Abbey

"Do you know why you’re here?" She peered at me over her reading glasses.
"Yes"
"Can you tell me?"
"Ok. I’m here because my mum sent me"
I could tell by the look on her face that any minute now she was going to call her secretary and say ‘Please cancel my 1:00 appointment.’ As if to say that getting anything out of me would be like getting water from a stone, which is impossible, except for Moses, but he had God on his side. So that’s a bit different, but there we go.
"Can you tell me why your mum sent you?"
"Do you want the long version or the short?"
"Whichever you wish to tell me"
I stared at her for a while, then sighed. "Ok, I’ll go for this one. I am anorexic, or so I am told, I am 5’4’’, and I weigh seven stone. There you go. So, enough about me, what about you? Were you a happy child? That’s what you people say in sessions like these, isn’t it? So, were you? Did you have any major traumatic experiences that would result in you wanting to listen to other peoples problems all . . ."
"Ok Abbey," She said, interrupting me. "We’re not here to talk about me, we’re here to talk about you. I’m here to try and help you look objectively at the way you eat and help you figure out what caused you to start being obsessive about eating. Do you have any ideas, any at all that would help us figure this out?"
I just looked at her as though I was one of those children who never quite understand what’s going on and shrugged my shoulders. And where did this us suddenly spring from anyway? I looked away from her now, she said nothing, which freaked me out. I looked at the street below. People were busy going one way or the other, not knowing that above them, a shrink was analysing a girl like me. A girl like me. Nice phrase, well done Abbey. Well done. Cue an imaginary pat on the back.
"Is the time up yet?" I squinted up at the clock. "You see, my dad doesn’t know I’m here and he’s supposed to be picking me up from school in about . . .oh, I’d say, now. So I have to go, thanks for, urm, whatever it is you do." I got up to leave and felt my knees groan and croak, as they often did nowadays, in fact, sometimes I even think there are frogs hopping about in there, just waiting to ribbit at me and jump out.
"OK then, we can finish there if you have to go, will you come back for our next appointment?"
"I’ll think about it. Bye!" I grabbed my things and left as quickly as possible. I ran as fast as my skinny little legs would carry me. As I turned the corner that led to my school I saw that my Dad’s car was already parked and he had vacated it. I crept round and stood on the far side on the pavement. He approached, I could see that he was less than pleased, his brow was creased and even my little ‘darling’ brother seemed to be edging away from him.
"Where have you been?" He said, with an even tone that did not match his expression.
I cringed and my body shrank into my coat, as if I was hoping for some protection from it that I knew would not come. "Urm, I was held up, sorry." I mumbled and got into the car quickly. He murmured something else under his breath and drove us home, glaring at me occasionally through the rear view mirror. I concentrated on the scenery, remembering how it used to be. We used to laugh together, Dad and I. But now it’s gone, all of it, gone.
 
As soon as the front door opened, I went to my room. It was the best thing really, I avoided all the fuss, the shouting, well, until dinner that is. I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling until the patterns began to merge and dance in front of my eyes. I drifted in and out of sleep as I often do nowadays. I can’t sleep properly, I have the same uncomfortable, dreamless slumber, night after night. Maybe my body is scared that if I sleep, it might all just shut down, give up and that'd be the end of it.
"Abbey. Get down these stairs right now and help your mother get the table ready. Do you hear me? I mean it, right now!"
"Yes Dad, let me just . . ."
"NOW!"
"Ok, coming!" I tried to keep my voice light.
Mum smiled at me apologetically as I grabbed some cutlery to lay the table. Dad had gone into the other room and turned on the football. Typical. "Sorry darling, were you busy?"
"Nah mum, it’s ok, nothing important." I smiled at her, it was, you know, one of those smiles that are there only to reassure the other person, not a smile that plays on your eyes as well as your lips.
"Abbey. Why haven’t you set a plate for yourself?"
"Because I’m not hungry."
"But you know what your father says."
"All right, all right, I’ll set myself a plate, but I’m not hungry, so I’m not eating anything." This was a blatant lie, my stomach was twisting itself into knots, trying to get every ounce of food that might possible be there. It was painful, but Abbey doesn’t show pain, weakness, it’s against the rules.
Dinner. The daily battle ground. It had got progressively worse and worse since I had started to visibly lose weight.
I moved my food around on the plate for about five minutes before dad actually realised and decided it was his duty to inform me that he’d noticed.
"I’m fed up of this Abbey, you’ve got to eat, look at you, your disgustingly thin. I’ve tried being reasonable, patient . ." Yeah right, I thought, but obviously didn’t dare say, I listened as the lecture continued, same old, same old. "But you’ve gone too far, now, I’m not going to sit and watch you starve yourself. Now, either you start eating right now, or I’ll be forced to help you eat. Am I understood?"
I nodded slowly as if I did, but then for some stupid reason decided to speak up.
"Dad, I’m not hungry" I didn't look at him as I said it. I didn't dare, for fear of crumbling on the spot, I had to be strong.
"Don’t you give me that!" He banged his fist on the table, making everybody jump. "You’ve not been hungry for a long time now." My brothers slid down in their chairs, perhaps knowing what was going to happen now.
Dad got up from his chair and stalked over to me. Everyone around the table cringed, as if for me, a silent sympathy. I could see them. He grabbed my fork, stabbed my chicken and grabbed the back of my neck, yanking it back so hard it hurt my eyes. "Now, you will eat!" With that, he almost choked me with the fork, pushing the chicken so far down I thought I was going to be sick. He then took the fork out of my mouth and slammed it shut, placing his hand over it harshly so that I couldn’t spit it out and held my head in place until I had swallowed.
I was crying now, I mean, dad had always been ‘hands on’ but not quite like this. He repeated this torturous process until I had finished every last mouthful. I was choking, my mouth and throat sore. My whole body seemed to be in shock. He then went back over to his plate, ate his food, and excused himself angrily from the table and skulked into the living room. After he left, all eyes were on me. I managed to whisper an excuse me and ran to the bathroom, panicking.
What could I do? The food was in me, how could I get it out? I knew the answer, but it disgusted me. I hated being sick at the best of times, and it made me feel sick just thinking about it. But I had to do it. I couldn't let the food stay. Every second it remained inside me, I knew what it was doing, adding weight. It had to go. I couldn’t be happy until I was thin, when would that be again?
I knelt over the bowl, and looked into it. It seemed to stare back at me, daring me to do it. I turned away, how could I do this? I mean, the dieting had gone too far, I knew that, sometimes, but now I couldn’t stop. I wasn’t allowed to stop. I stuck my fingers down my throat, just till I started to retch, I pulled them out straight away. I was crying, knowing I didn't want to do this to myself, it was like the final step, but I had to. I can’t do this, I can’t. Chicken, I scolded myself.
I tried again and this time I didn’t back down. My stomach lurched and all the food came back. To be honest, it didn’t taste much different then when it went down. I didn't know what to expect, satisfaction? Relief, I didn’t feel any relief, well, relieved the food was gone but that was it, but I was disgusted with myself. I just felt, dirty.
I looked in the mirror as I washed my hands. This face isn’t mine, it can’t be, I could practically see the skeleton. My lips were cracked at the corners, my hair was thin, limp and in some places missing. My face was starting to resemble one of those kids faces from the Oxfam appeal adverts. But despite this, I knew I was still fat. I could feel it.
That night, I tossed and turned more than slept I think. It was like the duvet was suffocating me, but I couldn't kick it off, because I was so cold! My body shivered, even under the feather duvet, but I had to make do with it all. If only sleep would come. 
 
