Everyone else was talking and voicing concerns and I didn’t understand why it was happening.
I could feel my chest tightening and my arms shaking.
We just aren’t sure how to support you.
My arms won’t stop shaking. What are they saying? I have been good! I moved the scale to the basement! I told all of you in the first place. Why aren’t these things enough?
You’re not ok.
I can barely breathe, and I want to dissolve into the wooden trunk I am using as a seat.
I have never seen you cry that hard before. You were balling.
I just want my entire body to stop shaking. This isn’t going to end until I start talking. I can’t say, “fine, good, or I don’t know.” This isn’t fair, I’m not prepared for this. I was balling last night, there is no denying that. I feel cornered. I feel like the time in high school when I got called out of Spanish class to go to the nurse. I had never been to the nurse before. I didn’t even know where exactly the nurse’s office was located. I prayed the whole way down that it was some weird paperwork mix-up, but I knew what it was about and walked ever-so-slowly so I could figure out my answers before I got there. At least I had 5 minutes to work out how I could control that situation. Yes, it feels exactly like that, without the 5 minutes. And the parental phone call. Why are they saying I’m not ok? Everyone cries. Everyone. Especially drunk girls.
Why don’t you feel like you can talk to us?
I want this to stop and I want to cry and I want to sink into a bathtub full of water and scream. Nothing is wrong, everything is fine. It’s not stopping, I can’t seem to cry, and i am not in a bathtub full of water. Everything is wrong and nothing is fine. Only, I can’t say any of this. I don’t know why. I can’t even say that, because “I don’t know” is not an acceptable answer. But, I don’t know. What I do know is that I don’t want to be talking about this right now.
Finally, I say, “you guys, I think I have been doing a lot better.” Better than what? “Better than before Spain. That’s a month of being better. I don’t know what else to say.”
I asked for all of this. This is happening because I told them I wanted their support. They’re just trying to clarify. Be nice. Talk. Do something productive, for fuck’s sake. But I can’t. The words won’t come. The anxiety gripping every muscle in my body has a stronghold on my voice box, and nothing that I actually want to say will leave my throat. So I say some surface things that are partially accepted, and I feel horrible about my very best friends feeling shut out of my life. I feel alienated in a room where there is the most love and concern in one place than I have ever experienced in my life. I am grateful for this, but so severely stuck. I can’t make them feel like they are helping, I can’t make them feel like I am letting them in.
I didn’t sleep last night. The anxiety never left my body, and I kept replaying my friend’s voices; I don’t feel as close to you anymore. Because I’ve done an excellent job of emotionally pushing away my loving, caring, amazing friends. I can’t stop thinking about what is really wrong. What is really wrong, anyway? I don’t even have a problem right now. I am the largest one in the room. All of my friends are so pretty and skinny. I feel massive next to them. I am eating so much food all the time and not exercising enough.
Yet my fridge is empty and I ran yesterday, and the day before, and the day before. But I know I must weigh so much. So much, that I don’t deserve to be talking about what’s wrong. Because if disordered eating were my problem, I would be much, much thinner. I wouldn’t feel so heavy. I wouldn’t have reoccurring dreams about being crushed by a boulder, because the boulder is how massive I feel, all the time.
What’s wrong is that I am honestly and truly eating what I should be eating, and I am not purging, and I am not over-exercising, and I am not counting calories, and I am not even weighing myself, so I am terribly frightened, practically sure, that I am getting bigger by the minute. It doesn’t make any sense to cry about that. Because it is supposedly illogical, but it doesn’t feel illogical at all. It doesn’t make any sense that sometimes, I want to trade my health for 20, or 30 pounds. Except to me. To me it makes perfect sense, until I say something like that out loud. At which point it sounds so ridiculous, that I fear whoever might be the listener would never recover from thinking I have completely lost my mind.