Letting Ana Go (21 page)

Kim smiled at me, a sad smile—almost like she could see something about me that I couldn’t.

Kim: Just keep coming to group. It gets easier.

She gave me her cell phone number, and I typed it into my contacts, but I can’t imagine actually talking to her about anything. When I think about Kim and her big boobs and the way her thighs touch when she walks, I get this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I have to take deep breaths so I don’t gag. She just seems revolting to me.

I’ve gained three pounds each week since I got out of the hospital. Dr. Nash says I’m still fifteen pounds under my goal weight. I have a checkup with her once a week too. I told her I couldn’t eat any more than I was.

Dr. Nash: You can, it’ll just take time for your body to readjust. You’ll know you’re back on track when you get your period again. Should be in the next seven to ten pounds.

The idea of weighing ten more pounds totally freaks me out.

Dr. Crane: Why does it freak you out?

Me: I don’t want to be ugly.

Dr. Crane: What if you were
more
beautiful because you were at a healthy weight? Not less.

Me: But I won’t be. Jack is always saying how perfect I look.

Dr. Crane: Have you seen Jack lately? Since you put back on six pounds?

Me: Yeah.

Dr. Crane: When?

Me: He came over for dinner last night.

Dr. Crane: Did he act any differently around you?

I thought about this for a minute. Mom had made us spaghetti and meatballs. I only ate a little bit of pasta, but I had three meatballs and a slice of French bread with garlic butter on it. Jack had laughed and joked and slurped noodles in this way that made me giggle.

After dinner we hung out on the sectional in the living room reading our books for English class. He’s halfway through
A Tale of Two Cities
and I’m finishing up
Little Women
. He didn’t
seem any different at all. In fact, he was actually smiling more than usual.

Dr. Crane smiled when I told him this.

Dr. Crane: Jack loves you. Your mom loves you. Let them love you while you learn how to love yourself.

Me: But what if Jack stops? What if he . . .

Dr. Crane: Leaves?

I nodded.

Dr. Crane: People break up sometimes. Even when they’re married like your mom and dad. It happens all the time. You can’t control that by controlling what you eat. I can’t promise you Jack won’t leave. I
can
promise you he won’t leave because you weren’t thin or beautiful enough.

Weight:
121

Geoff and Vanessa came over tonight with Jack. I invited Jill, too, but she’s been in rehearsals for
The Nutcracker
every waking moment she’s not at school. I want to believe that’s why I haven’t been hearing from her as much, and why she’s been so quiet at school, but I know it’s because I’ve been eating more again.

I feel like I’ve lost two friends in a way—restricting my calories, and Jill. It used to be that we were friends for lots of
reasons. Now it seems like we were only friends for one reason. Kim was talking about that at group on Thursday, and it made a lot of sense to me.

Geoff and Jack insisted on ordering a pizza with jalapeños on it, so Vanessa and I got one with just Canadian bacon and pineapple on it. Geoff and Jack got into a pepper-eating contest to see who could handle the most and both of them ended up red in the face with tears running down their cheeks.

I was laughing so hard with Vanessa that my stomach actually hurt, and all of a sudden, I realized what a good time I was having. I hadn’t laughed like that in a really long time. It reminded me of how easy things used to be between Vanessa and Geoff and me. I want it to be like that again, but I get scared that it might not ever be. Even while I was eating delicious pizza there was this little voice in the back of my head saying:
You are disgusting. You are a fatty fatso. You should hate yourself
.

I was able to shut it out and not think about it when everybody was there. After they went home it was a different story. I was up in my room, and I saw my red “Do This Instead” box. Suddenly I didn’t want to be alone in my room anymore. I grabbed that box and the scale from under the bed, and I went to find Mom. I gave her both things.

She hugged me really tight for a long time, and then asked if I wanted to join her. We’re sitting on her bed right now. She’s
reading a book while I write. I feel really close to her right now—like being honest was a good thing. She told me that we’d keep the scale in the front bathroom, and as long as I was eating, we’d weigh in every day. It feels weird to bring someone else into the bathroom with me to weigh myself, but Dr. Crane has been talking about that in our sessions. He thinks it’s one more way that I can ask for help, that I can admit I am not in control of my food. He’s been helping me see how it’s the other way around—that food has actually been in control of
me
.

