Control

I didn’t eat breakfast this morning; I felt like I was going to vomit.1

“Come on Hannah, you have to eat, you’ll feel sick at school if you don’t,” urged my mom. 2

“I don’t feel good. I just can’t eat right now,” I explained.3

“Hannah, I don’t want to see you get sick,” my mom insisted. 4

That’s when I realized what she was worried about. She was thinking back to the year that I was ten. That year was a nightmare year for my whole family. I’d spent most of that year lying on a hospital bed hooked up to heart monitors, IV lines and a feeding tube. The night my dad rushed my unconscious body into the ER that year, the doctor had told him that he had saved my life. If he had taken any longer to get me there then I would have almost definitely gone into a stage of complete organ failure and died.5

They’d tried to get me to eat while I was in the hospital, but I was terrified of gaining weight. Despite the fact that I was only forty two pounds at that point I was still sure I needed to lose more weight and that I wouldn’t be happy unless I lost ten more pounds. Things sucked for me that year. Things sucked for my whole family that year. I didn’t want mom to worry.6

“I think I’ll take a bagel with me and eat it at school in an hour or so. After my stomach has a chance to calm down I’ll probably be hungry.” I told mom. 7

Mom’s whole face visibly relaxed. I could see the color flooding back into her cheeks and her chin stopped quivering, the lines around her eyes dissipated. 8

The more relaxed mom’s face got the more my own guilt began to knot itself up in my throat. I had lied to mom. I had no intention what so ever of eating a bagel. Mom didn’t need to know that though, she didn’t need to worry. I wasn’t going anorexic again. I just wasn’t hungry. Sure I wouldn’t mind if I lost a little weight, but there are so many adolescents out there that wouldn’t mind.9

The knot of guilt inside me was growing bigger and bigger as I stuck a plain bagel in the toaster.10

“You have therapy after-school today.” Mom reminded me just like she did every Tuesday. I don’t know why she felt the need to remind me. I’ve had therapy after school every single Tuesday after school for the past two years. Ever since I got out of the hospital for my eating disorder the year I was ten.11

I just nodded and spread some cream cheese on the bagel that was never going to get eaten anyway. All I wanted to do was get out of the house as fast as possible and hope the guilt, that was now swimming through my veins, would evaporate.12

The horn of the bus sounded as I was kissing mom’s freckled cheek and rushing out the door. 13

I climbed on and searched for an empty seat. Carefully I placed my bag next to me to deter any other kids from sitting next to me. I liked my alone time on the bus. I used it to write, do homework, and listen to music. 14

The bagel weighed heavily in my hands, I was so happy to dispose of it as soon as I walked through the doors of Frederick’s Middle School. No one noticed. 15

Classes were boring as usual. I barely paid any attention to them. I spent most of class braiding and unbraiding my long red hair. I never really needed to pay that much attention, I would do my homework religiously, but beyond that I didn’t really give school much though. Even without paying any attention I somehow passed every test and got straight A’s. That was enough to make me happy. Most of the time teachers thought I was paying attention and taking notes because I was always scribbling away in some notebook. The notebooks were where I wrote all my stories, poems, and journaling. Not a single one had an ounce of notes on school in them.16

When lunch rolled around I found that I was starving, but something deep inside me had awoken. Everything around me looked brighter and sharper. My body felt lighter, and despite the fact that I hadn’t eaten anything all day, my body felt stronger. 17

I’m stronger then all these people. I thought to myself as I looked around the cafeteria and watched people pouring fat laced, calorie-laden food into their bodies. I don’t need to eat, I can be thin and strong and powerful. I can transcend my bodies need for food. I can be special.18

I could feel a slow smile creeping it’s way across my face. I took my lunch money and used it to buy a diet coke from the vending machine in the far corner of the crowded cafeteria.19

As I slowly sipped the calorie free beverage I continues to grin. I was special. I didn’t need food. I was going to get the kind of body that everyone would be jealous of. Sure at four eleven and one hundred and four pounds I wasn’t fat, but I was going to reach perfection. The kind of perfection that super models attained. I was going to get the kind of body I hadn’t had since I was ten.20

When I think back to the year I was ten there isn’t a single time that I’d thought I was too skinny. I liked being emaciated. It had felt good to me. As I said before, things sucked that year, but not because I thought I’d gotten too thin. I guess now that I think about it, the past two years I still had pieces of my eating disorder lurking around inside me, lying dormant, waiting for the chance to awaken and wreak havoc on my body and my life once again.21