I hated school now. So cold, it was so cold, I asked in every lesson for the heating to be turned on, but sniggers opposed me. It was spring after all. I asked if I could keep my coat on, again, I was denied. "You shouldn’t be so skinny then should you?" I heard one of them say. "It’s your own stupid fault."
I felt my temper flaring. I turned round. "I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me"
Right, that’s it, I thought. I got up and turned in one swift motion, and pushed her chair to the floor, keeping her up. To this day I don't know how I did it. I pulled her face up to mine, and said in the most menacing voice I could muster "Yeah? So that’s what you think. Well, I can do something about my weight, what can you do about your face?" And I pushed her to the ground.
Some people in the class applauded, others said words I cannot repeat. But I felt good about myself. I still had the same temper as always, I just lacked the strength to do quite the same damage as I used to. I frowned, my face felt just like dad's does, so I knew it must've looked quite scary. Throughout this whole thing, the teacher had been writing something on the board, so had missed it all due to the fact that we had been very quite in our dispute, whispers only.
"Why are you laughing? What’s that clapping for? Tell me" She was the kind of teacher you feel sorry for really, they don’t know much about the subject they are trying to teach, so if you asked a question, you have to wait for her to look up the answer in some sort of text book. She was getting wound up, so I offered my hand.
"Miss, it’s because, urm, we saw a squirrel outside and it leaped in a way that some of us found humorous. So we laughed and clapped. Sorry, we’ll try not to in future." A couple of them sniggered, but I only felt an icy glare coming from Stacey’s way.
I was walking home alone, as usual, down my street. As I looked around me I saw the trees bending to and fro as the wind blew softly and a gentle breeze started playing with my hair.
"You think your so funny don’t you?" the venomous voice I recognised as Stacey made me turn.
"No" I said matter-of-factly. "I don’t"
"Let's see if you find this funny." An arm came out of nowhere and hit me square in the jaw. I was caught totally off balance and nearly fell over, but steadied myself on the wall of the house nearest me.
"I don’t want to fight you"
"Then why did you say what you said in the classroom?" Cue another smack round the head.
"I don’t want to fight you." I said as I got up wobbly on my stick like legs, my head now throbbing badly. "What I said in the classroom, was just so you would leave me alone."
This time, she grabbed me by my shoulders and kneed me in the stomach, I was nearly sick, it hurt so much, my eyes watered and the world started to spin. She was known at school for being fairly strong and a bully and she’s been in fights before, not just girly girly ones, so I was fully aware that she could throw punches. As I now had no option but to notice. Enough is enough. I gathered all the strength I could muster.
Crunch! Now it was her turn to be sprawled on the floor. "That, I said is for commenting on my weight. Don’t you know it’s rude to talk about people’s weight? People have turned anorexic for less. And this. . ," I said as I punched her again "Is for making me fight with you. Now, leave me alone." As I turned to walk away, she jumped me from behind, and we scrapped, both of us seemed to have acquired the strength of mad women and it took all my inner strength to leave the fight. Her lip was cut and bleeding, her hair was a mess and she looked like she’d gone three rounds with Mike Tyson, not a seven stone light weight like myself. I was quite pleased with my handy work. I pushed her away and ran to my house as fast as possible, letting myself in as I looked behind me to see her stalking the other way.
I crept upstairs to the bathroom and looked in the mirror and was shocked. I hadn’t realised how bad I’d got. I hadn’t meant to be anorexic, we’d had classes about it at school. I’d never meant it to let it get bad. My eyes had become sunken into my head, so my eyes bulged; my periods has stopped completely. I get tired all the time, but the problem is, I can’t eat, I just can’t. The very though makes me sick to my stomach. But at the same time, I miss food. I used to love big macs, chocolate, pizzas and now, now they’re completely off limits.
I cleaned my face up the best I could and prepared myself for the ordeal that had become dinner. I hadn’t let anyone in the house see me until dinner in the hope that everyone would be so involved in their food that they wouldn’t notice. My hope as always proved to be in vain.
"What happened to your face?" My brother enquired.
I looked at him. "I fell over"
Everyone around the circular table was now looking at me, in an odd, puzzled way, which appeared to mean that they didn’t believe my explanation.
"I did" My voice had become higher, and this spelled my doom.
"No, you didn’t. You’re lying, what really happened?" His piercing eyes invaded my mind, consuming it.
"I did. You don’t have to believe me but I, I did." I could just hear his thoughts, as though he was speaking them; 'first she goes anorexic, and now she's lying to us, what has she become?' I agree Dad, I agree.
Dad glowered at me until I ate a ‘suitable’ amount, and as soon as dinner was over, I ran to the bathroom again, I got it over and done with quicker because this time, I didn’t stop to think, till afterwards. I was disgusted with myself. I had my secret little way of keeping them happy, I could eat to get them off my back, and then throw it up so I don’t break the rules.
I got ready for bed quickly and just lay there, letting the sheets warm me up and waited to drift into a dreamless and exhausting sleep. I wanted to cry, to let it all out, all the hurt and torment, but I couldn't, for some reason I don't know, tears didn't come. Guess I was too dehydrated for my body to allow any liquid to be spared on tears. So I lay, and let sleep eventually take me.
 
