Brenna’s back. She got here this morning after breakfast. We were all in the group room, doing some worksheet Heather passed out about self-soothing techniques (A warm bath! Cuddling with a cat! Smelling flowers!), when Meredith elbowed me in the ribs.
“Ow!” Meredith’s pointy elbow hurt. I bet I’m going to have a bruise tomorrow. Then I looked up and saw Brenna. She was outside the group room window. Her shoulders were slumped, her eyes red.
Her dad was with her. I recognized him from when she was discharged, when he came in for her good-bye party and to help her pack up her stuff. He’s way tall, with a potbelly and a bushy beard. Snippets of his voice came through the thin walls:
“… do it this time … one more shot … no other choice…”
I shouldn’t have been listening, but I couldn’t exactly turn him off. He was loud. Everyone was staring. Everyone was listening. Heather switched on the TV. “Nature shows can be soothing, too!” She made us watch an old episode of Planet Earth, one with screeching birds and roaring lions. TV didn’t soothe me at all, though.
I keep thinking about how Brenna looked when she’d left, so shaky and afraid. She knew she wasn’t ready. She was right.
Now she’s back. A repeat customer, just like Aisha. Just like me someday?
No, not like me.
How do I recover? I’ve been here for a million years now. I’ve shoved food—lots of food—down my throat. They’ve taught me “life lessons” and “coping skills.” I should feel like a better person now, right? A person who cares more about friends and school and life than my body.
Except I still feel like the same old Riley. I still think about my body.
I still feel like a fake.
Josie sent me a letter!!!!!!! That deserves seven exclamation points. That deserves seven million exclamation points. This journal is definitely not big enough for that, though.
Riley,
I’m sorry I got mad. I’m sorry you got sick. Emerson told me you’re doing better. I hope you can come back to school soon.
My birthday wasn’t that much fun without you. No one could agree on a movie to watch, and all the songs I picked for the dance party seemed babyish. Chloe kept asking why I hadn’t invited boys—umm, because I didn’t want to? Because all the boys in our class are super annoying?
Talia got glasses last week. They’re these big black frames that she says are “way stylish” and “the latest thing.” Except I’m not sure Talia really needs them to see, because she doesn’t wear them half the time. Now all the other girls are wearing fake glasses, too. It’s really weird.
Talia asked how you were doing the other day, like I would know the answer. Usually I would know the answer. I used to know everything about you. I’m not sure if Talia was looking for a reason to make fun of us some more or if she really cared. Either way, I care. I’m not that mad anymore. Even if you messed up, I still want you to be my friend.
I hope it’s not too scary in there. I hope you know that I love you and that you’re awesome.
Love,
Josie
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I didn’t feel guilty after lunch today! I ate the food and tasted the food. Everything tasted good, too! I went to our next group and drew and read some of my book. Then all of a sudden I realized I hadn’t thought about lunch once.
It felt like someone had let me out of a jail cell after I’d been sentenced to life in prison, except instead of my body, it was my brain that was free. I wasn’t cooped up in an endless circle of I ate something bad. I’m so bad. I have to fix this.
Things were different. My race car stopped going around and around the track. It got on the exit ramp. I thought different things, too. I thought about how when I got out of here, it would be fun to bake cookies with my friends. How maybe if I stopped biting my nails, Mom might take me with her to get a manicure.
How the sky looked really pretty and I wanted to draw it.
How my latest portrait of myself looked … kind of nice?
How lately, I want to draw way more than I want to run.
Then I had snack.
And … now I feel guilty for eating.
Baby steps, right?