Fine

For a brief moment I feel fine, almost a little drunk or high. My body resting on top of the sheets, relaxed and warm like I‘d spent the whole day playing outside. There’s no one else in the room, no anxiety or pain. He’s not coming back. Do I want him to? I feel safe here. I’m laughing, see? Giggling in a little boy voice. I’m beyond tired. I could sleep for days, months, years and it wouldn’t be enough. When I was younger I couldn’t stand the sight of blood. Its bold aggressive colour, its warmth and smell. It doesn’t bother me as much anymore. The cuts scream look at me, please help me, please notice me, please hold me, but they’re old reminders. I haven’t cut in a long time. I miss the release, being able to cry. I’m fine now, I’m doing fine. It’s barely noticeable, what I’m doing to my body. I look healthy, you said so yourself. You gave me the all clear, permission to slide further, deeper into hell.

The little kid had so many questions. He waited and waited, but the opportunity never came. They moved quickly from A to Z, rushed through the different stages of grief, told him to share but never paused for long enough to really listen. Silence is uncomfortable. Grownups like to see results. When there’s no visible progress people lose their patience and then they give up. Throw away the crayons and sketch pads, the ugly rag dolls he wouldn’t touch. You win, Charlie. You can go now.

Mirror Twin

I’ve taken to running before breakfast. Dance class isn’t enough. You look healthy, she says. You look so much stronger. And normally I’d feel happy, reassured, maybe even proud, but today is different. I feel anything but strong. I’m tired, easily triggered. Absentminded, like I’m barely present in the room. In my head healthy equals fat. Perfectly fine means overweight. Fit or in shape, is a polite way of saying you could stand to lose a few. Everything feels too tight. The scales lie. I tug at the elastic band. My dance belt and shorts leave pink lines on my skin. I’m growing into my body, becoming more muscular. This is a good thing, something positive. It’s exactly how it should be. But it’s not okay, it disgusts me. I see fat where there is muscle. She talks about healthy eating habits and I stare at my mirror twin. Exercise moderately, not excessively. Practice, then rest. Let your body recover. Everything in moderation. Yes. We nod, but everyone knows it’s bullshit, fat isn’t tolerated here. We’re all perfectionists, chasing the ideal dancer’s build. I’ve never understood the difference between self image and body image, it all blurs together. Maybe I don’t want to understand. She’s so much tougher on the girls. It’s painful to watch, the way she stands behind the “heavy” girl and stares at the two of them in the mirror, comparing bodies. Grown woman versus teenage girl. Thin versus what ought to be normal. The girl looks composed, she even manages to smile. But on her way to the changing rooms she starts crying and the other girls rally around her. She cries like a boy, quiet angry tears. You’re not fat, don’t listen to her. She’s a bitch. I want to tell her about it. Casually, like it’s no big deal. I’m not the only one, I know that. Not in this place where you can’t hide from the mirrors and glances. Spoken casually, it’s less dangerous. Less real. Even to me.

Control

A couple months ago my friend asked me to write a short piece on anorexia and eating disorders and how it affects boys, because it’s often overlooked and not many people talk about it. I thought to myself, piece of cake, I’ve written about this stuff in my journal lots of times, I’ve talked about it in group, how hard can it be? Well, I was wrong. The thing about anorexia is that it will slowly take over your life and then you wake up one day and you’ve become the illness or it’s become you, I’m not sure which. It’s almost like you surrender yourself to it. I guess it’s a relief in a way, to just let go, because most people suffering from an ED are control freaks and have to be in charge of everything all the time. I had some pretty big and scary changes happen in my life and I was desperately trying to control every little thing that was happening. I can stop my body from changing, I can stop it, I can, I can! I'll be light as a feather, calm and empty. I'll be me before it happened. I remember feeling overwhelmed, exhausted and extremely helpless. I'm caught between wanting to be in control, and giving it away to the grownups around me. What happens if I do? What happens if I don't? It's like that moment when I'm on my board, and I don't know if I'm gonna land safely or fall. Obvisiously when you’re a kid you have very little control over what happens to you or around you, but one of the few things I had control over was my food intake. I don’t think I meant for it to happen, when I was 11-12 years old I didn’t even know what anorexia was or how dangerous it can be, it just sort of happened and I got stuck. I wanted to hurt myself and my body and I was never hungry anyway. It’s like eating when you feel sick or nervous, the food grows bigger and bigger in your mouth and it’s impossible to swallow. Every time I ate in the cafeteria I’d feel every kid watching me and my hands would start to shake really bad. Sometimes I'd drop my knife or fork and it’d make me jump in my seat. It’d get so bad I’d run to the bathroom to throw up or skip meals. It wasn’t a conscious decision to stop eating, once I started I just couldn’t stop, but I think I’ll stop writing now because this isn’t short at all.