Emily #freementalillness #literasia

e i g h t

She couldn't escape dinner.

Packed into the backseat of her family's mini van, clutching a lukewarm pot of curry chicken and a tray of graham cracker pumpkin bars, Emily silently half listened to her mother grind her teeth in annoyance and spit out lines of used words, along the lines of, don't be like your father, he's no good, why you dress so unladylike, don't slouch, don't embarrass us, and she nodded numbly to each insult fired, mind in a different place.

They were going to her uncle's house for Christmas dinner. Something that would be strained and uncomfortable and filled with fake sentiments of the holidays and family importance, because family was the least important thing to anyone there.

She entered the house, plastering on a fake smile and falsely mimicking politeness as she greeted her relatives in mandarin, gritting her teeth when they harshly commented on her grades, weight, appearance, not knowing their words were cutting into Emily like knives burrowing deep in her chest as she bled out, meaning for their words to be wise judgements and words of advice for her, rather than degrading comments. They smiled and patted Emily on the shoulder, telling her to eat more after saying she was too skinny after saying she looked chubbier than usual. She maintained a well mannered front through the ordeal, just like every year, at every forced gathering, filled with people who didn't really care about her, who didn't know her, and were disappointed that she was the firstborn, not a boy, and had an American accent.

Her clothes were too boyish, they chided, as if jeans and a sweater were improper articles of clothing, and she accepted their criticisms with a bitten tongue, as they poked and prodded at her body, telling her what she needed to eat in order to be perfect.

They gathered at the table, comments not ceasing, as they forced food onto her plate. Disgustedly, Emily placed food into her mouth, one piece after the other, systematically, like a machine would, chewing and swallowing as if the effort took every bit of her energy to do, all the while faking a wide smile.

Her father had appeared at the house nonchalantly as if he'd never driven off the other day, not to return for some time, and her mother took part in polite conversation with everyone, still pretending that their marriage was intact, even though she never wore a ring, that they didn't have a stressed, depressed, malnourished, daughter, who was just tired of living life, as if every fake word that slipped through her glossed mouth could undo years of hate and fighting instilled in their family.

Emily felt like a doll, fake, plastic, unchanging, forced to look the part, play the part, never allowed to say or do what she liked, she was a puppet to her parents, a way to perfect their façade, the scapegoat to take the blame and the probing and to deflect the fleeting suspicions of anyone and everyone that there was something wrong.

She played the part too well, but she let it hit her hard, her self esteem taking plunges because nobody ever told her that she was anything but ungrateful, fat, ugly, boring, stupid, irresponsible, a failure, everything but what they wanted, she could feel the disapproving stares of her family, scrutinizing every inch of her like she would drop the act any second and spill, like they'd care if she was broken and dead inside.

The entire evening reminded Emily of when she used to play with dolls. The house done up in lights and assorted decorations looked perfect as the pristine plastic exterior and fake flowers of her toy. Each of the people within the house, dressed perfectly with painted smiles, stiffly socializing, because that was the expectation. The food that slipped down their throats mechanically, clinging to their insides as new layers of fat, was sickening to Emily, as she felt each calorie seep into her skin while they all laughed and drank wine, like her misery was something they fed off of.

She picked up the last morsel of rice with her chopsticks and ran off to the bathroom as the adults piled into the living room for drunken karaoke. Nobody noticed her gone. When she shoved her fingers down her throat over a porcelain bowl, watching the liquid swirl away after pushing a handle, nobody noticed. Not when her arms shook like her legs and she staggered down the halls, struggling to stand as the weariness started to settle in and she felt her headache, momentarily gone from the food, start to pound again, and her eyes drooped, fighting to stay open as she slumped into a chair.

Emily thought, I'll just take a short nap. I'll wake up and everything will be fine. My headache will be gone and we'll be going back to the house, away from these cookie cutter people and the falseness of a life filled with hate and remorse. I'll escape for a short while, pretend my family is loving, that they ask if I've eaten or if I've slept enough or how my day went or if I had a good day or if I needed anything instead of constantly receiving orders screeched after harsh fights, not with fists but with words. I'll act like anyone even cares, and that I don't surround myself with people who don't even know the first thing about me. Everyone has an untold chapter of their life.

This is mine.