The days passed quickly and without major incident. Stacey and I ignored each other, she didn't want to report me, or at least, she didn't, so I can only guess at the reasons why she didn't. I continued losing weight, and vomiting whenever Dad forced me to eat.
Before I knew it, I was walking down the corridor towards another appointment. I don't know why I agreed to go, but I guess deep down, some part of me wanted fixing.
 
"Have you lost anymore weight?"
What a dumb question. "No" Another lie. Of course I had. I’d only wanted to get to 7 1/2 stone, to make me happier, but that was over a stone ago, and I still wasn’t happy, maybe my scales were broken.
"That’s odd, because you look thinner to me. Must be my mistake. So how has your week been? Had a good one?"
More meaningless questions. But I decided to keep it light, maybe she could fix me. "Same old same old. How has yours been? Many crazy people in?"
"Why do you turn every question from me to you into a question from you to me? That’s not why were here surely. How can I help you if I don’t know anything about you, and I can’t learn unless you tell me. Do you want to get better?"
My eyes grew hot, I smiled a shy smile, the one you smile when you tried to give a joke, and it didn’t go down well. I nodded, for fear that if I spoke my voice might crack, and that would not do.
"Ok. That’s a start. Do you think you can start eating again? At all?"
I shook my head.
"Ok. We’ll address that later. But for now, I would like to ask you how well you get on with your family. Can you tell me?"
Seems safe enough. "Me and my brothers get on ok. My little brother Simon can be a pain, but he’s ok really, Josh is the oldest, and so he fights with me more, and Jase is the worst, he’s only seven, but he can hit hard!"
"What about your parents?"
I was getting a little uncomfortable at this question, I didn’t know how to, or if to answer. Do you want to get well? I asked myself. Yes, I think I do, I want to live, but I sometimes want to die, maybe they’d all be better off without me. I drain them so much, why do I have to be so selfish? But I’m not that bad am I really? I mean, I’m helping them with money problems. They have to spend less money on me now, for food and such things, and I wont ask for new clothes, I wouldn’t do that, I’ll just take in my clothes, so you see, really I’m being helpful. Aren’t I? I chuckled quietly in spite of myself, and then the tears came, slowly at first, then faster, until I couldn’t control them. Now you’ve gone and done it, broken the rules, I scolded, once you show some emotion, it all comes back. Keep it in better check. My body was shivering, though I wasn’t cold. My hands were covering my face, in a vain attempt to cover what was happening. I was crying quietly, I was good at that. Slowly they subsided, and I regained my control. As I looked up, I saw her sitting across from me, she hadn’t moved, her expression hadn’t changed.
"Sorry" I murmured.
"Was that because I asked about your parents?"
"Kind of" Don’t let her break you, ok, you had a falter, but get back on track. "So, how do you feel about your parents?"
I wasn’t sure how to answer. I wanted to be honest, but something was still stopping me. If I couldn’t be honest to anyone I knew, how can I be to a total stranger. But then again, I need to be honest with her, she’s the only one who can help me. Some of my old thinking came back to me, kind of like my old self had woken up and was trying to help me get better to. Kind of like I’d joined in the fight again.
I took a deep breath. "I have no real problem with my mother. I can’t fault her. Sorry, no dirt there."
"And your father." She really wasn’t going to let this go.
"My father is..." My voice trailed off. My hands fell to my lap, and I twirled my cuffs, trying to think of what to say without betraying my dad. I still loved him, but our relationship was definitely strained since I, since I took control of my life, my eating? Or was that since my eating took me over. I wasn’t sure anymore, the line has been blurred, I wasn’t sure what was happening.
"...he can be, a bit, I don’t know, urm, ‘pushy’ sometimes, especially when there is a clash of opinions."
"Your father seems to be a point of conflict for you. Tell me, how has he reacted to your new eating patterns?"
Another deep breath. "He was kind of curious at first, but then, recently he’s gotten bad about it all. The other night, at dinner he..." STOP! My thoughts were screaming at me to not overstep the line. But after months of keeping it all in, my mouth wouldn’t stop. "...force fed me." I couldn’t believe what I’d said.
I then saw the first bit of real expression flash across her face. Was that concern? Surprise maybe? I wasn’t sure, but I took it as a good thing. I’d broken her!
"What do you mean by force fed?" Her voice was noticeably higher than normal, she actually seemed concerned, so I decided to be honest, the whole truth.
As I recounted the chicken episode, I watched her, I think it was the first time I’d met her eyes for the entire time talking to her. Normally I looked at the floor, or let my eyes play on the shadows created by flapping curtains or the patterns on the floor would fascinate me briefly. As I concentrated on looking at her while telling her, I saw her expression change, from mild shock to sheer horror. When I got to the part about dad holding his hand over my mouth so I couldn’t spit it I thought her eyes would pop out on storks. When I’d finished, there was silence for a few moments, then she simply said;
"Thank-you for being able to tell me. I respect your honesty, and I can now appreciate why you found it initially difficult to talk about your father." She coughed. "Has he always been violent?"
I swallowed, hard. "Not all the time. We soon learned in our childhood to agree with him. Don’t get me wrong, I love my dad and everything, we have had some great times, but sometimes, he just turns." I looked away, I’d said far too much.
"Please don’t tell my parents about that when they phone up." I pleaded with her.
"Of course I won’t. Don’t worry, but I’m sorry, time’s up. Will you come back next week?"
I smiled, ignoring my cracking lips, and as I left the office replied "Yes, I should think you will."
I walked away feeling liberated, at least, to some degree. But the rest of me, the rest of me felt guilt. Uncontrollable guilt. How could I tell on dad. We always had a rule in our house, what happens in the home, stay in the home, and now I had gone against it, against it all.
 
