Feature Your Poetry and Writings on Weighing The Facts

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Writing is a very powerful tool for many with Eating Disorders and Body Image issues. Sharing those writings is an excellent way for others to relate and be inspired.

So many times I have been told how a submission here has struck a cord, make someone feel less alone, and inspired someone in their recovery. 

Do you have original poetry/writings about your struggles, experiences, or recovery with your Eating Disorder, or Body Image? Would you like to share them with others?

Weighing The Facts would like to feature your writing so that others can relate, find support, and encouragement towards recovery.

Participation may be anonymous or credited, whichever you feel most comfortable with. Poems/writings must be your own work.

If you're interested in participating, or have any questions, just send me an email at mrsmenopausal@yahoo.com. Include your submission (as an attachment or pasted into the body of the email) and state how you would like to be credited (anonymously, a pen name, your real name, etc).  I will send you an email letting you know when it has been posted.

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What Ana Says To Me: The Lying and Degrading Voice of an ED

*WARNING: This post may be triggering.

What Ana Says To Me…

“Good morning. You are looking very fat today. Can you see those huge thunder thighs? Or how about the stomach rolls you disgusting pig- you are so worthless. You deserve to be sad and alone. Nobody would want you as a friend. Wonder why you are so unpopular? Maybe if you lost 10 pounds you would have more friends.”

“But I want friends, Ana. I want to lose weight too. I hate being so unpopular. I feel fat, ugly and alone like you say. I would be oblivious if you didn’t point it out. What would I do without you?”

“It’s breakfast time. Deviate from your meal plan. If you can’t hide any food, then only measure half a cup of cereal and milk, instead of a whole. Besides you can make it up at school by purging and throwing away some of your lunch. Remember how fat you look? If you do what I say you will feel better. You won’t have to feel anything at all. All of the pain will be gone. Once you lose all of the weight, you will not have to feel any of that depression or anxiety. Then again, it’s your entire fault that you feel that way anyway. It’s your entire fault. I am here to help you get what you want, remember?

“Yes, Ana. I will measure the way you tell me. It’s my entire fault, but why Ana? I’m glad you’re in control of me. You know how much I fear having control and responsibility. Thank you Ana. What would I do without you? I don’t know what life would be like if you weren’t here. I would be all alone and so lost.

“Look at that girl in the hallway. She’s so skinny. Oh, but look at her boobs and hips. If you ever looked like that I would abandon you and leave you to rot in the hell you live in. At least you can live in hell with me! Now, since its lunch time, go throw away half your lunch. Make sure you keep the pop so you can purge. When you purge, make it hurt. Make it burn. I want you to have sores in your mouth. I want your chest to throb in pain. I want you to pick up the vomit. Puke in your hands. You are so worthless and so low that you have to break up the chunks with your fingers, without washing your hands. You don’t deserve better. Remember though, that binging means you are impure and dirty. You haven’t binged ever yet- keep it that way or I will leave you. Oh, and heads up, I just noticed how ugly your face is. You need to do something about that. Or else I won’t be able to be seen with you."

“I don’t want to do that, but I will. I see the ugly too, and I’ve got to do something about it. I feel so bad, Ana. I feel so horrible about myself. And I don’t want to grow up. I am so scared. I am afraid of the responsibility and control over everything. Plus my body will digress from what I want it to be. I will be ashamed of my boobs and hips and menstruating. You have got to help me stop my periods, Ana. I just don’t want to feel so guilty when I have them. I abandon you when I menstruate. It’s the ultimate loss of control and the ultimate form of maturity. Please just save me from myself, Ana. Save me from all of my fears. I can’t rescue myself anymore.”

