A Secret and a Saviour

She thought what she was doing was right. She thought it wouldn't hurt anyone. She was wrong.

Have you ever done a crossword puzzle that has the most bizarre clue, and you know the answer has just got to be the most obvious thing in the world, but you just can’t get your head around what it is? That’s what my life is like; at least I think it is. I don’t know why I do it. But still after two years it carries on happening, day after day with no signs of ever letting up.

 

 I’m not stupid. I know exactly what I’m getting myself into. It’s the obvious answer. It’s the final piece of the puzzle as they say. And it’s so easy, nobody will ever know. I can feel the relief wash over me as I sit back on the edge of the bathtub with a cold flannel pressed to my forehead. Happiness. It’s been so long since I’ve been able to feel that emotion that I was beginning to forget what it was like. Not a care in the world. Like your floating on air and nothing can bring you back down.

 

 As I dream it visits me and it continues to destroy my life but only at these times do I have the courage to try and fight back. In a way I should thank it. Besides it is because of it I was able to find my most loyal friend, Mia.

 

Have you ever looked back through an old photo album, and seen yourself wearing the most hideous outfit and you find yourself thinking, was that ever in style?  You know full well it was and no doubt someday it would be again. I have. My entire family were laughing. I wasn’t. My uncles bottle top glasses, my mums lime green trousers. Not funny. Me? I looked a right state. I had the hugest hips, chunky arms and thighs the size of tree trunks. Why did anyone ever let me leave the house? They stare at me, and just laugh. They think I’m joking. I’m not. I’ve never been more serious in my life. But they wouldn’t understand. They can’t understand. That’s the way it has to stay. So I laugh. They think I’m fine. Ignorance really is bliss, isn’t it?

 

 My family are notorious for their big appetites, so it’s no surprise that my Grandma has cooked enough food to feed an army. I know it won’t be so easy this time but I can’t stop now. If I do I will lose that last piece of the puzzle and I couldn’t deal with that. I’m not a strong willed person, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. So I pile my plate up with sausages, pizzas, chicken wings and bread. And I eat, practically non stop for two hours, but no one notices, to my relief. They don’t even notice when the excuse I use for the next half hour is the most pathetic thing ever to come out of my mouth.

 

 Have you ever sat in class listening to the teacher, only wishing that you could be elsewhere, doing something interesting and worthwhile, rather than listening to the constant babble of no good information? I never had. Until today that is. They were all whispering, staring and pointing, as if I wasn’t a real person, but a  statue without any feelings. I snap for the first time in years. It happened in a blink of an eye, a sense of madness crawling through my veins. I realize right then. My life was falling apart, and that was it. The daylight vanished and it felt as if I were being swallowed by an invisible force. I half expected dancing pink elephants to materialize in front of me, but there was nothing but darkness for what felt like an eternity. I hear a faint beeping as if from nowhere. It was like heaven calling me, coaxing me to open my eyes. I blink open my eyes, expecting to see the ceiling of my bedroom, but I see a man in white coat standing over me. My parents are beside me, their expressions unreadable. Fear has lodged itself in my mind and I don’t know why. I could only pray my secret was still safe. That was all that mattered. My secret. My saviour.

 

 Have you ever watched a film that is so ridiculous you work out the plot in the first five minutes and spend the duration of the film wondering why the characters haven’t figured it out yet? I do, all the time. But I never thought my life could be like that too. I feel my whole world shatter as my parents tell me that they know. As I hear them say it, I know everything has changed and there’s nothing I can do about it. They were going to make me do the last thing on earth I wanted to do, eat.

 

 They sit me down with a plate of food and think I don’t notice the looks they exchange as I eat, no questions asked. I excuse myself from the table and make a break for the bathroom. They would all still be clueless, but to find my older brother barricading the bathroom door it puts a damper on my private celebrations. I start to panic and I realize they are on to me, and I hate them for it. Couldn’t they see how much happier I had been? Did they really want me to go back to how I used to be? Lonely. Depressed. Ugly. Fat. Just like the movies, I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t.

 

 It’s been a year. I’m getting over it. Everyone can tell. The physical scars may have faded but the mental scars are ever present in my mind. I know they always will. But I’m happy. Truly I am. I feel so much more alive than I had a year ago. It’s a magnificent feeling. My life is finally turning around for the better and I know it will stay that way.

 

 But before long, it starts again. Ten times worse than it was before. I still don’t know why. Maybe I’m an easy target. It won’t stop. It knows what it can drive me to. And for some sick reason, it likes it. In my head I can see it in their eyes. Pure hate, directed exclusively at me.

 

 I don’t want to do it. I’m pleading with myself not to. But deep down I know what I’m going to do. What I’ve spent the last year getting over. It’s just the same, just how I remember it. The feeling of happiness and excitement of doing something I shouldn’t be doing. Only this time I had to be more careful. This time they wouldn’t find out. This time would be so much more complicated.

 

  It is. It’s been three months and I’m ready to break down. I do. I cry as I hear their words. My parents do too. They tell me that they love me; that they forgive me; that I could have asked them for help. Shame, guilt or sadness? I don’t know which one they are feeling. But they will never get over it. I know they won’t. I tremble as they walk away from me, not quite sure what to expect next.  Then I understand. That everything was my fault, not theirs as I had always believed. If I only had discovered this sooner. All I had to do was admit that I had Bulimia. That I had a problem. I was delusional. It shouldn’t have been so hard to come to terms with. I even recovered once. But I thought Mia was a friend, even through the year I was recovering. It’s too late now and if I could, I would change the last two years of my life because I regret my actions more than you know. But in the end, you still have your life.

 

 

Author's Note

It was a college project I wrote about suffering from Bulimia.

Reviews

[.ronald.039.]

Jay McInerney wrote a novel titled "Bright Lights, Big City" which is written entirely in second person. That is usually considered taboo in the writing world, but I think this story would have a much deeper impact to be written in that style. The reason I say this is because of the reaction the hypothetical questions bring out in the beginning of some of the paragraphs. I think addressing "you" would be effective throughout the story.

For example, the third paragraph would read: "As you dream it visits you and it continues to destroy your life but only at these times do you have the courage to try and fight back. In a way you should thank it. Besides it is because of it you were able to find your most loyal friend, Mia."

Placing the reader in the role of the narrator puts an interesting perspective on the story. At least, I think so. Good story, regardless. I'll be curious to see what else you come up with.