The background burrr noise of the aeroplane engines had been a strangely comforting tone for the long-haul flight. Several hours of eardrum numbing compression inside a glorified metallic can was not exactly my most favourite of travel arrangements. Granted, there were very few means of travel that I enjoyed; boats made me seasick, buses caused me obscene levels of anxiety, and planes always felt like imminent death traps.
Bottom line - I really disliked travelling.
I never used to. Man, when I was a teenager I'd be buzzing to travel anywhere in the world. I'd take a donkey and cart through the Middle East if it meant I got to explore the world. Sadly I never got that far. At eighteen my life stopped, or at least I felt it was cruelly snatched from me. Like fate had dangled me a splendid carrot then tossed it just out of reach.
I blow out a sigh - best not to go back there in my mind, I'll only make my nerves worse!
I glance out the small, oval, window. The fluffy clouds have created a blanket underneath the plane as it contentedly zooms towards its destination, and with each mile it travels my tummy flutters a little more and my heart stutters uncomfortably.
I feel the twinge of an early brewing anxiety attack, something I've been forcibly fighting off since I rocked up to Dublin Airport this morning. I frown and nibble my nail, I gotta focus on something, so I focus on the bright sun on the horizon and attempt to ground myself.
I watch the clouds, the different shades of blue in the sky, and the sleek metallic wing of the plane as it cuts its path forward. I hear the monotonous whir of the healthy engine and the gentle conversation of the couple in front of me. I lift my wrist and smell my mum's perfume, the one she sprayed on me this morning, so when I got worried I could have something familiar close-by. I taste the remains of the oat biscuit I snaffled two minutes ago, and with it I automatically reach for the second.
I'm okay...I've got this, I am feeling fine, the sun in shining and the journey is almost at an end.
"Are those homemade?" The teenager in the seat beside me asks tentatively.
"Uhm-yumhmm," I mumble eloquently whilst attempting to curtail the dribbling renegade crumbs from my uncoordinated lips.
The girl chuckles and flicks her jet black hair over her shoulder. I suppress my own snigger at my legendary clumsiness and attempt to swallow my delicious biscuit a tad earlier than I would have liked.
"Sorry," she cringes, "I have bad timing."
"No, don't be daft," I reply as I offer her the little plastic bag of biscuits. "They are homemade, my seventy-eight year old granny is still a whizz in the kitchen, I couldn't leave without a batch of these bad boys...do you want one?"
"Whoa, that's awesome," she trills in her American twang, and animatedly nods, reaching her artfully painted nails into the bag to select a biscuit. "Thank you so much...I'm Lori by the way."
"Vivienne," I say and point my thumb back towards myself, "nice to meet you."
Lori nods her appreciation as she nibbles the oat biscuit faster than a starving gerbil. I give her an understanding grin in return - granny's biscuits are morishly yummy.
"You visiting America?" Lori awkwardly shifts around in her seat and pops out the earbud from her left ear. Aha...feed a teenager and they'll talk.
"No, just flying home," I answer and snap a corner off another biscuit. "After visiting my old Dublin home...now that is a layered paradox."
"Yeah, I get that," she grumbles and rolls her eyes, "I am leaving dad's Dublin home to go back to Mom's Jersey home."
"Now that's a transatlantic-layered-home-paradox," I chuckle and point my finger toward her, "you win that mind boggle." Lori giggles and nods vigorously in agreement, snatching up another mini oatmeal biscuit.
"So how'd you get these delicious bites of happiness onboard?" She points her vibrant pink talon nail to the oat biscuit, "thought food was prohibited."
I shrug and lick the crumbs off my fingertips, "I have no idea, the odds must've been in my favour today. I pack like a pro."
"Probably," Lori sniggers whilst lifting up her own tattered fabric bag, covered in band badges and sharpie doodles. "I pack light, my mom would love it if I had your organisation."
"Mom's are never happy, honey," I reply with a smirk which she copies, "don't worry I was exactly the same at your age...let me guess...you have your iPod and your sketch pad in there and that's all that matters."
"Art is life," she replies and reveals a tattered sketch pad from within her bag, "but you saw me drawing in that earlier so I am not impressed by your mind reading abilities."
"Darn...I thought that would give me a cool edge," I snap my fingers and feign disappointment. Lori shakes her head in mock disapproval and we both chuckle. I watch as she pulls out her sketchpad again and flips it open to an intricate pattern of her own design.
"Thanks for the cookies," she tells me as she makes it clear that she is returning to her drawing, and I simply nod, a little sad that I have lost the conversation - it was a great distraction.