Weight:
122

I felt really crappy this morning when I woke up. Mom and I did our little weigh-in in the bathroom, and then I took a shower and started to get dressed. The skinny jeans I bought with Jill before school started are a little snug now, and I had to take them off and wear a pair of my older jeans. Mom poked her head in the door and saw me just staring at the skinny jeans lying on the bed. She walked over and put an arm around me.

Mom: Let’s go shopping after school today?

I nodded. My heart was racing like it might explode. I felt all panicky, and I think Mom felt me shaking because she pulled me in really close and held me tight.

Mom: Sssh. Sweetheart, it’s okay. It just means you’re
healthy
again. You’re getting there. You look so much better than you did six weeks ago.

After she left, I kept looking in the mirror, trying to keep my eyes on my eyes like Dr. Crane talks about doing. Trying to take in the whole of myself, instead of just the physical part. I
know
on some level deep inside that I look
better
—that I don’t look sick anymore. But I get so angry when I see magazines at the grocery store or Jill walking through the halls. How come those girls are able to be that skinny, and I can’t be?

Dr. Crane calls it an “inside job.” Meaning that my problems—the stuff that I have been trying to control by not eating—aren’t actually anybody else’s actions. It’s my own thinking that has to change.

Kim stopped by the lunch table where I was to say hi today. Jill was sitting next to Rob and got this look on her face like she was really amused. I tried to ignore it, but after Kim left, I was cutting up the pieces of chicken in my salad and caught Jill staring at me. My face flushed, and I felt this hot flash of anger shoot through me.

Me:
What?

Jill shrugged and started gathering her stuff to leave. Jack looked at Jill with a thunderstorm on his face, and the air around the table got really tense. He had a warning in his voice when he said Jill’s name.

Jill: Oh, butt out, Mr. Perfect.

Rob: Whoa. What’s going on?

I was trying not to cry, but it wasn’t any use. I felt Vanessa reach under the table and squeeze my leg. That made me even more frustrated. I didn’t want to have to choose between my friends.

Me: I have to
eat
, Jill. I don’t have a choice.

Jill: You always have a choice.

Jack jumped out of his chair and almost out of his skin. He pointed toward the cafeteria doors and said a single word in a very low voice:

Go
.

Jill shook her head at me and walked away.

I know I should talk about this at group tomorrow, but I don’t know if I can. I feel like my heart is breaking on the inside. I don’t want to hurt Jill, but I can’t go on hurting myself anymore, either.

Weight:
125

We’re at Grandma and Grandpa’s today for Thanksgiving. I was just watching the Rockettes perform in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Those girls have legs for days. It made me miss Jill. It also made me worried.

I went into Grandma’s bathroom and found her scale. It’s really old and still has a dial on the front—no digital numbers. It creaked and wobbled a little when I stepped onto it, but when the dial finally came to a rest from spinning back and forth it said 125. That means I’ve gained a full fifteen pounds since homecoming. I felt an old familiar panic descend over me like a fog rolling in. I texted Kim. She called me back right away.

Me: Help. Freaking out.

Kim: Turkey panic?

Me: I don’t know. I was just watching the parade and I had to come weigh myself.

Kim: Ah. The Rockettes?

Me: How’d . . . how’d you know?

Kim: Lots of dancers are anorexic. Did you know those girls have weigh-ins?

Me: Really?

Kim: Yep. If they can’t fit in their costumes, their understudy goes on.

Me: How am I going to make it through this meal?

Kim: Breathe. Remember that you have a disease that wants to control you.

Me: I’m ballooning up. I’ve gained fifteen pounds in six weeks!

Kim: That’s normal. You’re still underweight. Your body is repairing itself.

Me: I feel so fat and bloated. My stomach pooches out in the mirror.

Kim: That’s your disease distorting your vision. You’re still ten pounds underweight for your height.

Me: How are you so calm about this?