One Week Later22

It’s been a week since I’ve eaten normally. For the past week I’ve been taking tons of extra time to get dressed in the morning. Sure the past few days I’ve been waking up around five AM, but I pretend that I don’t wake up until my mom comes in my room. Around five to five thirty I do sit ups, push ups, leg lifts, and any other quiet calisthenics I can think of that won’t wake my mom or dad up, but will burn calories. 23

Burning calories is my main goal in life lately, that and losing weight. I can think about those two goals and then all the rest of life’s stresses take a back seat. Who cares that I have too many secrets buried deep inside of me. Who cares that I have horrible nightmares of Uncle Steve touching me funny and am constantly worried that he’ll move back from Canada to Massachusetts. Who cares that I have no friends because I’m too scared people will think I’m a weirdo, bad, or perverted if they get too close. None of that matters anymore. The only thing that matters is reaching perfection, and perfection means losing ten more pounds. I’ve already lost four. Once I get to ninety pounds then maybe I’ll start eating and acting normal again. Maybe.24

After I do my exercises I read in bed and then around six thirty I shut my eyes and pretend to be asleep until mom comes in to “wake me up.” After I get out of bed I take forever choosing my outfit. I do this partly on purpose, and partly because I can never find anything that looks good on me anymore. I’m just too fat right now. Somehow, even though I’ve lost weight, I look fatter then I used to. I know my therapists have talked to me about distorted body image and how I’m a bad judge of my body because of my disorder, but what if I am seeing myself the way I really look? How do I know I’m not? I just don’t. The safest thing is to just continue to lose more weight.25

By the time I finish getting dressed and doing all my morning routines, I make sure that it’s too late too sit down. I make a big show of saying how hungry I am, and how, oh no, I don’t have time to seat. 26

“Oh well,” I’ll announce. I guess I’ll just take a bagel with me. I love bagels with cream cheese.” I’m a good liar. It doesn’t make me feel good though. Lying to my mom makes me feel all ashamed and torn up inside, but I’m getting used to it. That little fact makes me feel even worse when I think about it. I try not to think about it. I need to focus on my goal. I need to get skinny.27

A Month Later28

I’m down to eighty-three pounds. I know I thought that I’d stop at ninety, but ninety wasn’t small enough. I still see girls around that are skinnier then me. I need to be the thinnest. I need to be perfect.29

For awhile I would have nothing for breakfast, diet coke for lunch and celery with peanut butter and raisins for dinner, but lately I’ve stopped putting the peanut butter on the celery. I’ve been finding these great websites, call pro-ana sites online. They have all these great tips and ideas for weight loss, and there’s other people out there like me. Other people who want to lose tons of weight and embrace their anorexia. They say that anorexia is a choice not a disorder. I want to believe that, but there’s this little piece of me that keeps asking myself, ‘could you start eating again if you wanted to?’ I try to shut that little piece of me up, by retorting, why in the world would I want to? Thin is beautiful. 30

That little part of me has gotten louder the past few days though. Yesterday mom confronted me. 31

“You’re starting to look like a concentration camp refugee.” She told me. Her tone was steady but I could read the worry in her eyes. “You haven’t been eating a decent dinner for a month now, and I’m starting to wonder whether you’ve actually been eating breakfast and lunch. Have you been? Tell me the truth Hannah.”32

My voice got wedged halfway up my throat. Mom’s blue eyes were fuzzy and filled with concern. They had that big watery look that shouldn’t belong in grown ups eyes. Grown ups are supposed to be strong, steady supports, they can’t cry or not know what to do. It’s so scary when they’re at a loss.33

Mom continued to stare at me, I kept trying to bring words out of my mouth, but I didn’t know what to say. My diet was the only thing that kept me sane, but lately I was starting to wonder if it was slowly destroying me at the same time. Sometimes I couldn’t stand up because I was so dizzy. I was cold all the time, and my hands shook like crazy, they would shake so badly that I couldn’t draw as well as I used to be able to. I was even growing hair on my stomach. The pro ana website said it was called languo and was my body cleverly trying to keep itself warm because my body temperature was dropping. The site had told me not to worry, it was just an unfortunate side effect.34

“Don’t let anyone see the hairs, it will give away your dieting and people might overreact and try to interfere.” The site told me.35

“Hannah, talk to me, have you been losing weight?” Mom persisted. This time there was a slight waver in her voice.36

