They did not know what I was thinking the whole time I sat there pretending I cared; the whole time they listened, pretending they cared. I knew this was a game of make believe. ‘I pretend to eat and you pretend to help me. This way you can go home thinking you made a difference; you saved a life. I will allow you to believe you are the hero. The whole time I know I tricked you and I know I won.’ What I didn’t know is that sometimes you can’t ignore a problem when it is looking back at you.
And my problem just walked through the door embodied by a captivating 23-year-old woman. My mind snapped back to reality unable to flee into my fantasy world. I watched her with intense curiosity. She was what the doctors were saving me from becoming. These specialists could no longer pretend they were winning; with her they had to admit defeat. Her face was hollow and beyond that, her eyes were dead. Her thinning hair was swept back into a messy ponytail that hung limply down her back. Her hands clutched a warm cup of coffee, as she complained about being cold. I wanted to ask her why she was so sick, how she managed to be so thin, but mostly I wanted to hug her.
I listened to her words and analyzed everything she said. She told of hopeless hospital visits and months in different inpatient clinics. I listened to her worries over lab tests and discouraging results. I began to pity her and hate anorexia for the pain it caused this woman. I began to feel her pain. Her hunger filled me, and her emptiness consumed me. I saw my future life story etched onto her body, tired from years of abuse and low weight. I likened her to a holocaust victim since she was also a victim but rather a victim of herself. Now so desperately I hoped I would never be at that point but at the same time I wanted nothing more.
This woman made me look at myself so intimately and she didn’t have to say a word. Her mere presence scared me into eating for the next three months in fear I would look so dead and so hollow. Her eyes still look at me, while her face haunts me. Unfortunately, I never knew her name and I was unable to find out the answer to my endless list of questions. That day, however, it was she that should have gone home feeling like a hero because she saved a life. She won.
Apology Accepted
“Are you really cold? Come on, Jenni, it’s almost July!”
I looked away from Phil sheepishly, “Yeah, the breeze is chilly, I guess.” I wanted to tell him that it was only 80 degrees moreover I was in a sundress. This broke with my traditional sweatshirt and jean ensemble. I really hoped he would just drop the subject because tonight I did not feel like getting into a discussion about my eating disorder. The worried look in his eyes indicated otherwise.
“Can we talk…outside?” Phil said while practically dragging me out of the screen door. He led me to my boyfriend’s car. “Get in.” There was no protesting now; he opened the door. A thousand thoughts went through my mind in the time it took him to walk to the other side of the car and get in.
“I am really okay.” I blurted out before he had a chance to speak.
He looked directly into my eyes, bluntly said, “No, you’re really not. When was the last time you ate anything?” He paused, “and kept it down. You look sick!”
“What?! How can I look sick? Phil, I am fat.” I practically screamed. By this time, there were tears streaming down my face. All of my anger and frustration had reached a breaking point. There I was, days away from being placed in the hospital, shivering because I was so cold, and on top of that 98 pounds, crying about being fat. I looked over at Phil and the only words I could find were “I’m sorry.”
He got out of the car and walked inside. I wanted to run after him to tell him why I was sorry. I wanted to rationalize everything, but we both knew I had done too much of that. He knew exactly what I wanted to say because he had heard it too many times already. He knew more than anything what I needed right then was time to admit to myself that I was sick. This was his attempt to make me see myself for who I was but more so who I had become.
So while I sat there I did realize something. I did not need to apologize to him, but to myself. I needed this time in the car to forgive myself for what I saw as my failures. I finally started to come to terms with my imperfections. I was ready to let myself heal; I had accepted my apology.
