Have you heard from Valerie?
I ask from the couch.
The therapist does not answer me. We both know that she cannot.
I do not need details, I want to tell her, just a sign that she is alive. And I would like to send her a letter, and the copy of Rilke I finished.
Valerie and I had not had the chance to talk about the poem I had given her. It began with:
Flare up like flame.
And make big shadows I can move in. I knew it by heart:
Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Our friendship had been cut short too soon after it had started. An almost friendship. I almost knew her. Julia’s words come to my mind:
It sucks, I know, but there are too many of us for me to cry over every one.
Every patient here is a tragedy, but Valerie had been my friend. Almost.
Your concern for Valerie is very thoughtful, Anna,
Katherine begins cautiously. I already disapprove of the word “thoughtful.”
but your priority during your stay here should be your own recovery. I’d like you to concentrate on that, can you?
This session and this Monday are not off to an excellent start. The latter is my third here, I reflect. I do not feel closer to recovery. Heavier, yes. Fatter, my brain would say. No groundbreaking change at that level.
Two weeks and the novelty of meals and therapy, disconcerting as it was, has worn off. The weekly schedule has become routine. Not the anxiety or sadness, though.
Katherine is waiting for a sign that I have heard and acknowledged her. But I do not appreciate being told what to do, nor do I, consequently, answer.
She tries again:
Why don’t you tell me how your weekend went?
No thank you. Instead:
Has anyone told her father yet? He was supposed to visit her.
And I continue Rilke’s poem in my head:
Don’t let yourself lose me.
Anna,
the therapist warns,
we’re here to talk about you.
But I have nothing to say.
That can’t be possible.
Rather, nothing to say to her.
I do not want to tell her that I slept with Matthias, for the first time in months, on Friday. That it had hurt but that, for the first time in a long time, I had wanted to. I do not want to tell her about getting my nails done and envying every woman in the salon for the sheer normalcy of her life, having a purpose when I have none.
Are you tired of talking?
Exhausted, I want to say, and sick of being here. And losing what little momentum I had when I first arrived.
I have been talking and eating for two weeks,
I answer.
And if I give up now, I could just disappear like Valerie, in the middle of the night in an ambulance.
What’s the point?
I ask her. She responds:
Of getting better? You tell me, Anna.
Isn’t there anything you want to do, to be outside of here?
Not really. I cannot dance. I cannot return to Paris. There is nothing there for me. My father and sister have lives that can go on perfectly well without me. Here, my job at the supermarket is almost certainly gone, but good riddance, except for the money, and the hours it filled. So no career prospects.
Matthias does not need me either, not in the immediate, physical sense. He loves me, I know that, and I love him but that alone is not purpose enough.
Isn’t there anything you want?
the therapist asks again.
She will not let this go, so I say the first thing that comes to mind:
On Saturday Julia asked me where I would go if I could leave this place.
Visibly relieved that I had said something, anything, Katherine asks:
And what did you say?
I said I would go to a coffee shop, have something to drink, and read.
I reflect after a few seconds:
How sad. I have no goals.
So set some.
I am too tired to answer her. She pushes nonetheless:
Can you at least imagine what you would be doing in a world without anorexia?
In a world without anorexia … I do not dare dream. But what if I did, in my head?
In a world without anorexia, I would take ballet classes again.
I would find a job I actually enjoy, maybe teach little children to dance.
I would read. Poetry. I would read more poetry. What if I studied poetry?
I would call my father, my sister, the friends I lost in my silence.
I would go home and have sex with Matthias. Over and over again.
Love Matthias. Have a family with Matthias.
But that all remains in my head.
Fortunately, the door knocks just then. Our time is up for today. Direct Care is here with Katherine’s next appointment. I vacate the gray couch.