Lori flips a new page in her book and starts working on a new sketch, and for a few minutes I watch as her hand flies across the page in light and swift movements with just enough pressure to make the charcoal pencil leave perfect lines on the crisp, clean, page. She seems unaware of my envious staring. I have always been envious of creative people, they bring so much beauty to the world day by day.
Just as I am about to give up on trying to cope with my travel induced anxiety, Lori gives a hefty sigh, shoving her sleeve up to her elbow and scratching her forearm. Completely normal if not for the bracelets bunched up over fading cut marks.
I snap my gaze forward. I know all to well what that feels like, how you belittle yourself when you reach such desperate measures. I used the same crutch when they diagnosed me with PFD at a ridiculously young age. Healthy twenty year olds are not supposed to have anything wrong with their pelvic muscles let alone a complete, or 'global', dysfunction of everything below my naval - even the doctors didn't believe it possible. Turns out it was all very possible, and after a barrage of intrusive, humiliating, and degrading tests they eventually agreed that was my problem and left me to pick up the pieces of my shattered and completely upturned life. It was all too much to take in and one night, whilst sitting alone and lonely in my pokey kitchen, I held my hand against scorching metal. I had went into a trance, totally oblivious to the fact I was mutilating myself...I just couldn't feel anything and I so desperately wanted to feel.
I scared myself that night, and I guess something in me clicked, and I knew I needed help. I reached for my laptop, I went online, and with trembling fingers and shaky breaths I attempted to search 'self-harm' because I knew that is what I was doing. All my years of self neglect, not accepting my illness, not dealing with the trauma, and not dealing with the hard truths of my new reality had led me to actually physically abusing myself. It was the catalyst that broke the trance in my mind...why was I letting the ignorance of others affect the love I should have for myself and my own body? My own perfect body, that just had a malformed pelvis, there was nothing wrong with that! What was wrong was turning the indifference of professionals and family inward so I ended up hurting the very part of me that needed care and gentleness.
That's when it hit me - I'm not disgusting, just disabled.
I was lucky though, I only ever had the one incident where I hurt myself, and I still carry the scar five years on. A permanent reminder of my own contempt for myself. But, I remembered going online that night and seeing the images of beautiful, healthy, young, people, mutilated and scarred with cutting. What was worse was that some blogs actually encouraged it. Girls giving advice on how and where to cut or harm. Discussions on the best brands of foundation to use to cover the scars like they were nothing more than blemishes, and not a desperate cry for help. My heart hurt for the beautiful souls who were trapped in this cycle of glorified self-hate, somehow thinking it was the only way they could gain attention or feel a sense of belonging. At the time I had wanted to reach through the screen and shake these pretty, bright, young, things, and tell them that they were beautiful and whole and perfect.
Even now I watch Lori, who has subconsciously shown me the insecurities of her mind etched on her skin, and I want to reach out and put my arm around her just to tell her it is okay, that whatever she is battling, it's not worth tearing herself up over. I suppose it never feels like it at the time but I know she can survive, because I did, I know that recovery from your own trauma is hard enough, and whatever battles Lori is facing I hope that she isn't facing them alone. I hope she knows that she is so valued, for I value her creativity, and even her company today on this long and lonely flight. I bet she doesn't even know how much her little conversation saved me from another anxiety attack.
Maybe she doesn't know? The thought makes me bristle a little, because I know for every one person trying to overcome this terrible illness there are dozens encouraging it...even glorifying it. My stomach knots and I am struck with the notion that I should tell Lori just how valued she is, just in case no one has, just in case she is caught up in those horrible websites and doesn't feel anything positive about herself anymore
"Lori," I call quietly, nervously twisting my fingers together in my shyness.
"Hmm?' She glances up at me, a healthy dose of suspicion in her eyes. I don't blame her for being cagey, at her age I'd be wary of the tense brunette stranger trying to force conversation on a plane too.
"I just wanted to say that I think it's awesome that you draw," I tell her, leaning forward in my seat to gesture toward her beautiful sketches. "Not to sound weird or anything, but I saw some of your sketches and they are amazing. I just wanted to tell you that, just in case you didn't know how brilliant you must be to create stuff like that."
"Uhm...okay," Lori blushes and ducks her chin, "thanks."
"No problem," I shrug and give a breezy smile, realising I probably just made things awkward and it's best if I don't push my luck. "I just think its proper to give someone praise when they deserve it, y'know?"
