Laura tried to throw up after breakfast. I was walking past the bathroom and Heather was standing outside, scrolling through her phone. Laura was counting inside the bathroom. After she said “thirteen,” the counting stopped.
All the staff have bathroom keys on colored bracelets around their wrists. Heather’s is bright pink. She ripped that bracelet off superfast and threw open the bathroom door. I know I shouldn’t have peeked inside, but I did. It’s not like I wanted to see Laura, but I couldn’t help it—the door was open. She was bent over the toilet, her curtain of hair hanging down to cover her face. Laura didn’t even stop when Heather got near her.
I wonder if Laura got barf on her hair. Gross.
I ran into the group room then. I didn’t tell anyone, but everyone still found out. There’s no way to keep a secret in this place. I haven’t seen Laura since. I wonder if she got kicked out. I wonder if she’s going to the same place Rebecca did. I still wonder where Rebecca is. I wonder if I’ll ever find out.
I’ve never purged before. It always seemed gross to me. But it’d be nice to be empty inside.
I miss being empty. Being hungry. Light. Clean.
But it’s nice to be full, too. My stomach doesn’t hurt as much anymore. I eat and I digest. It’s almost like my body is doing what it was meant to do.
In group today, we talked about self-esteem. Sixty minutes of why we’re so wonderful the way we are and how our bodies were made “to be, not do.” Sixty minutes of affirmation after affirmation. (Which are basically brags you’re allowed to say.) The counselor made us go around in a circle and say something we loved about ourselves.
Ali said she was a good friend. (I tried not to laugh when she said that.)
Brenna said she had a nice laugh. (She does! It’s deep and vibrates through the room.)
Laura said she liked her fingernail polish. (I wasn’t sure that counted, but no one said anything.)
I went last. I couldn’t think of anything for like five whole minutes. Okay, it was really only five seconds, but it felt way longer. Especially since I was blushing. “My pale skin” is definitely not something I like about myself.
I haven’t been a good friend lately. Or a good sister. Probably not a good daughter, either.
I finally blurted out that I liked the birthmark on my ankle. Everyone stared at my ankle, which was covered up by my sock. “It looks like a heart,” I explained.
We had to do some worksheet after that, where we listed things we hate about being sick. It made me feel like I’m in school again. Weirdly, it made me miss school.
It even made me miss homework.