cupboard for later then, turn to eat.
Except you can’t. You stand by the counter. You stare at the plate. The cookie looks amazing; as big as your
palm, thick, a bit of a crunch round its edges but soft and chewy closer to the
middle. Chocolate chunks galore sprout from all surfaces and you know – from experience
– that no other can best it in taste. Yet you can’t bring yourself to take a
single bite, not even the edge of that chunk of chocolate sticking up higher
than all the others.
More time passes, minutes or possibly hours, and you
ultimately decide that you just don’t feel like eating a cookie right now (a
lie). You wrap it up carefully, put it back with the others. Decision made,
you devote yourself to easier actions like jumping out of a plane or running
barefoot across shards of glass. You’ll eat the cookie later, after you’ve
earned the right to do so (you don’t need to earn it).
You never do. It never seems like the right time (it’s
always the right time). After a few days you throw all of the treats into the dumpster. After all, you don’t really deserve them (yes you do) and you were probably misremembering how
delicious they were (you’re not). The yogurts you bought too disappear, only
down the sink drain instead of your throat. The peanut butter is saved, but you’re
only allowed it once a week and only after you’ve exercised an entire day and
not swallowed any food – or water come to that.
You recall, almost hourly, what the doctor told you. It
does make you nervous, truly, because you love your life. You don’t want to die. There are nights you lie in bed for hours afraid to fall asleep, so
worried you are that your heart will decide it has had enough and simply stop
forever. The fear eats away at your already starved stomach.
The terror always fades in the morning (no, just hides). It’s
replaced by dancing elation because you have felt a fluttering of heart pain or
spotted a blue glimmer of veins shining through too thin skin. You shouldn’t be
able to see those veins or glimpse bones protruding where they weren’t before. You
know it’s bad (so bad), but you can’t help but feel a sick, twistful glee. Your
body is crumbling. You might have a heart attack. Both are good things (both are terrible).
Some people notice but you discount their comments, evade
all questions. You respond; half-lies and sliced-truths tumbling out of your
mouth in such chaotic confusion you’re able to refocus their gaze, change what
they see. You laugh at this victory and decide to skip your weekly peanut
butter in celebration. You are in control, you are shrinking, you are winning (you are
dying).
The day comes though when you’re not given a choice. You’re
so weak you can’t think straight and you can barely rise from bed to workout (you shouldn’t,
your body needs to rest). Someone comes and suddenly it’s no longer just the
doctor who knows the truth. Suddenly, another’s strength overpowers your own
(finally). You’re forced into a cage (you step into a car) and driven to a dungeon
(hospital). Strange people (doctors, nurses) are talking to you, poking and
prodding in all the wrong places of your mind. They say they want to help you
get better; you tell them they’re nothing but deceptions (they’re not, they are
good). They have you sit at a table and set a plate in front of you. A single
chocolate chip cookie rests on top. It’s different from the first but still
looks incredible, you can almost feel the crumbles melting in your mouth.
The strange people speak, “You have to eat this. You have
to choose to fight” (you’ve known this all along).
“This is dumb”, you yell, “I’m
perfectly fine and eating a stupid cookie isn’t going to prove anything. Besides, even if I was sick, I wouldn't want to get better” (false, you have never been more scared). You would shove the plate off the table but you just don't have the energy.
The people are used to this. They have seen the
parentheses between your lies, have heard the suppressed wishes in your heart. They wait. More
time passes, minutes become hours. You’re tired and so full of terror it’s
hard to transform feelings into thought. That is when it happens. That is when
you realize how sick you have become (yes). It wasn’t the yellow brick road you
followed; it was a rabbit hole and it dropped you straight into hell (Yes). You decide
to stop listening to the evil voice in your head and instead pay attention to
the words of your heart (YES!). You reach out your hand. Each finger trembling,
from fear or anticipation? (both) You pick up the cookie, bring it to your lips
and take a bite. It tastes incredible (it tastes like freedom).
~~~
I started writing this last year. I was at the height a fairly
serious rough patch and writing always helped, but for some reason I couldn’t
seem to get words to form themselves into the appropriate order. I took a break and life began to smooth out,
but I always intended to finish. An idea came to me recently. A way to reframe
this whole piece entirely and I returned to it with new vigor. The words came
easy this time. For those who’ve read the first post I shared about my
disorder, you’ll know this is not a chronologically exact account of what
happened. However, on a deeper level it is just as real and true as anything else I’ve ever
written.
~*~*~
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