“You are so horrible. You weren’t perfect today. You must restrict on dinner. You are a fat cow. Nobody loves you, and you love nobody. You hate people because of their bodies. If they are too thin, then you are not worthy of their presence. If they are too fat and you caught hanging out with them, then you are a loser. Now be done with the lasagna. You have veggies left, and if you eat them then you are a failure. Then you will be sad and alone forever. And you know that those bad feelings are one of the things that make you the most uncomfortable. “

“Tonight you are not allowed to fall asleep. You’re stomach feels so fat- you must wait until you aren’t so bloated. Tonight you will wet the bed. Tomorrow you will wake up wet and disgusting. Everyone will know your secret and you will again be imperfect. Your parents will pity you and you will be a failure. If you wet the bed, then you will hate yourself. You are worthless and alone. Remember me when you think about eating, falling asleep, or smiling. I will never leave you, ever. I will always be with you. You will never have the freedom to make choices ever again. But then again, you fear that so it’s all good. “

This is what Ana says to me.

I am going to fight the ED and announce my fears to the world! That's what ED fears the most...!
Written by: Anonymous

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I Have A Mistress: ED Poetry And Writings

I have a mistress. She is strong and persuasive.

She is the only thing in this world that truly frightens my husband.

I have virtually stopped eating. I eat enough so that I still have a period and can keep people off my back. Maybe secretly, I want to starve myself to death and not have to deal with anything anymore. (July 18, 2008)

Her name is Ana--short for anorexia.

The National Association of Anorexia Nervosa and Associated Disorder estimates there are eight million people in this country who suffer from anorexia or another type of eating disorder.

I am one of those people.

My complicated relationship with Ana reached its breaking point when I was led out of a hospital in handcuffs and leg shackles.

Technically, I had done nothing illegal to warrant all of the hardware. But when I walked into the emergency room and informed the nurse on duty that I wanted to kill myself, there are certain procedures a hospital must follow.

Ana is all about control. In the beginning, I thought I controlled our relationship. She knew she was the one calling the shots.

With her at my side, I have watched myself become someone I don’t even recognize. To be with her, I have lied and deceived my family and friends over food.

Some days Ana is so frustrating that I wish I could switch places with someone else so I could get some peace from her voice. From the time I wake up until I go to sleep, I think about food. It usually begins with me wondering what to eat but it always ends with me not eating.

I used to love eating apples. I would cut the apple in half. Then cut each half into fourths. And then cut each of the fourths into four more pieces. It should take a person no more than ten minutes to eat an apple.

It took me an hour.

It’s not about the numbers on a scale. It’s about control. And my food intake is the one thing in my life that I can control. (June 1, 2008)

When I was 16 years old, my grandmother had a stroke.

I saw the ambulance from the school bus and knew something was wrong.
Since the day I was born, my grandmother helped to raise me. I remember dropping my backpack and running across the yard.

It was scary to see my favorite person in the whole world helpless and frail.
In that moment, my life changed. I went from being a high school sophomore to being a caregiver.

This was the beginning of Ana and I’s friendship. She didn’t show up because of any abuse or neglect.

Ana became a constant companion for a shy geeky teenager with few friends that was terrified of losing the one person who understood her.

I didn’t know how to share my fears or deal with all of the change. So my coping mechanism was to control how much and when I ate food. It would be years before I would admit that I was anorexic.

At home, nobody noticed because I did most of the cooking.

During that year, my friends and I had different lunchtimes. Instead of making new friends, I would get a Pepsi and a pack of crackers. For most of high school, this would be my lunch.
Truth be known, I am a lazy anorexic. I don’t exercise or calorie count. I just slowly eliminate eating as a priority for each day.

Sometimes I watch the Food Network so I can get a food fix. It’s sad that I watch Emeril or Bobby Flay so I can imagine what a meal would be like without her voice. At one time, I wanted to be a chef but being around so much food scared me.

Anorexia is a hard disease to explain to those who don’t have it. For some, it is just a matter of eating. For those of us in the know, it is about control. Control when there isn’t really control. (March 2, 2001).

I read once that in a day a person should eat about 2,000 calories. I probably eat 800 to 900 calories in a day.

It was hard at first but it became easier with time to ignore the hunger pangs and the sound of my stomach growling.

Eventually from time to time I would weigh myself. If the numbers were too high, I would freak out and not eat. But I still refused to admit I had a problem. Who punishes themselves for weighing 97 pounds by going to bed hungry? It is amazing how numbers on a scale could change my whole day.

There have been many signs that our relationship is very unhealthy.

At one point in my late 20s, I got down to 73 pounds. My friends were scared and not sure what to do.