Kim: Because I’ve been at it for longer. You’re doing everything just fine. You called me, didn’t you?

I took a deep breath. Maybe Kim was right.

Me: What do I do?

Kim: You keep a journal, don’t you?

Me: Yeah.

Kim: Write all of this down.

Me: How will that help?

Kim: Write down what you’re feeling. Write down this conversation. If it doesn’t help, call me back.

Me: Okay.

Kim: Remember, your feelings are important, but they’re not facts. They’ll change. Just give them ten minutes.

Me: Thanks, Kim.

I started writing the second I hung up. I wrote down that whole conversation, but I feel hopeless somehow. I know in my head that Kim is right, but I have this fear in my stomach
that I’m going to become a monster. My nose is full of turkey and pumpkin pie right now, and any second Mom is going to call me to dinner and try to stuff me full of Grandma’s mashed potatoes.

Maybe Kim is right. Just breathe. This is my disease talking. I don’t have to eat the entire table, just a normal plateful. Try a bit of everything. It’s like being a little girl again.
I hate this
.

Just for today, I won’t restrict my calories. Maybe I’ll do it tomorrow. I could always start again tomorrow and go back down to 1,000 per day. That idea makes me feel a little bit better. I don’t have to eat like a hog forever, I’m just not going to count my calories for this one meal.

Jack just texted me:

Hey gorgeous. Thankful 4U.

I have to make sure he stays thankful and doesn’t get repulsed.

Weight:
125

I had a meltdown at the mall just now.

Mom and Grandma love shopping Black Friday sales. Grandma has been making a big deal about how pretty I look now
that I’ve “filled out” again. Even writing those words “filled out” makes me want to throw myself into traffic. It’s like I’m a form, covered in somebody else’s ideas of what I should look like. To make matters worse, Jack called last night and invited me to come see Jill do
The Nutcracker
on Saturday night. He said the whole family is really excited about it, and he wanted me to be his date.

When Mom heard this, she was determined to buy me a new outfit for the ballet, and Grandma was determined to pay for it. I should have just told them that the idea of shopping right now
terrifies
me.

But I didn’t.

Instead I let them shuttle me from Bloomingdale’s to Nordstrom to Macy’s and back again, until I thought they’d wear my skin off making me try on clothes. I told Mom I didn’t want to look at the sizes, but of course, once I was alone in the dressing rooms, I checked every tag.

We were back at Bloomingdale’s trying on the three dresses we’d put on hold there when Grandma said she thought one of them was a little too tight in the chest and I should get the next size up so I could really show off my “girls.”

Mom froze when she said this, and I could see the daggers she was shooting at Grandma, but Grandma just acted like it was no big deal.

Grandma: Well, she’s got to face facts at some point. She’s
a four and that’s all there is to it. No sense beating around the bush. She should be proud of the beauty God gave her. I know that Jack boy won’t complain.

I smiled at Mom and nodded as if to say I was fine. She took the dress out and went to get the size four. I closed the dressing room door again and stood there staring at myself in my underwear.

I was disgusting.

I was so
fat
.

A month ago I zipped into a two no problem. Now I was squeezing into a four.

I started bawling. By the time Mom got back with the dress, I was lying on the floor in the dressing room, and she had to stand me up and help me get dressed.

Grandma bought me the dress anyway. In a four.

I guess my date with Jack tomorrow night will be my last. Susan will never let him date a heifer. Just thinking about it makes me want to throw up.

Weight:
125

Jill was perfect.

She was the perfect Clara. She was tiny and athletic and
beautiful. The guys were all as muscular as Jack and they tossed Jill up over their heads in lifts and spins that made me gasp. Misty Jenkins was a beautiful Sugar Plum Fairy, but Jill stole the show.

I sat there next to Jack feeling like a sausage stuffed in a casing. When James pulled the SUV into the driveway to pick me up, Jack met me at the door in a suit and tie. I was wearing the new dress Grandma bought me and my dress coat. It was long and black and covered up everything except my favorite black heels. He just jumped up the stairs two at a time and kissed me square on the mouth. His cheeks were flushed.