Ali did crunches again last night. I was hoping she wouldn’t, so I wouldn’t have to decide whether to join her. I could already feel Ed coming to life inside my head. He was setting up camp, like we used to do when we were little, before Julia and I started complaining about how boring camping is.
For a second, I tried to think of what my healthy voice would say. They call that “positive self-talk” here. It’s when you don’t yell at yourself. When you encourage yourself like teammates do at track meets.
I told myself that Ali could do what she wanted and I should do what’s healthy for me. I tried to believe all that mental cheerleading. Go, Riley, go!
It only lasted a second, though. Gabi made separating Ed’s voice from my healthy voice sound so easy. But in real life it’s impossible, because Ed sounds exactly like me. It’s like how Josie’s voice sounds just like her mom’s. Which made it super awkward that time Mrs. Friedman answered the phone and I started blabbing about how cute we both thought Dillon Davis was. Josie didn’t forgive me for like three weeks.
That was for a little phone mix-up, though. I don’t think Josie will ever forgive me for missing her birthday party.
If I’d ignored Ed, I never would have missed her party.
I couldn’t ignore him last night, either. I couldn’t lie in bed while Ali was getting skinnier next to me. So I crunched. I crunched until I heard footsteps coming down the hall. I stopped, my heart pounding faster than it does when someone offers me a snack and I can’t think of an excuse to say no. Ali and I locked eyes. She was smiling this weird congratulatory smile, like she was proud of me.
Ali looked like I always wanted Talia to look at me. Like I finally belonged. Like I wasn’t Roly-Poly Riley anymore and never would be again.
Except Ali was smiling from a hospital bed. Ali was smiling while attached to an IV. Do I really want Ali’s approval? Why is it so important to me?
I kept crunching until Ali stopped, though. It was a contest I couldn’t lose. But now I feel so guilty. I urged Ali on, even though I know she shouldn’t be doing crunches. Ali’s sick. Exercise will hurt her.
So won’t it hurt me, too? I’m so confused.
This is the stuff that happens all the time, the part of the eating disorder I hate. I feel good when I restrict. I feel good when I exercise. I feel great when I listen to that sneaky voice inside me. Only for a while, though. Then the regret comes, because I know I’m hurting myself.
I’m hurting other people, too.
It surprises me every time someone in here thinks like me. I’m so used to feeling like “the only one.”
The only one who let a diet spiral into an illness.
The only one who thinks one bite of cookie will glom a zillion pounds onto my stomach.
The only one who’s messed up beyond repair.
Today we had art therapy. Apparently it’s a way for us to “relax and feel our emotions through art.” I don’t know what I think about that. I do agree that drawing makes me relax, that when I create an entire new world on paper I can forget about my own.
Except I don’t want to feel my emotions. Not in regular therapy and not in art therapy. I don’t want to talk about what scares me.
We didn’t have to talk today, though. We just drew.
“Today I want you to draw someone you love,” Zelda, the art therapist, said. “Picture them in your mind and put them on paper.”
Meredith started to protest that she was the “worst artist ever,” but Zelda cut her off. “I don’t care if you’re not good at this. You can draw something abstract if you want. You can scribble like a little kid. But I do want you to do the work. I want you to think about that person and what they look like. Then, around your drawing, I want you to write words you associate with them. What do you love about that person? What makes them special?”
Everyone else got to work right away. I finally decided to draw Josie, probably because I can’t stop thinking about her. I drew her wavy hair and her brown eyes. I drew her short legs and her favorite jeans, the ones with the rips in the knees.
Around her, I wrote a cloud of compliments:
Good listener.
Silly.
Laughs at my jokes.
Asks to see my drawings.
Loves hiking.
Great at science.
“What’s more important?” Zelda asked when we were done. “The body itself? Or what makes the person inside that body so special?”
I stared at my drawing. Zelda’s right. I don’t care what Josie looks like. I do care what I look like, though, even if I shouldn’t. That’s why the next part of Zelda’s assignment will be impossible. She asked us to draw ourselves.
“I don’t want you to draw your bodies, but I do want you to draw your faces. Draw yourself as you look when you’re the happiest. When you’re content and accepting of yourself. Capture that feeling and think about what makes you that way.”
“But I’m not accepting of myself,” Laura said.
“I don’t want to draw myself,” Brenna said. “Even if it’s just my face. I’m way bigger than everyone here.”
But you’re beautiful.
I wanted to say that to Brenna, but I knew she wouldn’t listen.
Because I wouldn’t have listened to me, either. I don’t listen to me.
Brenna’s not the only one who doesn’t think she’s beautiful. I’m not the only one who criticizes herself. We’re all messed up. Even though sometimes I don’t feel like I belong here, it’s nice to get reminders that I’m not the only one who feels like I’m drowning.
Like I’m flailing in the middle of the ocean with two life rafts in front of me: one will save me and the other will deflate the second I grab it. One life raft is recovery. The other life raft is staying sick. I just don’t know which is which.
Maybe everyone else wonders this, too. When I hear them crying at night, maybe they’re as scared as I am. We’re all sick. But will we all get well? Will I get well?
Willow says that’s up to me.
I know I’m strong. I worked hard and made the track team. I worked hard and lost weight. I could work hard and recover. I could eat food. I could rest. I could hang out with my friends and be a normal kid.
Maybe I could.