There is a picture of me at this weight. It was taken at a Memorial Day pool party. At that time, I thought I looked awesome. My closest friends saw it differently. They saw a dangerously thin woman.

In January of 2001, a physician assistant voiced the truth.

Before that visit, I was sick all the time. I would have the flu, a cold or some sinus problem. It was always something. When I finally went to the doctor, she took one look at me and asked how long I had been anorexic.

I angrily informed her that I was not anorexic.

“I am just having trouble getting rid of this cold,” I said.

“No, you are anorexic and your poor body is fighting to stay alive,” she said quietly but firmly.
She gave me a prescription for my sinus infection and the name and number of an eating disorder specialist.

At this point in my life, Ana and I weren’t ready to be separated.
I crumpled the paper once I got in my car and threw it on the floor of my car. I refused to believe what she was saying.

Throughout that day, I called friends to tell them about what was said. I expected them to be sympathetic for me and angry at the woman also. But all I got were awkward silences or “I’ve got to go.”

The one person who had the guts to talk to me about it was one of my best friends (now my husband, James). In a very calm voice he said, “She’s right. You have an eating disorder. I hope you will listen to her and get help.”

A few days later, I picked the paper up off the floor of my car and called for help.

I wish I could say I sent Ana packing but that would be the biggest lie ever.

A few months after starting therapy, I looked in the mirror as part of an exercise. I avoid mirrors. I always have because they make me feel uncomfortable.

The first thing I noticed was that I was getting a little pudgy. At that time, I was 82 pounds. What scares me the most about the memory is how upset I was at weighing 82 pounds. This is the weight of a fourth grader. I was angry at myself for weighing 82 pounds.

I have always struggled with eating. I can’t remember the last time that I just sat down and ate without stressing about it. It’s not about calorie counting. I just can’t explain it. (May 7, 2001)

Ana and I have been together through a major move to another state, several boyfriends, two engagements, a wedding, miscarriages, a still born and the birth of my son.

She has always been there in the background waiting for me to call her back into my life.

Food will always be an issue in my life. When a plate of food is put in front of me, I get anxious and nervous. I hate to eat with others because I feel like they are watching and mentally recording every bite I put in my life.

Through the years, I had learned to keep Ana hidden.

But I accepted her embrace when the newspaper I loved went from a twice weekly to a weekly. She started her seductive whispering.

It started with me eating more junk food than real food. Then I was only eating certain foods on certain days. It soon progressed to eating only one meal a day as late as possible.
Then the newspaper was sold and my job eliminated.

Moving back home was stressful and depressing for me. Not only did I not have a job but I would be around people and would have to eat. When I lived alone, I decided when I ate. With others, there were semi-set meal times or torture time for me.

We had just bought a home. My mother was undergoing her second round of chemotherapy for stage four metastatic breast cancer. Everything was spiraling out of control.
With all the uncertainty in my life, Ana knew the only thing that could be controlled was how much I ate in a day.

She knew, in a very sick way, I got a high from going hours or days without eating. Once for a week, I survived on bag of oyster crackers and a container of cottage cheese.

Change is a big trigger for my anorexia. If the change is too big, I quit eating. (March 31, 2001)

It was tough relearning how to be a mother while being homesick for my former life.

“You may not work at a newspaper but you can still write,” everyone told me.

It is not a matter of blogging or writing a book. I wanted to write for a newspaper. I can’t describe how I feel when writing. The group, Coldplay, has a song called “Viva La Vida,”,” which sums up how I feel. The song talks about a person going from a prince to a pauper. This is how I feel now.

It starts out with “when I ruled the world.” This is how I felt as a reporter. Writing was a way of expressing myself. It was my identity. I was a reporter and not just a mother or a wife.
I started looking forward to night time. When it’s late at night, everyone is asleep. Ana’s voice subsides and I don’t have to do her bidding. There is no sneaking food into a napkin or putting it down the drain. Just silence.

The doctor doesn’t know what’s wrong. He said it could be a kidney infection. It could be. But I know why my body is messed up. I always know why. (March 14, 2002)

As with most affairs, I didn’t see how it was destroying my body, my life and my family. My two-year-old son didn’t want to eat because Mommy didn’t eat.

