*A week forward*
If there is anything feeling impossible in this world, this is it. Eating like a normal person.
God damn why did nobody tell me that after almost five months of starvation and binging and hunger, food would be so... difficult.
It's really a love-hate relationship.
"Come on you can do it." Fox encourages me to take a bite of a bread. I was still stuck at the hospital, even though tomorrow morning I'd finally get out. And that was only because I promised to eat.
Yes, I had made my difficult decision between recovery and my old normal.
My feeding tube had stayed on until this morning, which I was more than happy. It left an uneasy feeling on my nose and throat, tickling and sort of itching.
"Please Liv, you're making me worry again." Fox pleads me and I finally take a bite. It's awkward, and difficult and painful. And to be honest, all I want to do is run to the bathroom to get my fingers down my throat and throw up every crumb of calorie I intake.
Which I of course don't do anymore. And I sort of hate it.
I take another bite of my cheese and ham sandwich, twenty calories down.
As I finish the full breakfast, which is even surprising to me, for the first time in a long while I feel full.
"This is like another method of torture." I whisper to Fox who was skipping school to see me. He did this every morning and refused to leave before I ate even a little bit of my breakfast.
"You're doing so well." He strokes my hair and I lean into his touch. "So is the therapy working?"
I had been forced into therapy since last week. "Yeah, it's okay." I lie, because he shouldn't know that I hated going there more than anything else. I'd been there for one time and at first I tried to give it a shot, really, but to be brutally honest I hate talking about feelings and that stuff. I don't want to talk. I hate it.
And today I was supposed to go there again.
"That's really good." Fox smiles at me, not noticing my lie.
"Bellemonte, I see you finished your breakfast." My doctor walks into the room.
"Good eyesight." I tell her, something about that woman just irritated my nerves with no proper explanation.
She sighs before pressing a hand onto Fox's shoulder and signalling it was his time to leave.
"It's fine, you coming after school today?" I ask as he gets up.
"Of course. Love you." He gives me a gentle kiss and then walks out of the room closing the door after.
"Well?" I ask rudely because I would have merely enjoyed more Fox and me time.
"Young lady I don't enjoy the attitude, I'm just trying to help you." She says but gives up as I only roll my eyes.
"I just want to leave." I say.
"About that, I think that if the therapy session goes well today, you could potentially get home early, this evening even."
"Wait, really? That's amazing!" I smile for the first time at her.
"But we need to discuss some matters before. Very serious matters. And for the next four months, I need you to come regularly for checkups every two weeks. We check your weight and other health issues you might develop-"
I cut her off, "What does that mean?"
"This might be hard to hear, but sometimes the ones suffering long time from anorexia might not survive recovery. Their hearts are damaged as well as brains from not getting enough nutrients. There is no 100% confirmation that you will survive."
I'm silenced. "Fuck." I finally manage to get out. I might die...
"And from the poor oral hygiene, you have unfortunately a high risk of oral cancer. As well as heart failure and other problems. I am very sorry to not guarantee your safety but this is still a good start." She ends her speech.
"Alright." I whisper, more to myself than to her.
"When will your parents be home again?" She asks scribbling something on her paper.
My actual parents have absolutely no idea what is going on right now. I sent Fox to tell my mom I was staying at Dahlia's house for a while, and she was not very pleased about it. But I am seventeen already so she couldn't say much. And it's not like she actually has time to care too much.
"In a few weeks I guess." I lie.
"Well I need them to have a conversation with me about your condition, since you're still underage."
"Oh, right." I say, knowing I'll never ever let mom discover about this.
"But I must say that it's very nice to see you've started to take care of yourself and try to get better. It's not easy alone." She says and gives me what looks like an attempt of smile.
"Thanks. I was actually afraid I'd be straight up sent to some rehab or something like that." I laugh a little, having no idea why I just admitted that.
"We thought about that a lot with your therapist but even if you're not in a normal weight range, it wasn't enough to send you into a rehab."
I stare at her for a little while, surprised. "What does that mean? I'm not skinny enough to get actual treatment?"
She's quiet for a while, "Well, that's not what I meant to say. But basically, yes. There are many more underweight people than you."
"Oh." For some reason, the crumbs in my stomach felt a bit more heavy than just before.
"But don't worry, if the therapy works it doesn't matter." The doctor says.
"Yeah, sure." I say, but it does matter. I was literally lying in a hospital bed, starved, nearly dead and it still wasn't enough? Because there was still skinnier people than me? I have to swallow down my tears quickly.
***
"Well how are you today, Livia?" My therapist Esther asks. She's in her forties I think, always wearing teacher clothes and cringy shoes. Today her shirt beneath her teacher cardigan has a quote saying 'love yourself' with a big ass smiley face. I could throw up on her shirt and not even feel bad about it.
"Good thank you." I say quickly.
"Are you sure? The last days must've been rough don't you think?"
This bitch tries to get me to admit something and I refuse to do so, "nope. Just fine thank you."
She sighs, still wearing a smile on her dry lips, "Tell me a bit about how it feels to finally eat a proper meal? Is it scary? Nice?"
"I don't know." I shrug, staring at the clock. I pay fucking forty dollars for this shit.
"Livia, we don't have progress if you won't speak. Let's discuss how you feel, would that be okay?"
"Sure. Feels nice. Energy and all that stuff. Better than starving." I lie.
"Oh well that is very nice to hear! Usually people with eating disorders feel scared for the future, but you're too smart to do that aren't you!" She smiles and scribbles something into her list.
This is why I hate therapy. It does not work.
"How do you feel about your body, in this moment, as you've started to eat more?" Esther asks.
Like shit, I want to kill myself because I'm turning so fucking obese again and looking like a little pig. However that's not exactly what I say out loud, "Just fine."
"Wonderful!" She chimes.
The rest of the session goes by slowly, Esther asking stupid questions and me lying so much that if I were Pinocchio my nose would be at least the size of Eiffel Tower.
"And remember we have the next session next week!" She says smiling and I wave on my way out.
Still, even if I felt fat, I have decided to get better. For Fox. Otherwise I'll die and he'd never be the same after my death. I love him, too much to be so selfish to continue this thing. I still hate the word anorexia.
I must get better, maybe it'll be worth it. Maybe. Hopefully.
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