Those stages of grief they talk about never came full circle for me, because I definitely never hit the “bargaining” one. I accepted from the moment I heard she’d really done it that she was gone and there was no bringing her back. There was only dealing. Only living. Only remembering what I could. Loving what I’d had. Missing it, of course, but not hoping for it to return. She was gone. Sure, I wish I’d saved her – I’ll always wish that – but I didn’t.
She had definitely saved me, though, from a lot. Honestly, I think we both saved each other – it was just that ultimate “save” that I missed somehow. But it’s not like I was always the “solid” one in our pair. In fact, if she’d never saved me, I’m sure I couldn’t have held on to her as long as I did – her efforts in the beginning that lead to my efforts toward the end.
Heaving in a bush a block from my apartment building – that’s what I had lowered myself to in my bulimia haze. That Qudoba Gumbo had been spectacular on the way down, but I certainly couldn’t leave it in my body. Sorority Formal Recruitment was coming up and there was still a solid month of shorts & tank top weather, so access body weight was not an option. This had become my ritual that summer – either a bush, public restroom, or a plastic bag while the shower ran… I couldn’t have my brother hearing me barf in the bathroom we shared and I couldn’t leave any evidence. I’d accepted my habit, but I knew he wouldn’t. Slowly, my walks to class had gotten harder – my tired, hunchy body ran out of breath much more easily without all that nasty food to keep it energized. I’d convinced myself that the energy was ugly – who needs to stand up straight because they ate 3 full meals? I’d come to love my rounded shoulders and protruding hip bones – there’s more beauty in my control than your energy, you eaters.The first night her&I spent as roommates was for Recruitment Retreat at our sorority house. I wanted to impress her. Yes, I was dating someone and so was she, but I wanted so badly to catch her eye. My tiny body would certainly be impressive. She also was tiny, though.
Damnit, she’s been working hard all summer, too. I remember irritatedly thinking – hoping my efforts wouldn’t go unnoticed.
They didn’t. As I pulled on my Victoria’s Secret PINK pj bottoms she lounged in her red desk chair trying not to watch me change – a task she later admitted was much more difficult than she’d expected.
“You been blowin’ coke all summer, girl?” she blurted.
Satisfaction. I shook my head as I slipped my shirt over my bony shoulders.
I didn’t start eating “normal meals” again until her & I were in full swing about 4 months later. By then she knew it wasn’t cocaine that was keeping the skin attached to my bones. She knew what I was doing. Yet never seemed phased. Truthfully, I think she wanted someone to save – something to distract herself with – someone who needed more help than she did. She never made a negative comment. I only heard constant reassurance of how beautiful I was and how lucky she was to have me. She never forced me into eating. I always knew the offer was on the table, though. And eventually, my comfort with her and in us brought me back around. I wanted energy for her. But more than that – I didn’t seem to want anything anymore... I didn’t need to be tiny – I didn’t need to vomit. My happiness had eliminated those thoughts. I don’t remember a turning point. I don’t remember clenching a toilet seat thinking, This is the last time, girl, cause you don’t need to do this again. I only remember not doing it – not worrying anymore. An effortless transition to health – and maybe some added pounds I'd have disliked had I been paying attention, but I wasn’t thinking about my appearance by her side. I just lived. Ate, drank, loved, and lived."
-excerpt from my novel
.jpg)