My husband felt powerless.

One night, I overheard him talking on the phone about being so frustrated.
I wish I could tell him how self-conscious I feel about my body. Some days I see the skeletal body that others see and other days I see something else. I envy him when he eats. He doesn’t seem to worry or stress. He just eats.

I hoped he wouldn’t notice my relapse.

He noticed. He saw how fast the weight was dropping and what I was eating. Or shall I say was not eating.

He is an excellent cook whose efforts were wasted on me. He knew this but would try anyway.
“Here try this,” he said. “I made just the way you like it.”

He would buy my favorite foods. He tried anything to get some calories into my body.
My husband is one of those people who wants to help wherever there is a need.

I know my relationship with Ana frustrates and angers him. He would express his concern about my appearance and mental state. And Ana whispers that he is jealous and don’t let him take me from her.

So instead of listening to concern for my well-being, I embraced destruction of my body.

I can’t explain her hold over me. The way it alternates between craziness and numbness. How she makes nothing else matter except not eating.

There is so much that I want to tell him but I can’t so I push him away. I don’t isolate myself to hurt him intentionally. I do it because I’m scared to imagine a life without her.

So a lot of times I try to eat enough so no one will notice.

I thought I did it with finesse but my weight loss was soon very noticeable.

Ana became my constant companion who made me feel like I was holding things together. But in reality, people I loved watched me retreat and fade away. She had become all that mattered.

Believe it or not, it does scare me when I look at my body with my clothes off. I shower with my eyes closed so I don’t have to see how painfully thin I am, but I am not sure what to do. Everyone knows. Either because they figured it out or James told them. (July 10, 2008)

Some days I would see how long I could go without eating anything substantial. This is not easy when you are running after a small child with tons of energy. Each night, I would be exhausted and stressed about eating.

Being with Ana was not a secret game that I took pleasure in playing. I no longer have an appetite. I haven’t had one in years. Whenever I get a headache or became too dizzy, I know I need to eat something.

One night, something snapped. I knew I couldn’t live like this anymore. I decided that death was the only way to get rid of her.

I could no longer live with her but in a twisted way, I couldn’t live without her.
But when the day came, I realized I didn’t want Ana to win. Even though I was desperate, I wasn’t ready to give up.

Who would do the airplane routine after my son’s bath?

Who would know the little things about him such as his favorite shirt? Who would be able to say lines from the movie Cars with him?

Those things were on my mind as I sat in my car wondering what to do-carry out my plan or seek help.

With all the stress, Ana had convinced me that nobody cared if I lived or died.

But I knew one person on this earth who would care—my son.

I was barely hanging on when I walked through those emergency room doors.

My problem is causing you problems. I have lost so much control in my life that I have nothing. I can’t do anything right. I feel so lost and helpless. I have tried to ask for help but each time I can’t make the words come out. (August 15, 2008—from suicide note to my son.)

I spent a few days at a crisis recovery center. I came home fragile and scared. Ana wasn’t completely there but she wasn’t gone either. I was determined to keep her away.

The medications that I take mimic an appetite. I’m not as lightheaded as much because I try to eat small meals and snacks throughout the day. And slowly, the numbness is starting to go away. I want to see my son grow up, graduate and have a life. I want him to have a mommy who is strong.

I don’t want to do anything to hurt my son. He’s sweet, smart and is picking up on my lack of eating. This is about him and how I must save myself. (September 24, 2008)

I don’t feel as hopeless but I still feel alone. It is hard to talk about Ana.

At my lowest point, I was 73 pounds. This time I dropped to 89 pounds. It may not sound like much but it is scary when you are four feet and 11 inches.

I used to have long, beautiful hair, somewhat of a shape and a mouthful of teeth.
Thanks to Ana, I am losing my hair, most of my teeth are gone and I feel unbalanced.
And yet my mistress still desires me.

I weigh 105 pounds. Everyone says the weight looks good on me. Ana is not comfortable with those numbers because they represent me finding strength without her.

