Breaking the Mirror

She had been anorexic for years. There wasn't a time she could remember eating guiltlessly. She was also bulimic, for a little less time. It got to the point that the only time she could remember what chocolate ice-cream tasted like was remembering the way it tasted coming back up. Annie wasn't proud of it, but it had become a part of her; and everyone knew.1

There were days when she could feel her heart go crazy in her chest, no reason but a dying system. Last summer she was one hundred and forty pounds, now she was a weak ninety-seven. Annie tried on clothes in stores, proud of her nearly emaciated figure. She just ignored the concerned looks older people would give her when she stared off blankly, and she relished the envious ones by those her own age. 2

It was the new year and she had one of two resolutions to choose. The first was to reach her goal weight of seventy-three or choose recovery. It would plunge her headlong into a sea of fear if she chose the latter; however, it could kill her to go after the first. The thoughts swam in her starved mind. Annie sat in bed, caressing her bruised fingers that so dutifully relieved her of her meager dinner. She stared longingly at the pictures of underweight models with their deer-like legs on her computer screen. Her stomach growled and contracted inside her. It felt like her insides were going to explode or melt. 3

"It's worth it." Annie murmured as she patted her concave but pained stomach. Then she thought of all of the hospitalized people, the deaths, the statistics. Sure, she'd thought about recovery. Sometimes she'd dream of being well. Then those dreams all flew away when the fear entered her mind. She was afraid of becoming fat, the sign of ultimate weakness, and not realizing it and not doing anything about it. She was afraid of what her friends would think of her, those friends who shared this dark burden. 4

Turning on the stereo and playing Bach loud, Annie shut off her computer. She changed for bed, staring in the large cheval mirror at her reflection. Her fingers traced bone, counting ribs; making sure none found rolls of fat to hide in. She pressed hard on both hipbones, feeling the sharp point of each. Standing up straight, she surveyed the wide gap between her legs. Nearly smiling, she broke into tears. Between index finger and thumb, she pinched a bit of softness on her thigh. "Fat. You are fat! How could you do this to yourself!" Annie collapsed onto her bed in a hurricane of tears and desperate cries. 5

Fragile arms stretched to the gap between her bed and her wall. She retrieved her teddy bear, Arthur. Holding him close, she pleaded. "Arthur! What's become of me?" she coughed, nearly chocking on tears, trembling hard. "I've been this way so long! You think I wouldn't feel ashamed! I'm a waste... I'll die like this. Fat fat fat!" Annie wiped her tears on his matted paw. She'd had him since she was nine, and, being eighteen now, Arthur was like her closest friend. "No! I shouldn't have to be like this! I shouldn't have these worries and this anger!" She coughed again, trying to calm herself. "Should I, Arthur? Should I try to get better? What if Rose and Melanie think I'm giving up! They'll think I'm weak! But I don't want to die like this. I don't want to fall over one day and have that be the end! I don't know... I just don't know. Maybe I should..." the distressed girl trailed off into violent coughs and hot tears. 6

The fit got worse and worse as she stared at her poster of Edgar Allan Poe. He had died so young, she always thought. She always wondered about how many other stories and wonderful poems he could've written if he would have lived just a bit longer. "I can't end like him." she said as she had calmed down. "I have so much to do and I can't ruin it just because of this... this disease!" One by one she began tearing her fashion posters from the walls, ripping away her charts and her supportive signs. She even tore down her size double-zero pants that always gave her such encouragement to keep on starving. 7

"I won't be society's victim..." she whispered to herself as she lay in a fetal position on the floor, amidst the piles of clothing and trash. "I won't!" She fell asleep there, holding Arthur close and staring up at her idol, Edgar A. Poe, until her eyes finally closed. 8

The next morning, Annie woke up to a bright sun in her face through the black blinds. She stumbled out of the mess of her room, and wiped the sleep from her eyes. The whole household was gone, except for her mother. "Hey mom..." she greeted as she walked, fearfully, into the kitchen. Suddenly, she remembered her vow that was made before she fell asleep. Brittle fingers reached for a shiny, yellow apple in a bowl. With eyes screwed shut, she took a bite. Annie felt good, yet slightly afraid. She knew, deep within, that she hadn't eaten in a day or so, and that her body truthfully required the calories. 9

With apple in hand she left for the living room, her mother gave her an odd look. "What? I'm hungry." Annie matter-of-factly stated. Her mother hadn't seen her eat in months. She just stopped trying to bother with her daughter since talking about it always made Annie angry. The frail girl kept taking small bites out of the fruit until her stomach was full. It felt bad to her, as she had taught herself to hate the feeling of a full belly and to yearn for an empty one; frustrated and growling. It was hard for her, to sit there and consume the healthy snack without thinking about how much fat it would add to her body. Realistically, she had to reassure herself that it would do no such thing.10

Night came and her mother and brother were busy with making dinner. Annie didn't wander in there to devise how easy it would be to make herself vomit it up afterwards. Instead, she sat on the couch and read The Prince by Machiavelli. Her mother shouted that it was time for dinner. Annie nonchalantly walked into the kitchen and got in line. Thoughts flew through her head, like a slide show going ninety miles an hour. She wondered what would happen if she let dinner just digest, like those normal people do; those people she admired. Food rested itself on her plate. A soldier ready for battle, equipped with all she would need. Annie ate her dinner, leaving only a little bit left of the small serving she'd gotten. She did not make way for the bathroom, telling everyone she was going to take a shower. She did not go to her closet to vomit in a hidden trashcan. She did not go on a walk so she could push her fingers down her throat behind a bush. She sat there and talked with her family, repressing those destructive thoughts. Bedtime rolled around and she held Arthur once more. "One day at a time, Arthur, and I feel good about this.