April 1998
“WE’RE PREPARING FOR your discharge,” Dr. Larsen told me during our daily therapy session.
“Discharge?” I said. The word stuck in my throat.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s time. You’re ready,” she told me.
I sure didn’t feel ready. Even though there were concrete goalposts I could point to that marked progress in my recovery, like how my shoes and comforter were returned to me, and the fact I was eating a variety of foods with more ease, I was still terrified. Change is hard for those used to the rigid tendencies of eating disorders, and I was no exception.
It had been three and a half months since I had first arrived at Better Horizons, and Dr. Larsen, the nurse, Iris, Kyle, and the entire staff had grown to feel like family. Contemplating leaving them and returning to a house without Mom was too overwhelming.
“I don’t want to go,” I told Dr. Larsen.
“That’s understandable,” she said.
“What if I relapse?” I asked her.
“I’ll still be here,” she told me. “But keep in mind, you’re not the girl who arrived here in January.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“You just told me you don’t want to leave and are scared to go.”
I thought about that. When I first arrived, all I wanted to do was leave.
“I’m also nervous about school and if I’ll be able to maintain my recovery there,” I told Dr. Larsen.
“You’ll attend an outpatient program a few nights a week near your home and build a recovery community. You won’t be alone. And your teachers will help you make up the work you’ve missed. You’ll have the summer to do that as well.”
I could feel the tears bubbling in my eyes.
“I don’t think I can do this without you,” I finally admitted. I realized she was the closest thing to a mother figure I had had since Mom. The prospect of letting her go had echoes of losing Mom.
“I believe that you can. You’ve learned how to fight ED, the most ferocious foe, which means you can do anything with your life. You have so much to be proud of. I’ll still be here, rooting for you on the sidelines. Someone you can always turn to.”
“When am I leaving?” I asked, blinking away tears.
“In a couple of days,” she said.
Two days later, I walked down the same stairs I had tiptoed down a few months before when I had tried running away. But this time, I had my luggage in my hands, and I was going home. The entire staff was waiting for me in the living room and started clapping.
Dr. Larsen handed me a goodbye book that they had all signed. She hugged me and whispered in my ear, “This isn’t the end. It’s the beginning of your life.”
At the time, I had no idea that over a decade later, under very different circumstances, she’d make a reappearance in my life.