I feel at times everyone and everything is closing in on me. They try to make me eat. It is not that simple. You can’t undo years of bad eating with one meal. (August 15, 2001)

Ana is working hard to regain a footing in my life. She whispers that she needs just a little more time with me.

One day, I will have a good day. A day when I can eat, enjoy food and not think about it too much. It will be a long time before that day comes. Ana and I have begun our dance again.

Each day is a constant struggle—to eat or not to eat. I wish I could say I am completely cured. I am not and will never be completely okay.

My therapist is nice but overwhelmed by Ana. Until I find a job with insurance, I will battle daily with Ana about eating. Some days I win but most often I don’t. If I am stressed or upset, eating is the first thing to go. It shouldn’t be so hard to get rid of something that is so deadly.
Like a person addicted to alcohol or drugs, I will also have a longing for my mistress. So I keep reminding myself of what will happen if I let her return with full force.

The two of us can never be together again because the next time Ana will kill me.

By: Jacqueline Hough of Notes From The Voices

..the trials and triumphs of a young mother trying to conquer her eating disorder while trying to find a job and keep her sanity.

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The Turning Point In Her Recovery: Carnation

Today is the final day of National Eating Disorders Awareness Week 2009.

Following is a story written by Maria. Dieting since the age of 8, she was anorexic and bulimic by age 13. Now 17 years old, she's looking forward to April when she will celebrate a year in recovery. She says she's proud of her recovery but fights daily to stay in it.

She wrote this story after a stay in an ED facility. She calls it her "turning point." Her wish is that others may read it, find hope, and be inspired to take steps towards recovery.

Carnation

7:59, 8:00 , 8:01 . Even though the clock was across the room, the tick of its hands could still be heard by the small girl sitting down at the table in the midst of a showdown. A showdown of epic proportions, one that Clare could not lose.

There the food sat in all its glory screaming and tempting her to eat it, but she, with all her determination, refused. Not because the food looked gross; in fact, it looked delic

ious. The two bran muffins were golden brown with pieces of oats protruding out at the top making it look like the petals of a sunflower. The bright crimson apple was firm to the touch, and even though Clare dared not eat it, she knew it would be crisp just the way she liked it. Even the small Cheerios box seemed to smile warmly at her, as if saying that it was okay to eat its small grainy circles.

But Clare knew better. She knew that the bran muffins were carefully disguised mounds of fat. That the Cheerios were hidden calories. And the apple, though it looked good, was just another way of saying that she really did need this food to survive. Clare refused to believe it, and just glared at the food as if her staring might burn it into the table and make the whole tray disappear.

8:14, 8:15 , 8:16 . “Good morning, Clare,” smiled the nurse until she spotted the tumultuous war that was going on between Clare and her untouched tray of food. “Have a bad night?” the nurse inquired with her sweet voice that sounded as if she might truly care. Clare could only nod a slow, depressive yes and let the strands of her long

sandy brown hair fall into her face. I am so sick of eating food, Clare thought. I don’t need it; I never did. I can’t gain any more weight! I’m humongous! I really should go to a fat camp and lose weight, not come here and gain weight!

“Perhaps,” continued Cindy, not noticing the war going on inside the girl’s head, “maybe I should go find a barrette and pin that lovely hair up so we can see

that pretty face of yours?”

“No, that’s okay,” Clare quickly stammered looking up for only an instant to peer at the nurse with only one eye. Clare quickly replaced each strand in front of her face again, happy that the safety blanket of her hair would continue to provide her with comfort.

“Well, you better start eating,” reminded the nurse as she walked out

the door to her desk again.

But you can’t eat, shrieked the voice inside Clare’s head! You’re a fat and worthless pig! You don’t deserve the food! And do you really want to get any bigger?

You’re right. I can’t get any bigger, Clare acknowledged the voice within. I won’t eat this! I am determined not to! No more fat! No more fat Clare!

8:20, 8:21 , 8:22 . “Good morning, Clare,” said a pretty brunette college student with piercing eyes that had finally started to sparkle again. An older woman with sandy blonde hair and a big smile walked in with her.