I walked as fast as my weary body would carry me, till I got to the bus station. It was a Saturday, so I'd told my dad I was meeting friends. Only my mum knew about the therapy, she didn't want dad upsetting, so she'd arranged it all for me. I'd only seen her twice, but I think she was helping me, wasn't she? Or was she just helping me to help myself. But then sometimes, I don't feel like I needed help, I just wanted to lose a little weight, make myself happier. But it's making everyone miserable, none of it's fair, none of it. As I walked, I noticed the trees. Why is it, no matter what happens in the world, trees are always standing tall and proud. They sway gently in the breeze, but never bow to it. I wish I could be that strong, but sometimes I feel that I will just snap.
Almost as soon as I'd entered the hallway, my mother collared me. "Quick!" She whispered, "Your councillor is on the phone, and your dad almost picked it up"
Sensing the urgency in her lowered voice, i ran to the upstairs extension. "Got it!" I called "Hello?"
"Hi Abbey. I'm sorry that we didn't get to discuss everything on the list earlier, but as part of your treatment, I was going to tell you in the session, I've booked you in to see a friend of mine, he's a doctor and a specialist in dealing with anorexia patients. Will you go an see him?"
"When?"
On Monday, I thought the sooner the better, because, if you dont get treatment soon, then..." Her voice trailed off unexpentantly
"Then what?" Panic had arisen in my voice. I knew I wasn't going to like what she said, but I had to ask anyway, I had to know.
Then you will have to be hospitalised. Do you understand what that means?"
"Yes" I whispered. They'll force me to get fatter, and I can't let that happen. I'm fat enough as it is, I thought.
We said our pleasantries and as I hung up, my heart fell. Please don't tell me the fight is over. I’ve fought so hard.
I sank back into my bed and let the tears take me.
Tap! Tap! I looked up bleary eyed and saw my mother standing at my doorway with a tray. I really do love you, you know mum. I haven't done this to hurt you, not you, I’m so sorry mum.
Instantly she was at my side, the tray placed gently on the bed. "Are you ok darling?"
"yeah" I said, wiping my eyes. "it's my hay fever. That looks scrummy" It wasn't a lie. It did look great, but I knew if was off limits.
She gave me a knowing look. "I know you probably won't eat it honey, but I have to try, I can't just watch you..." Her voice began to quiver, so instead she gave me a look that delivered the rest of the message. '...starve yourself to death.' That's what you were going to say, wasn't it mum? She began whimpering, you know, the whimper they do to stop the tidal wave of tears? I became stuck on the spot. Please don't cry mum, I silently begged, not for me.
She eventually left with her excuses, leaving me to watch the food. I knew it wasn't going to move, but I didn’t want to move either. It held me there, captivated by its aroma's.
"Could you please pop onto the scales?"
I stood their in my underwear, practically naked and shivering. I recoiled from the scales, but he ushered me closer. The scales loomed before me, as though ready to taunt me, daring me to step on them and prove how fat I still was.
"...three pounds."
I'd been so lost in my thoughts, I hadn't heard his verdict.
"Pardon?"
"I said that you are six stone three pounds. That's almost a stone less then your councillor said you were last time she heard. We're going to have to commit you. You have one week to put some weight on, you will have two appointments for counselling, as a posed to the normal one, and in a week, i will see you again. ok? You can get dressed again now and we'll go and find your mother."
I got dressed in a day dream. almost another stone? then why am i not thin? why am i not happy? something must have gone wrong. Then my 'sensible' voice made a brief appearance. Maybe if I just eat a little. Just enough to keep out of hospital? NO! It's against the rules! The voice backed down. My body followed the doctor to the room where mum was waiting. It was well lit, and the brightness pained my eyes, as i squinted, my arm automatically raised to go to my eyes to shield them, but even that slight movement was painful and laboured, and out of the corner of my eye, i saw my mum squirm and she recoiled when she saw my struggle.
The doctor explained my situation, and a very quietened mother took me home, for dinner.

The weekend passed quickly and without much incident, I avoided mealtimes, I as always 'at a friend's' or staying late doing homework, I couldn't even bring myself to eat my dinner, being sick didn't bring it all back up anymore. I dreaded Monday, mum had arranged it with school, so that I'd have the morning off for the first of my two appointments. She always got more out of me than I wanted to give, or was it just that she listened, when no one else did, they judged without evidence, without any thought of the person they spoke of.

