The whole car ride over to my best friend's house, I debated whether or not I was going to finally come clean about my high school year's biggest secret. By the time I picked up the ice cream, I harnessed whatever lack of shame the past few months have taught me and told myself I would do this for all the times that I could not. I took some upright starfish pose meditation moments, pressed the power button on my car, and felt I was ready. Upon exiting the green machine in the driveway, I began to have second thoughts. What if they don't like me anymore? What if they don't understand? After about five minutes of this nonsense I shut that crud down. I was going to do this, and that was final. Disclaimer: Some names have been changed for privacy and certain sections of this post may be difficult to read for anyone currently struggling with an eating disorder. Most of the memories I have of Thanksgiving are full of pure eating disorder panic, an animalistic terror fueled by its own madness, and nothing else. I can remember the food that I either did or did not eat. I remember the self-hatred, senseless, relentless, and remorseless, but comforting nonetheless. And finally, I remember the hallow. The deep, endless all encompassing emptiness. Not love, not food, not anything could ever seem to fill it. But the people? Not so much.
This time, I double, triple, quadruple pinkie-promised myself it would be different. Nea's mom gathered us around the table shortly after I arrived. We held hands as we said what we were grateful for. I could feel Gina's hands shaking. Mine were too, but I knew the moment was coming soon. Finally after what stretched on for an eternity, the circle had gone around; the turn had found its way to me. One last hesitation, so quick, so long, held me like a vice. It would not be too late to back out yet. No. I remembered all the times I avoided the miles of smiles stretched out before me because I needed to puke, the way I have ignored their texts just because I did not have the energy to be around people, and the years I spent bent over a wishing well hoping that maybe, just maybe, this time would be my last; only it never was. Suddenly something inside me was alight with courage; my inner recovery warrior princess ignited like a bonfire and all the momentum from the past gave me the strength to be brave, strength to be vulnerable. In one determined breathe, I said, "I am grateful for the friends I have who still have me, I have been in eating disorder treatment for the summer, thank you for still wanting my company even though often times I have been a butt and avoided yours." And then the room got quiet. Real quiet. There was a ripple across the table as everyone took in what I had just said. But slowly, real slowly, I watched the shock become replaced with understanding. And then that understanding transformed into a collective sigh of relief. I could practically hear the room shout with glee, as it began to recognize "she is not perfect; I do not have to be perfect either," We finished up our gratefulness circle, and as the night wore on, one by one, members of the table approached me and shared their struggles with mental illness. I took this courage and used it to challenge the remarks about food that began to circulate the air. At the end of the dinner I learned that almost everyone in that room had dealt with depression. In order to try to explain what treatment was and has been like, I told them the pickle story. Out poured a story about everything that the recovery process has been for me thus far. It was a story about the pain, about the disgruntlement at admitting to having a problem, but also a story about the mischief of having co-conspirators in play, about the fun in learning how to be with others again, and about the love I have received from others that I never believed I would ever have been worthy to receive; love I am trying so desperately to be able to have towards living again. When I was leaving, as Nea helped me pull out of her death trap of a driveway, we talked about what I said at dinner. She told me she was so proud I could share this with the table, I told her I was originally "a little scared," (cough, understatement of the day), but glad to have done it. She said that's what friends are for. In that moment, these were all the words I needed to hear. Happy Holidays, -Soliuna
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Nerds in the NeighborhoodSoliuna
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