“Morning, Shannon , morning Sarah!” exclaimed Clare with as much enthusiasm as she could muster for such a bad day. “How are you? Did you both have a good night?”

“It was alright,” started Shannon . “I talked to my brother and that went really well. A lot better than I had expected.”

“Awww well, I’m glad to hear that! I’m happy that went well for you,” said Clare this time with true enthusiasm.

“Mine was alright too,” stammered Sarah, “I have a bad headache, though, because I haven’t had any coffee in the last three days and it’s killing me! I guess I really do have an addiction to it.”

“I’m sorry, that sucks. I hope you start to feel better soon! I’m not having a good day either…” the lost teen continued with a mesmerizing sigh and a stare towards her untouched tray.

The two fellow patients looked at the food and knew exactly what she meant. Clare had been sitting there for half an hour without touching a single thing on her tray. It was go

ing to be a horrible day, but the failure was masked by the ringing pride that voiced in her head.

It was the tenth day of intense treatment and Clare could not take it anymore. Every day three meals had to be eaten and Clare could not remember a time when she had eaten three meals in… well, as far back as she could remember at the moment. At least she knew it had been a long time ago, way before all this mess had even started. This was life for Clare and she had become comfortable with it.

But people started to notice the strange little things that Clare did— the cutting of her food into small pieces, only eating fruits, taking hours to eat one thing. However, soon Clare’s friends discovered her nasty little companion, and so that was how she soon began going to the hospital every day.

The walk into the building had been torturous. Slowly pushing herself through the large old building, she ambled forward with her head hanging low, reeking of low self-esteem and non existent self-confidence.

The only good thing about the hospital was the nurses. Clare always chatted with them before they had to take her vitals and weigh her. She never minded having her low vitals taken; they were just another delightful reminder of the great job she was doing. But getting weighed was agony. The sluggish movement of the nurse’s fingers over the dials were wat

ched for any signs of a mistake that might have been made. Silent prayers were made in hopes that the numbers would not go up. If she was lucky, they would go down. But Clare was never lucky.

Trying to calm herself from the weigh in, Clare grabbed her manil

a folder and proceeded to fill out charts on the crazy emotions that she could not even identify. How could she possibly know if she felt anxious or worried or mad? After finishing, a slow pause came. The worst part was about to come. It was time to get breakfast.

Shuffling towards the cafeteria, Clare walked as slowly as she could, like a death row inmate on the final walk to meet the end. Not wanting to be seen or heard, she silently entered into the scary food emporium. The next step was to check the menu. Grabbing it with much hesitation at what would have to be eaten that day, Clare, looking calm on the outside but having a

panic attack inside, reached out and grabbed the small white list. Amazing how much distress could be caused by such a small piece of paper! And today was worse than usual!

After having gained six pounds in three days, Clare could feel the fat engulfing her entire body; it started to feel like she was being suffocated from the inside. She had been told that food was necessary for her well being and health, but it couldn’t be true. No way was

food necessary. Not now, not ever! Food made her fat— obese people are not healthy!

After a long breath Clare worked up the courage to look at the deadly choices of food she would have to consume for breakfast. The prognosis was awful. The calorie count had been upped to twenty-one-hundred! A torturous amount. Insane, actually. How could one human possibly eat this much in one day? Clare whined in her head. That’s seven hundred calories at every meal, which is way more than I would even eat in a day! Are they trying to

make me obese? Because it surely will happen with that many calories every day!

Looking calm as usual on the outside, Clare silently walked over to the glass refrigerator. Maneuvering her arm carefully, she tried desperately not to brush the nauseating whole and chocolate milks on her way towards the fat free skims. Once her hand was safely away from the loathsome products, she carefully weighed each skim in hopes of one being li

ghter than the rest. Maybe one has fewer calories then the others, she hoped desperately. Walking over to the muffins she noticed two were needed for today. Peering over into the brown box filled with frightening and appalling carbs, Clare examined each muffin carefully looking from all angles to find the tiniest one. On to the apples, the only safe food.

Not wanting to touch all of the apples, Clare moved the scary bananas and oranges to the side first and then glared at the array of fruits until she found the perfect one, a s

mall and crimson Macintosh. Last of all and definitely the worst, she spied the peanut butter, a man made substance consisting of pure fat, sugar, and lard.