The stairway to her office seemed steeper every time I had to scale it. It loomed before me like a mountain, I was no better prepared to climb a mountain than those stairs.
I waited outside her office door, trying to catch my breath before entering, I didn't want to appear feeble, unable to cope, she'd hook me up on meds in no time.
"Hello Abbey. How did it go with the doctor?"
"I'm sure he's told you the ups and downs, ins and outs."
Yes. But I wanted to hear of how you thought it went."
"It went ok I guess. He said I'll have to be hospitalised if I don't eat"
"Have you eaten this weekend?"
"You know I won't have" Of course I haven't. It'll take more than a threat of a hospital to make me break the rules. But then, maybe I should let them take me to hospital anyway, cos in there, they help you get better, and then I can blame it on them, then it wont be my fault, then if I break the rules, I won't get a telling, I can get well, and not be in trouble. I'd be free, finally, from the rules, from everything.
"What were you thinking about?"
She asked the question so earnestly, like she actually cared, it was a nice feeling to think she didn't just think of me as a number, another patient, someone to be ticked off when done with and not thought about again, until next time.
"I was just thinking about how I wouldn't mind going to hospital, do you really think they can help me?" She looked shocked by my answer, perhaps she was expecting something poignant, but I don't do poignant, so my general ramblings would have to do.
"And why is that?"
"Because..." I paused. I didn't know quite how to tell her without letting on about the rules, and how I can't get better unless it's someone else’s fault, so then I can't be blamed for breaking the rules. "Because I think I want help, and I don't want to be in trouble if I do get well." There we go, I’ve gone and done it now. My mind whirred, trying to think of a way to escape the inevitable questions, so I wouldn't betray the rules, my way of life.
"Why would you get in trouble?"
If you want to get well, I told myself, your going to have to trust her, you can't even trust yourself anymore, maybe she has some answers. Be honest, don't back down this time. Then the voice of the rules made an appearance, it always seemed to show up just as I was bout to try and get better. You don't need her! All you need to do it keep to the rules, if you'd kept to the rules, you wouldn't be so fat and unhappy now, but no, you have to keep on letting people in, people only betray and hurt you. Don’t let it all go now! As usual, the dictator won, I backed down, my resolve to get well crumbling with it. "Can we change the subject? I don't want to talk about that now."
She went along with me, for now, I thought. "Okay. I'd like to try and find the stem of your problem, I don't believe we can go forwards if we don't know the past, do you?"
"no?"
"Do you remember anything about when you first started to lose weight? Were people supportive? Did they praise your efforts and dedication?"
How did she know? "Yes, people were jealous because they could never stick to their diets, some said I'd never lose the 7 pounds, but I showed them all."
"Yes, you've lost a lot more than 7 pounds now haven’t you? How did you do it? Did you gradually cut down portions or something?"
Not too much of a dangerous question, I thought, can't hurt to answer. "I, urm, I think it all started last year. I’m not sure exactly when. I'd been eating lots, probably for comfort, and the weight had piled on, and people were making comments, I remember it was especially my dad, taking about his chubby little girl or something like that. I told them I was going to go on a diet, people laughed, saying I didn't have the willpower, and for a while, they were right. Whenever dad offered me a donut, I couldn’t resist, that and partly because he said I'd be an ungrateful little girl if I didn't take something when he offered. I'd tried so many diets, but with no success, I couldn't gain control of food, of myself, until I had to take pills for an illness I had at the time, and they thwarted my appetite. So the first couple of pounds were easy, I just wasn’t hungry."
"What about after that?"
"Well, after I got over my illness and stopped taking the medication, my hunger came back. But I liked the feeling I'd been getting by being able to pull clothes away from my body, it meant I was losing weight. It wasn't really visible yet, but I knew if I ate then I'd put on weight, but I was so hungry! So I brought myself a calorie book, and decided I would be in control from then on."
"When did you lost that control?"
"What do you mean, I'm still in control" That was more to myself then to her, I was still in control, wasn’t I?
"Don't take this the wrong way, but I do see a lot of anorexia patients, and they all have something in common, do you know what that is?"
DUH! What a stupid question, i thought. "Well, I think it's something to do with our not eating maybe, hence why we get threatened with drips and things."
"Wrong. Anorexia, as it is, has nothing to do with food, well, not really anyway."
"What! What are you talking about?"
"Your problem has nothing to do with food, never has been your main problem. Anorexia is all about control. You want to feel in control of your life, and because you can't control everything in your life, you try and control the aspects that are easiest to manipulate. In Anorexics and Bulimia cases, its food you try and control, unfortunately, it becomes such an extreme addiction, that it eventually controls you. So by the time they seek help, they are dangerously out of control, yet still think they are in control of it all. Do you understand more now?"
It all made sense. But if she was right, then, what's wrong with me? How did I lose control? How can I...My thoughts were interrupted. "How long did it take for people to really notice your weight loss?"
"I guess, when I had to take in my jeans, people started congratulating my perseverance. I liked the attention to be honest, it was much nicer to hear than asking who ate all the pies. People didn't say I was gong too far until I started missing my monthlies, and when I needed jumpers in summer and pillows to sit on, even on padded cushions."
"So, why didn't you stop then, when people showed concern? Was it because you couldn't?"
What does she men, because I couldn't. I'll hve to tell I could, wont I? Can't have her thinking I'm weak and am controlled by the rules. But then, a new thought came to me, honesty, I've got to be honest, or else how can she help me?
"Why do you always ask hard questions?"
"If I only asked easy ones, how could we progress? I would never find anything out, anything painful, those are the things which we need to address to help you move on. Please answer my previous question."
A deep breath followed, as if clearing my airways for the things to come to ground. "At first, I think it was defiance. If I gave up then, it would have been like submitting to them, they would have gained control over my life, but then, as it got worse, I couldn't stop, because if I did, I would get fat, and I wasn't thin yet, and if I wasn’t thin yet, then how could I be happy and in control?"
"That is the root cause of your problem. You've just listed several overlapping hurdles to your happiness, which is what you seem to be searching for, that and control, which do in some respects go hand in hand. Our time is up for this session, but remember, we have another one on Thursday, and on Saturday, you have another appointment with the doctor, and he will assess if you need hospitalisation. I'd like to set you a challenge, to eat something. Anything, and not throw it up."
"You know I can't do that, not yet."
"Of course you can. And besides, if you do, and you don't like it, you know how to go back, you have the power to go either way. Please say you'll try before Thursday?"
"I can only promise I'll try." I left, my mood mixed. I so wanted to do what she said, to break free of the rules, to eat and not be guilty, but I knew I would feel guilty, then I'd throw it up. Food is still the enemy, the only thing stopping me becoming thin, becoming happy, is food and it must not win.

I joined school for the afternoon lessons. It was maths, my worst subject, which added a bonus to my already draining day. I couldn't concentrate, my mind was on it's usual subject, food.
"Abbey?"
My head snapped up. "Yes?"
Could you please enlighten the class on the answer to the sum on the bored?"
"I, urm, I don't know, can you explain it again please?"
As she was explaining, I heard whispers behind me.
"If you have 8 stone, then take away 2 stone, you have a freak!..." Followed by muffled sniggers.
The teacher didn't hear, but it seems everyone else did. I whipped round, to see who it was, it was Stacey. I snapped. I leapt up, and jumped at her, with a strangled cry of anger. There was a look of sheer surprise frozen on her face.
Everything happened at once, Stacey squealed as I grabbed her, the teacher tried to assist, and the other kids gathered round watching the fray. I flattened her to the table, and started scratching her, pulling her hair, i dug my nails in, the whole girl fight process. I was so outraged, seeing red is putting it lightly.
It took four people, and the teacher to tear us apart, most of them were holding me. When I got as angry as that, my strength seemed to multiply. I was blind to any pain delivered, all my senses were charged with rage, into hurting her as much as possible, with as little effort from me.
We got marched down to the Head's office. The whole corridor was gloomy, as though all life and activity had departed swiftly in anticipation of coming events. We were instructed to sit outside the office, while she went in and explained the situation.
I was shattered. For a person who now found it hard to climb stairs, walk even, it took all my strength and energy to attack her like that. I sat there trying to get my breath back, without making it obvious that it had affected me. She couldn't know.
We were eventually ushered in, and after our teacher had told her version of events, it was up to us to fill in the gaps. As I opened my mouth to add closure, Stacey piped up. "I was sitting there, trying to do my work, and the out of nowhere, she (pointing to me) lunged at me, and pinned me to the desk, I couldn't do anything, she just attacked me."
"She pinned you down? There was nothing you could do?" Her face held a scepticism I did not like, nor trust. I could just imagine her saying; 'No offence Abbey, but Stacey, she hardly looks like the kind of persona able to hold herself up lot, all the less pin you down.' Instead she simply looked me up and down, and then waited for me to pipe up.
"She whispered something horrible about me, and I lost it. I'm sorry, it won't happen again." I didn't care if I was blamed, my head was feeling light, my energy sapped, my legs were becoming feeble and shook under my 'weight'.
The long and short of it was, that both of us were out rightly given three detentions each, to be served together, in an effort to make us co operate and see eye to eye. The looks flitting back and forth between us could have turned even the Sahara to ice.

