Freak

Chapter Two

“Alice? Alice? Open the door!” my mother’s strained voice startles me.

“Mom?” I say, still groggy.

“Alice!” the relief in my mother’s voice is evident.  Good thing messed up little Alice didn’t go kill herself yet.  “We told you not to lock the door anymore!”

I force myself to get up off my bed and steady myself.  I walk slowly to the door, avoiding looking in the mirror at all costs.  No need for a breakdown in front of mom.  She thinks I’m crazy enough already. 

I take my time while I unlock the door. As soon as I open the it, my mother takes me into her arms and hugs me.  “You didn’t dream of…you know…” 

I sigh and say, “No, mom.  I didn’t.”

She smiles and says, “Good girl.  Come downstairs for breakfast.”

When I first started therapy, I told the truth.  I told Jennifer, my therapist, about wonderland and the beautiful girls who were now my only friends.  I told her how everything through my perception was distorted.  When I was normal, happy, I saw things the way normal people saw them.  Now, everything was messed up.  Doorknobs seem bigger than the doors themselves, corridors seem to stretch on forever and no matter how long I walked through them, they never ended. I was skinny as a stick one minute and then a disgusting monster the next.  When I said these things, everyone was concerned. “What’s wrong with her?” my dad asked.  “This isn’t normal. What did we do wrong?” my mother would say, on the brink of tears.

That’s when I learned that it was much easier to lie.  I’m happy, they’re happy.

I am at the top of the stairs when it happens.  The stairs stretch on forever and ever. My heartrate quickens and I begin to panic. I take a deep breath.  I’m supposed to call for help when something like this happens, but I can’t.  They think I’m getting better.  They can’t know that it’s actually worse than ever.

You can do this, just keep walking.  The stairs are going to end.

I take the first step, gripping the railing as if my life depended on it. The cold hardwood floor on my bare feet calms me a bit. So far, so good.  Another step, then another.  I can do this.  And soon enough, the stairs that seemed to stretch on forever came to an end.  I smile.  I can do this.

I walk to the kitchen table and smile at my parents. They're both staring at me, with happy expressions plastered onto their faces that were obviously fake. My father is dressed for work, but he doesn't leave as early as he used to anymore. Lately, he's been watching me take my food before he leaves. I guess he wants to make sure that psycho Alice isn't starving herself.

There's a big plate in the center of the kitchen table stacked with lots of pancakes. A container of syrup and butter is next to it. I can smell the sticky sweetness of the syrup all the way from where I was standing.

Imagine all the calories and sugar in that syrup. And when you eat it, it'll transform into fat, to make you uglier. And the butter too. Do you have any idea how many grams of fat is in that? says the voice in my head.

I realize that my parents are staring at me while I'm thinking of all of this. I quickly snap out of it.

“Pancakes? My favorite!” I say happily.

My father smiles.  He gets a plate and stacks three pancakes—yes, three—onto it.  He puts it down in front of me. 

“Sit,” my father says says.

“I’m just gonna bring it upstairs,” I say.  I’ve been using the excuse that I’m not comfortable eating in front of people yet so that I can go upstairs and hide the food I didn’t want in the garbage.

“No,” my mother says.  “Jennifer says that it’s time for you to learn to eat in front of people again.  Part of your recovery.” 

“I...you…no!” I stutter. “At least give me time to…you know…” 

“Alice, sit and eat,” my mother demands. 

“Please, Alice,” my father says.

When I see the hurt in their eyes, the way they just want their daughter to be healthy and happy and normal, I almost give in.  But then I remember my promise. I’ll never eat again.

“No!” I say.

My mother is alarmed. “Honey, we won’t look, just sit at the table and eat with us…” 

“NO!” I say again, louder.  I run to the stairs, wanting to go back into my room, lock the door, and go back to my safe haven… 

I reach the stairs and despair.  They are endless, forever going up.  You can do this, I think again.  One step at a time, clutching the railing, I begin climbing the stairs.  But this time it’s different.  No matter how many I go up, I can’t get to the end. I begin to hyperventilate.

The cruel voice in my head returns. Things like this only happen to crazy people like you.

“Alice! Alice!” I hear my father’s concerned voice from the kitchen, running to come to rescue me. 

But he doesn’t get there in time, because I feel myself falling down the stairs, and then everything goes black.

Back to wonderland for Alice.