Fat! All fat! Clare’s thoughts kept screaming in her head. This is wh

y you are obese, the voices continued, because you are eating pure fat!

I have to grab it. It’s on my meal plan, Clare said, trying to reason with the voice. I’ll take it but I won’t eat it! I promise!

Then just as quietly as she had entered, Clare trudged with her tr

ay back to the little room with cream walls. And there she sat not giving into the food’s allure. Through the nurse’s quiet little pleadings and Shannon and Sarah’s hellos and the picking of their own menus and trays, she knew they would make her eat. The thought made her sick.

8:50, 8:51 , 8:52 . The girls quietly chatted but not as cheerfully or as much as some other mornings. Each girl struggled with her own thoughts that morning, but none was brave enough to admit it. They never could; each was a prisoner in her locked up mind— a place from where each dared not escape, no matter the price.

9:02, 9:03 , 9:04 . “Good morning,” said the heavy-set therapist

named Janine, as she strolled in cheerily with a happy little smile. “Is everyone ready for morning check in?”

“I guess,” replied Shannon . “I can go first this morning, if you want.”

“Sounds good to me,” agreed Janine, with an exasperated smile and eyes half peering at Clare’s food. Slowly, in a half whisper, she remarked, “Clare, can you

please start on your tray?” The small girl looked down and pushed it a little closer to her, but did not touch anything on it, as if the tray was contaminated by a deadly disease. Good job! Her thoughts congratulated. That’s right! Show that food who’s boss!

Shannon slowly started talking about her night. It was eventful and after reciting most of what had happened, Janine meticulously went through each event to show her things that might be done better next time.

“I can go next,” volunteered Sarah after Shannon finished, knowing full well Clare would not be as upbeat about going next. “I just wish I didn’t have this headache,” Sarah started. “It’s hard to stay focused and stay on track with my meal plan.”

Janine again went through the long routine of going through each part of Sarah’s night, looking at the crucial elements as if life depended on them.

“The lack of sleep and the migraines are really starting to get to you. Do you have anything you can take for it?” asked Janine in a worried voice. “You’ve had this headache for a while now.”

“Yeah, I took some stuff but what I’m going to have to do is get some coffee,” stated Sarah. “The coffee here stinks though. It’s pretty nasty! I need to

go and get my Starbucks!”

9:44, 9:45 , 9:46 . “Clare, are you sure that your weight has really gone up six pounds in two days?” questioned Janine after finally hearing about the messe

d up little girl’s night.

“I’m positive!” shrieked Clare, again feeling the fat start to enclose her like a blanket. You’re obese, Clare, obese, her voice shrieked inside of her. Not even worthy to live!

“It’s probably just water weight. It’s not possible to gain that much weight in two days,” Janine stated. “Is this why you’re not eating? Should I just go and get y

ou a meal supplement right away?”

“Isn’t this why most people don’t eat?” Clare sneered sarcastically. “And you might as well get me a Carnation, cuz I’m not eating this!”

“All right, I’ll get you one,” answered Janine a little depressed.

10:00, 10:01 , 10:02 . “Here you go, Clare. I got you strawberry,” the therapist said in a hopeful voice. “You have till 10:30 to drink that.”

“Thanks,” whispered Clare, barely audible. But I’m not drinking that, she thought. Fat people should not have the luxury of drinking shakes.

At least the tray was gone. No more peanut butter, or milk, or muffins—just an icky caloric loaded strawberry Carnation mix, a pretend shake that tastes like someone took cardboard and syrup and blended them all together. The horror tha

t one little drink could really supply all the calories missed at one meal! Disgusting. . .

Crap, thought Clare, as she saw the head therapist Pam walk into the door for the next group, this is not good!

“Good morning everyone,” Pam said in her matter of fact voi

ce. Heading straight for Clare as if on a mission, she pointed, “I see that you have a Carnation, Clare. I’m going to have to have Jessica take you out of the room until you finish that.”