"Can you please help me with dinner?" Mums beckon sliced through my repertoire like a double edged blade. I turned off my exercising music and complied.
Turns out it was spaghetti bolognese. My old favourite. My stomach turned as my nose registered the aroma's. Mum had been doing this a lot recently, cooking dinners she knew I loved, in an effort to get me to eat. "Eat something, eat anything! Please!" She had begged. "I'm sorry mum, I know you think I'm trying to hurt you, get back at you, but I'm not honestly. I want to stop, really I do, but I can't, I'll die if I eat and I know I'll die if I don't." My heart sank as my thoughts whirred around like a merry-go round. I didn't want to die, did I? Or did I? True enough it would be easier to let this take me, but something deep down, I don't know what, maybe my old self, was fighting, willing me to fight back, to try and escape. They tumbled, spinning faster and faster, until I snapped out of my thoughts and registered the surrounding environment.
Mum was standing there, looking at me, a horrified expression frozen on her face, her body motionless. I looked at what my body was doing, my knuckles were white as I found my hands gripping the chair, as if, it seems, for support. My knees were bent, as though they had been buckling under me as I'd snapped out of my thoughts.
My mother came around from her trance, and was with me in a flash. "What's wrong? Here, sit down." She steadied me into the chair I'd been using to support me, and I asked what had happened. "You almost fainted, you went as white as a sheet, and just, crumpled" I took a few moments to re-gather myself, and drink the water mum offered me, before getting up and assured her I was fine carry on helping her. "what was the matter?"
I tried to be light, humorous even, and failed miserably. "Oh, just a tiny case of anorexia, nothing to worry about"
"That's not funny. You make it sound like your doing it on purpose! After all we've done for you...I am always the one defending your eating problems, and this is how you repay me." I counted down in my head 3, 2, 1, the crying started, right on cue. I must have been the biggest sucker for emotional blackmail, but again, I succumbed, and found myself doing all the right things, comforting her, saying it wasn't her fault, apologising, and the more I comforted her, the more I knew I was shrinking, I became the bad guy. I became suffocated by her, she needed my comfort as much as I needed her help, but neither came easily.
Her tears subsided slowly, and normality resumed, we swept it under the carpet as we always did, and resumed our functions. It was taboo to then talk about it, to 'dig up the past', we had to forgive and then forget, but it's always so hard. It's human nature, isn't it?
I carried on with the dinner with her. We talked about trivial things, avoiding what I knew was on both of our minds, not wanting to tread where it might disturb the peace, to let anything tempt an eruption.

Dad arrived home just in time for dinner, as usual. I had run out of excuses for missing dinner, and so knew I would have to make a good show of it, make them think I was eating, keep them distracted so they don't notice.
"Hasn't the weather been lovely this week?" Nice one Abbey, I thought, make it obvious that your trying to keep them distracted.
My dad answered, his voice flat and I could tell he was trying to control his rage. "It's been okay, nothing special. Why aren't you eating Abbey? You've sat there and moved your food around, but nothings gone in yet."
I fumbled around, my hands writhing in my lap, twisting, trying to squeeze an answer that would placate him, soothe him, so he didn't fume.
"I, urm, I'm not feeling well, I don't want to be any worse." I smiled a reassuring smile, and looked back down at my plate swiftly.
My whole body jumped as my fathers fists banged down hard on the table, disturbing the serenity of the silverware. All eyes were avoiding my fathers, and we all flinched as his voice spoke in a thunderous tone, shaking me to my core.
"I am sick to death of your lies!" His voice was shaking, his veins popping up on his shiny forehead. "I will not hve it in this house any more! Do you UNDERSTAND?" His voice rose with each new sentence, the venom spreading into my being, suffocating me.

I nodded numbly and shoved the smallest piece I could find into my mouth, and chewed, with each chew, it was like I could feel the calories, the fat, soaking into my system, getting ready to drown me, to make me like I was before, I couldn't let that happen, so I gagged, right there, in front of everyone, I feigned choking, so I could leave the table, and ran to bathroom quickly. With the door locked, and voices outside pleading for me to let them in, I turned on the faucets and drowned out the sound, the sound of their voices, their whiny, distracting voices.
The deed done, I unlocked the door to face them, placate them, and hoped to avoid any more food, for that day at least.

Brinnnggg....brriiiinnnnnggg! The school bell snapped me out of the clutches of my turbulent thoughts. I gathered my things and headed to English.
I took my seat quietly at the back, on the opposite side of the room to Stacey as we'd been ordered to keep apart, or else we'd be put on report.
"Today, we're starting a new project. We've been celebrating the works of several great authors of recent years, and doing studies on them, this one is on a fairly new but astounding poet, Mr Scott Aaron Bamford. In recent years, he has published several highly celebrated pieces, and we're going to look at one poem today to get a feel for his work. Please all read to yourselves the poem printed in front of you."
My eyes wandered lazily down to the sheet on the table, as my eyes scanned the page, they widened, and my expression froze.

Naturally forgotten
Wasting away, day after day.
Alone with myself almost vanished
Needing a time, needing to find
A hunger for that, I am lacking.