“”Maybe.” My voice came out as a squeak. I knew I’d lost weight. My clothes were getting too big, I had to resort to wearing things I’d thought I’d grown out of. I knew that as of this morning I weighed eighty three pounds in my underwear. My body mass index was exactly 16.8, which I was happy to see fell into the anorexic range. I had started out with a body mass index of 20.2, which fell into the normal range. I was glad that I was no longer normal. Nothing inside me felt normal anyway so why should my body mass index and weight be normal.37

“I’m going to make an appointment for you to see Dr. Keller.” Mom told me. I’m worried about you. I don’t want you to get sick again.”38

The word again struck a chord of worry and fear in me. I tried to push it away. I wasn’t going to get sick like when I was ten. I wasn’t going to have to deal with all the hospitals, tubes, doctors, and rules about food and eating. This was different. I was in control this time. Wasn’t I?39

A month and a week later40

The doctor’s appointment was rough. When I realized I weighed eighty pounds, I was so happy I felt like I was floating on air. When the doctor realized I was eighty pounds she shook her head. When my mom realized I was eighty pounds, she cried.41

“What have you eaten in the last twenty four hours?’ The doctor asked me while my mom was still in the waiting room. I was too tired of lying. I just told the truth.42

“Four sticks of celery and two diet cokes.”43

“You’re urine shows that you are dehydrated. You have ketones which tell me that your body is eating your muscle because it’s so starved. You’re spilling protein into your urine too. Your body needs food. Food is fuel, right now you’re running on empty. You’re literally starving yourself toward death. Do you want to die?”44

I shook my head. There was no way I was going to die. I felt okay. Shaky, dizzy, but I felt okay.45

The doctor called my mom in the room and gave her three nutritional shakes called Boost. 46

“She needs to drink plenty of liquids and three of these by tomorrow. I want to see her again tomorrow morning, if she hasn’t had all three shakes I want her to be admitted to the hospital for tube feeding.”47

My mom’s eyes had that large watery look too them again. I could see a couple tears wander down her face. I looked away. I couldn’t handle her tears and the emotions they aroused in me. I wanted to cry, but the tears weren’t come. Instead I just felt a horrible aching feeling and an emptiness inside. I felt like everything had been drained out of me and I was just a shell, a shadow. 48

My dad yelled at me when we got home.49

“Why are you doing this to yourself again? Why are you putting us through this again? Just eat. You’re killing yourself. You’re hurting everyone who loves you.”50

I still couldn’t cry. I wanted too. The dull void inside me ached like crazy. I went to my room. My femal parts hurt. It felt like Uncle Steve was touching me even though I knew he wasn’t. I wished I could feel normal again. I wished I could remember what normal felt like.51

A Month and a Week and a Day Later52

I’m in the hospital with a tube invading my stomach, it snakes up into my nose and down my throat. My wrists are tied down because I tried to pull the dumb tube out. I feel like I’m having nightmares while I’m awake. I feel like Uncle Steve is putting his hands in my privates. Really it’s just a tube that’s there. They had to give me a catheter because I can’t pee. I’m too dehydrated. Mom won’t come visit me because my therapist said it would reinforce negative behaviors. I feel too sick to care.53

I look up at the screen above my head. The wavy green lines keep track of my heartbeat. They said it’s going way too slow and skipping beats. They’re afraid I’m going to have a heart attack at age twelve. Right now I wouldn’t mind. I hurt on the outside. I hurt on the inside. I hurt physically. I hurt emotionally. I wish I were dead.54

A Month and Week and Three Days Later55

They sent a social worker to talk to me. They heard me yelling in my sleep. They said I was screaming for my uncle to stop touching me. 56

“Has anyone ever touched you in ways that didn’t feel okay?” The social worker asked. She was petite with long dark brown hair and looked so gentle. I wanted to tell her all the secrets that I’d been forbidden to tell, but I couldn’t I just cried. When I couldn’t stop crying she left.57

A Month and a Week and Four days later58

The social worker came back and asked me again. I cried again, but this time she just stayed there and rubbed my back and told me that it’s okay to cry. 59

I told her. I feel numbed over and even shakier now, but I told her. We talked a long time. She’s going to help me tell my parents. She said that I did nothing wrong. She said that she’ll help me do things that make me feel back in control.60

“Your uncle took your control away.” She explained. “You had to find other ways to feel in control so you developed an eating disorder. It was like a cry for help, and a way to control your body, and what went in your body or not. It was a very clever way of coping, but there are other ways to get help and feel in control. I can help you find them.61

I’m not quite ready to start eating again, but maybe I can work towards it. I was kidding myself and I knew it when I tried to say that my anorexia was a choice. It’s a disorder, a sickness that got out of control and I’m going to work with the social worker. I’m going to get back in control. 62