Of course, the one therapist who would not allow this kind of crap to happen would be the therapist for the next group therapy session. At least I get to be with Jessica and not someone else, Clare felt with a twinge of a smile. I really do like her a lot. Jessica has a way about her. She’s terribly funny and always seems to understand, which is us

ually not the case with many of the other therapists. They just don’t get it.

“Hey Clare,” Jessica was calm but looked a little worried, “I hear that you have to finish that. Are you ready to do it? We can both drink our drinks together,” she laughed as she lifted up her Starbucks in all its irony.

“I’m not drinking it,” Clare answered immediately without a mom

ent’s hesitation. “You can drink yours, but I won’t drink mine!”

“Well, for now let’s just go into the other room and talk, okay?”

10:47, 10:48 , 10:49 . “Clare, what’s stopping you from drinking that Carnation?” inquired Jessica. “Why can’t you do it?”

“Well,” Clare started slowly with tears starting to well in her eyes, “I . . . can’t. I can’t drink this. I’m already super fat and I won’t allow myself to get any more obese! I’m a monster!”

“Clare, you are VERY thin. Your body needs this to stay healthy. Can’t you see that those voices that are telling you that you are too fat are actually killing you? They are the enemy, Clare.”

“I know, Jessica, but they’ve always been there for me when no one

else has. They’re always there. They never talk behind my back. And they’ve never failed me. When things were hard they showed me how to forget the pain. And besides, you’re just trying to make me fat.”

“You and I both know that is a lie, Clare. You say the voices have helped you through the pain, but can’t you see how they’ve made your pain worse? They’ve locked you up, and you can’t get out. They’re hiding your beauty from the world and especia

lly yourself! You’ve got to start telling those voices that you are the boss and not them. You are the boss, Clare! Don’t allow them to do this to you. Everything they say is false. It’s okay, Clare, it’s okay that they’re wrong!”

“But they aren’t wrong! This is how I feel. I am a failure! A horrible person! I’m not worthy of food! An imperfect body reflects an imperfect soul! How true that is for me! Can’t you see why I can’t eat when all this is true!?! Why should I even live? I am a worthless person with no future!” Clare’s body seemed to fall back in shock as she realized that th

ose words were starting to allow her to escape from her gruesome prison.

“That is so wrong!” Jessica shot back. “You have so much to give this world, and slowly killing yourself is not the answer! Your body is not a definition of the wonderful person that you are inside! You are a wonderful person Clare! And you have touched so many people in such positive ways. Clare, you have helped every girl here! They improve with your s

upport!”

“They help me too…” Clare agreed weakly

Silent tears started to fall from Clare’s eyes. The drops floated down like a soft pitter patter rain after a frightening storm. She knew the truth. She had always known it but just never allowed herself to believe it. The truth was painful and it was easier not to believe it. But at that moment for the first time, Clare allowed another person to come into her life—to sav

e her.

Taking a bigger gulp from the Carnation this time, Clare started chatting with Jessica about different things, things that seemed a bit more normal--like the love of black nail polish they both shared and the chill CDs they enjoyed listening to.

Finally coming to the last few sips, Clare burst out with pride to Jes

sica, “I’m done!”

“Good job! I’m really proud of you. You know that, right?” The young girl nodded with twinkling eyes.

How simple a concept, how hard a job, Clare thought. Say no to my voices and drink the Carnation. Easy to say, not easy to do. Every day I am going to have t

o fight off those voices—the ones that say, “You’re ugly. You’re hideous. You’re grotesque. You’re obese. And you’re not worthy of food.” I know I can do this though! It’s going to be an ever lingering struggle, but I’m a fighter and I am going to try!

I guess drinking this Carnation was good for me today. I now sort of see what’s going on. My eating disorder has the power over me. As much as I like to think it’s giving me control, it is really controlling—my whole life! Control over food is not real control.

My so called control has led me here to this place. A place where I am broken down and forced to learn how to pick myself back up again.

“I can’t go on anymore like this Jessica,” Clare remarked with a renewed confidence that surprised even her. “Thank you for everything. You’ve helped me a lot today.”

“I’m proud of you, Clare. You can do this! You can take back control

of your life!”

“I will. . . I will. . .”

Maria

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