Lie on my side, night after night.
Feeling the insides find resting.
Then up from the throat, wanting to coat
Myself and all that lies around me.

Needing to pop a system to stop.
7:1 and 1:7 flipped ratio.
It may cause great pain, I'll do it again.
Needed to get out what’s inside me.

Never empty.
Never full.
Never satisfied.
Never asking
Sometimes getting
Always needing
A long forgotten bleeding.

Each drop not counted, the result but a sum.
of control gone wrong, in the land of the sun.

I sat back, horrified. That's me! That’s how I feel. The part that especially was penetrating my thoughts was:

Never empty.
Never full.
Never satisfied.
Never asking
Sometimes getting
Always needing
A long forgotten bleeding.

It was like it was about me, speaking to me, like it knew me, and knew what it all felt like. So, I wasn't alone? The very thought reduced me to silent tears, they washed down my face as a trickle before the waterfall breaks through. As I was trying to control in vain my trickles, I dimly heard the teacher describing the poem. I needed no classification or explanation for it, it was mine.
"...poem is about Anorexia Nervosa, a disorder seen more and more commonly among our youth, and on the whole, it is girls who suffer from it..."
Her words didn't trail off, they continued on their monotonous tone, I stopped listening. I didn't suffer from 'it'. I was in control. I was slowly but surely beating food, beating this enemy and people who had kept me captive, I was no longer a slave to a dictator. I was free, wasn't I? Thin is happy, isn't it? Niggling doubts were appearing in my mind, like cracks ready to break the Antarctic, but not today. I pushed them away, I was not going to be broken.

I was so lost in my thoughts, I didn't even notice the end of the lesson, or everyone leaving without me. A hand appeared on my shoulder, and I started, being shook back into reality.

"Are you okay? The bell has gone. You need to go to your next lesson. Or have you got another appointment today?" My teacher spoke to me as though a small child. I didn't care for their tone.

"I'm fine. Thank you for your concern." I kept my tone clipped, my words short, and hurriedly gathered my things. Everything seemed so heavy now, I brought the bare minimum to school. In truth, I didn't have an appointment for another two days. I was dreading it, they kept on threatening me with hospital, so I had to go to the appointments, or else I would lose what precious freedom I had left.
The day passed quickly, I was outwardly attentive to my lessons, kept my head down, but my mind was spinning. I couldn't keep the poem and my appointment out of my head. Could she help me? Or was it as I suspected, that I was completely and truly alone? Alone with myself.

I heard the sound of glass shattering, it echoed in my mind as I stirred from a cumbersome sleep. It took several moments to work up the energy to attempt getting out of bed. As my hand slid down my body to the bed, I could feel the soft hair I'd grown to love, comforting me, it was velvety to the touch, and kept my body as warm as it could.
My head spun as I sat up. The whole process of removing myself from my bed took more minutes then it took most people to get ready.
I crept over to the slit of light seeping through my ajar door. Onto the landing, my feet heavily dragging, it took too much effort to lift them more than absolutely necessary.
It was then that I heard muffled sobs. I instantly recognised them, my mothers. She was the expert. In between the sobbing, I heard stifled whispers, choked by tears.
"Why?" Why what? I pondered.
"It's not our fault"
"But I feel so, so responsible. We've worked so hard, and now..." Her voice trailed off as the tears welled up again. I shuffled by body round so I could see then through the banister. She was sitting there, on a chair round the table, with dad standing behind her, his arms encircling her.
"Shh. It's going to be okay." I remembered those sayings well, I used them often in placating her, it sounded somehow different when he said them, he seemed to actually believe that it would be okay, whatever it was that was wrong.
Her voice crept higher. "How will it be okay? Our daughter is this far, " She gestured with her fingers, "away from being admitted to hospital, and why? Because we couldn't stop her from dieting. We failed her." Her chest began to rise and fall dramatically, she was becoming quietly hysterical, I could see it was draining her of strength holding it all in.
Their fault? I couldn't believe they would even think that. My attention once again was grasped by their conversation.
"She was never a problem was she?" He was soothing, as he spoke, he gently stroked her hair, he seemed so attentive, so loving. I'd never seen them like this with each other. They were there for each other. It brought home to me a sense of my own loneliness, I had no one to hold me like that, to tell me it was all going to get better. I only had myself, and sometimes, I hated the company.
I desperately wanted to go down there, to comfort them, tell them it wasn't their fault I got screwed up, but if it wasn't theirs, who's was it? Mine? Society's for making us aim for impossible to attain perfection to be accepted? I really didn't know anymore. None of it made sense, none of it was fair, I hated it all, but I knew it was all real, and I had to fight.

Salad. I had asked mum to bring it up for me, and asked her to lock the door. She had given me a very odd look, but I didn't care. I was going to eat, and this time, no throwing it up. My resolve was strong, and even the dictatorship of the rules could not make it stumble this time. My next appointment was the following day, and I wanted to show her that it didn't own me. I pushed any thoughts that came my way involving fat, calories or breaking through, were quickly pushed to the furthest corners of my mind.
It looked safe enough, healthy even. It was colourful but piled high. There were chopped peppers, lettuce leaves, tomato slithers and celery. Even with my mind set on eating, it was still daunting. I decided the safest bet was to arrange it so that it was more orderly looking. I rearranged it into quarters, much neater. My fork pierced a piece of pepper, a red one, always a favourite, and I raised it to my lips, peeling them back ever so lightly sot hey didn’t touch the fork or food.
Chewing, a sensation I remembered well, I chewed it exactly thirty times before swallowing. As soon as it started its decent to my stomach, I began to panic. The old rules dictated that after food consumption, I was to go to the bathroom immediately, lift the seat, and vomit, cleaning my system. But with the door locked, I had to think of something new.
I cast my eyes dartedly round the room. Nowhere to vomit, not even the windows, they were all locked. There must be another way, I thought. Ah! Exercise. I would run it off. I tried, by running energetically on the spot, but in vain, my body was weary. I collapsed in an exhausted heap on the floor, blackness came to me.
The key being turned in my lock brought me slowly round. My whole body ached, and screamed at me to stay still when I tried to move. Pain shot up my limbs as I forced them to move, to stand and face mum. I must have stood up to quickly, dots started to haze my vision and I almost fell again.
Mum caught me, "Are you alright now?" She asked, her voice laden with concern as she helped me onto my bed. "How much do you weigh now? Did you eat anything?" She glanced over to my plate, the food still in quaters, mostly untouched except that one pepper piece, but she wouldn't have noticed that.
She hurriedly moved my scales over to the bed, and propped me up so I could be weighed, despite my weak protests. I didn't even look down to see how much I now weighed. "Five stone three! That's almost another whole stone this week! Look at you!" I glanced wearily over to the mirror, seeing nothing I liked, I turned away, and let myself fall back to the bed. She continued. "This has got to stop. If your father knew, he'd go spare. What have you done to yourself? This is crazy, all crazy." She was chuntering now, more to herself than me, her arm held stiffly across her body, propping up her other, while biting intently on her nails. The stress on her face was plain, and after hearing her last night, I was beginning to realise how much it was affecting her.
She wrapped me up under several blankets to keep me warm, and left me to sleep, which inevitably didn't come. I lay there, letting the sheets warm me, running my hands up and down my body. I could feel the bones of my pelvis, sharp against my hands, my stomach finally concave almost to how I wanted it and as I ran them up the wrong way, my soft hair greeted me, as though cheering me on. I could count my ribs one by one and enjoyed my successes, I'd shown them all, Abbey the quitter was gone, I was stronger, wasn't I?

