Why are you here?" she asked me on the first visit.
"Do you want me to be blunt?" Idon't even know why I'm there.
"Yeah blunt is good."
"I'm tired of purging." I don't know if I really am. Sure, yes, I'm exhausted. I've been purging for the last six years of my life. Sure, I suppose I could die from it. Six months ago I was purging twelve times a day. I sit there in that chair and am stumped. Why do you want recovery? Do I? I don't want to die before grad school I say. Am I really tired of it, am I really tired of starving and purging? Yes. No. i sit back and wait. And then something happened, and Ivory (my thearipist) took action. Gives me a plan, a little food here and there. I like her so I try for her at least. Suddenly now I'm thrown in this world of heartburn because thats what you get when you dont eat for days and then suddenly you have food in you. The body freaks and the mind tells the body to purge so you go to two different gas stations and purge until theres nothing left and you go to class and dig your tiny bird bone hands deep into your ribs thinking that they're suddenly gone. And you're late to clas because there are too many stairs and your bones are like lead and you tell yourself that food just isn't sitting right with you right now and it hurts too much and obviously your body can't handle it so no more food for you.
Sneakly little bird secrets at the nurses office whose scale is fourteen pounds off and I am deemed healthy. There. I am healthy. I am stubborn. Life is great. Hey, I'm healthy. Miss High and Mighty Nurse said so. I shut up, sit there, supresss a smile. Ivory is not happy at the visit. I go back into my world of eaiting once every other day or so, or eating in front of family post fake things about loving/cant wait to eat/(insert food item here) I put on a smile, fix my hair, consume too much coffee and take the world by storm. I want to be tiny, shrink up, fly away, live up to my nick names of Little Bird and Bitty Bug. I can not see. I will never see. I am a liar, but I don't want to be. She told me herself that relapses are a part of recovery. Then why even try? I say curled up in the chair, picking at my numb fingers. I don't remember what she said. All I can think about is how light and empty I feel and how the holidays are coming up and last year how everything broke and I'm running the streets in seventeen degree weather too many diet pills and caffiene and green tea pills in my system running running running and the days and nights all run together and one day and two days and three days pass and I have not opened my mouth but I was still alive then and surely I'l lbe alive this year I'm stronger and smarter and my mind will not give into my flesh. I drink black coffee and listen to NPR. I will reach my goals. Nothing will touch me this year, I will slip in and out and build fences around myself and things will be safe and I will be safe and I will not be here i will be up so high that nothing makes sense and nothing will go wrong and everything will dissapear because I'm floating somewhere. But then I think of Ivory, or of my beloved Matt and Emily who in their young 27 years see me as their sort of daughter who have seen me crash at my worst and who still love me. Emily who asked me last week if I'd been eating and i say yes because i dont want to hurt them I dont want to lie to them but i lie anyway and she knows and she and matt give me a hug careful not to crush me but we hear the pop anyway and they get sad and say that they love me so much and could never hate me if i'm having trouble and just tell them. but it hurts too much to hurt them so i keep my mouth shut and go on with my day a cloud of guilt hanging over my head and guilt leads to punishment and i'm right back where i started. why does it even matter, why should it matter, it doesnt matter. we all fail in the end. give me my books, my tea, my paints and ink, i'll put them all in a thrift store suitcase and i'll be on my way.