"Your mother phoned me this morning in a very distressed state."
I said nothing.
"Do you know what she said?"
Again, nothing.
"You do know that after our session today, our final session for the moment, they will be wanting a report on you, to see if hospitalisation is needed, or if by carrying on these sessions, I think in my professional opinion that we can make more progress. So far I've not had much to encourage me that the second option is plausible."
I had gone in there with such a firm resolve to not speak, I had felt empowered the night before on my self examination, but now, faced with the harsh reality of a prison like hospital, I had to re-think.
I spoke carefully, each word thought out. "How can we make it more plausible?"
"I'm glad your thinking of this as a 'we' situation, that will help. It is only by us working together that we can keep you out of hospital. For this to work, you need to answer my questions truthfully. Okay?"
Almost against my will, I nodded, a non verbal signal I guess for her to continue.
"So, will you please answer my previous question?"
"Okay. She weighed me yesterday, and I'm less that she thought."
"And?"
"What do you mean, 'and'?"
"Why did she weigh you? Something else happened didn't it?"
I sighed. "Because I collapsed and she was worried. Okay?"
"Why did you collapse?"
I was becoming frustrated with this line of questioning, it was getting us nowhere. "I don't know, I'm not a doctor. Can we move on now please? We're not getting anywhere like this"
She sensed my annoyance, and complied. "Okay. Have you done as I have asked?"
"You mean have I eaten?"
"Yes."
I did, yesterday."
"What did you eat?"
"A pepper."
"A whole one?"
"Urm, no." I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. "I ate a piece, you know, a cube where it's been cut like that."
"That's a start. I can hardly expect you to have a three course meal right away, your stomach would explode."
Explode? What was she trying to do? Convince me not to eat? "Are you serious?"
"Not quite, but it made you listen. But in all seriousness and honesty, your stomach would not be able to hold a lot of food yet, it's shrunk too much. But in time, as we work together, you will be able to manage a normal portion, you can..."
I didn't let her finish. "You mean make me fat." The accusation in my voice rang clear.
"No. To return you to a healthy state. Do you actually enjoy not being able to stand up without being dizzy? Or having to sit on piles of cushions to pad you?"
She was taking the hard line today, no punches spared. Some of what she said really hurt me, or maybe just my pride. The truth was, I didn't enjoy those things, I thought the journey to getting thin and happy would be fun, or at least, not as painful.
"No. I don't"
"Then what do you suggest we do about it?"
"Why ask me? Your just going to suggest something different anyway, or ask questions about me that have nothing to do with it!" My voice was panicking, she knew too much, she never gave the game away, there were no chinks in her armour that I could use to my advantage. Nothing.
I sighed. None of it seemed worth the effort, even breathing itself.
"I don't think we've fully explored all the issues of your anorexia. We've looked at how you first started losing weight, but not at what's holding you back now, or any rituals you might have, we need to dig deeper, find the answers together so that we can bring you back, and stop this killing you."
Kill me? Why was she being so harsh today? Maybe it was a last ditch attempt to get me to again lower my defences, to submit to her and for her to make me fat, unhappy, and ruin all my hard work. I decided to play her at her own game. "Sure, go ahead. If you think it will help." I challenged.
She looked a bit taken aback, as though she was expecting more of a fight. "Okay." She began.
I had to sit there and listen to a detail on morbid detail of my condition and the permanent effects it could have on my body, my chances of having children in the future. I eventually stopped listening, concentrating on the patterns on the walls, the carpets, tracing every line with my eyes. Doing anything but listen to the harsh reality being drilled into my reluctant ears.
"If by Saturday, you haven't made any improvement, you will be sectioned under the mental health act, and you may be force fed if you don't improve once in the care of the hospital. Is that understood? I'm sorry it had to come to this, I was hoping these last couple of sessions would have helped turn you around in time, as you seem to be building more of a fort than before, so I can see no alternative. I'm sorry Abbey."
Suddenly, I was listening again, probably something to do with my freedom being almost snatched from me, and this time, I could tell she meant it. I briefly contemplated running away, I imagined what I'd pack, what I'd leave, but then quickly abolished the though from my head. How far would I get in my condition? No! Wait! I have to stop thinking of 'it' as a condition, they want to put that label on me, but I will not let it stick.
I decided there and then that if sectioned, I would eat enough to get me out of there, and then I could carry on with my targets, unperturbed. I smiled to myself at the simplicity of the plan that would keep me going, keep me sane, I would go along with them and their rules, keep them off my back. I also briefly toyed with the idea of eating enough this week to stay our of hospital, but it occurred to me that if I did that, then they would keep watching me, but if I feigned 'getting better' then they might not watch me so closely when I returned, thinking I was cured.
For the remainder of the session I sat there, not really speaking, avoiding eye contact, responding only with minimal answers, completely withdrawn. She was getting nothing out of me that day.