"Yeah," she nods but pops in her other earbud to drown me out. Dang - maybe I shouldn't have said anything.
I lay my head back on the headrest and return to gazing out the window, sighing sadly in defeat.
xXx
I barely have my two feet safely on solid ground and my cell phone switched on when I am assaulted with about twenty message alerts. I bumble towards baggage claim, huffing and puffing with my overly stuffed hand luggage, and scan through the texts.
Two are from my agent Jenny, reminding me in the nicest way possible that I do have a deadline for the first draft of my book due in two weeks. I tap out a noncommittal text just to let her know I am alive, back on American soil, and working on that deadline.
Three texts are from my sister, and one from my mother, reminding me to call as soon as I land. I glance at my watch and then at the achingly slow baggage carousel. Promptly I decide it is probably best to call now. I swipe through to Kitty's number, and snuggly fit the phone under my ear.
"Vi!" Kitty, my very excitable younger sister bawls down the crackly line, "jaysus love, you are only gone like half a day already and it's killing me."
"I miss you too," I reply with a smile in my voice, "I still mean what I said, when the therapist says its okay, I want you to come visit me out here...you'd love the sunshine."
"And all the hot American guys," she swoons and cackles, artfully ignoring the therapist comment. I roll my eyes at her avoidance tactics because it is something all us Gregor girls are good at. "Mammy wants to talk to you," she shouts as I hear the phone be passed to and fro, "love ya sissy-poo."
"She is hyper," Mother's voice is weary but there is a chuckle in it.
"Hey Ma, I am safe and sound, just collecting my bags," I say and I can almost see her wilt in relief in my minds eye. "I am going to miss your cooking tonight, you have spoilt me being at home this past month...Steve has his work cut out for him."
"Aw he'll be delighted just to have you home," my romantic mother reminds me and I feel a smile tug on my lips. "It's been nice having you home Vivienne, it is has done Kitty the world of good to have you there. You understand being sick honey, you can help her in ways we can't...I just hope she'll keep fighting."
"Course she will, she wants to come visit me," I say with a positive tone, but dip my voice quietly. "Kitty will be alright mam, she has all of us to help her get through this. At least we know we are dealing with an eating disorder, at least she accepts that now, that's the first step in coping with any illness."
"You're right honey," my mother sighs and I wish I could hug here in this moment and tell her again how strong she is to support both her daughters through their struggles. "Oh," she mutters, "I have to let you get off this phone, it will cost you a bomb."
"Okay Ma," I chuckle, although I think I distinctly hear a sob in her voice. "Take care, I will call you and Kitty tomorrow for a check-in, and remember to tell her she can call me whenever, doesn't matter about the time."
"I will love, take care, love you."
"Bye mammy, love you more."
I end the call and stare at the lock screen of my phone, my sister's smiley face beams back at me, her little parting gift so I'll not forget her while I am off 'living the american dream' as she calls it. She's going to be okay, this anorexia will not hold her back, just like my PFD didn't stop me. It might slow her down for a few years, it might throw her off course, it might challenge her, but that will only make her stronger. Us Gregor girls are warriors, we don't give up!
Shoving my phone back in my pocket I rush to haul my bag off the carousel and wearily make my way for the arrivals lounge. My body aches, my pelvis burns, and my heart is heavy from the struggle of just this one little journey...but I'm okay...I'm home...almost.
"Vivienne! Wait!"
I stop and spin to the sound of my name, and see Lori run towards me, a piece of paper in her hands. She holds out the sketch for me, the beginnings of a courageous smile on her lips. I tentatively take the page from her hands with a questioning look when she comes to a halt before me.
"Thanks," she mumbles and tucks a strand of hair behind her ears, "no one ever told me that I was brilliant before...you're right...people should do that for each other more often. The sketch is for you...um, I gotta go, but thanks!"
I watch as she sprints off toward a petite woman in the crowd, they embrace and she fusses over Lori just as a mother should. I smirk at the familiar sight as I drop my gaze and unfold the paper to find an almost perfect image of a grandmother holding a baking tray of heart cookies, and a note that reads; 'thanks for sharing happiness.' I sniff back the tears threatening to fall and gently fold the paper to slide into my pocket. It is just a little sketch, but to me it is an expression of understanding. Lori and I may never meet again, but I guess that is the beauty of fate, for I hope she'll not forget the tense brunette that thought she was brilliant.
Feeling a little lighter I trudge around the corner and into the busy crowd of fellow travellers, my heart committing to memory this day as a success. Ten years ago I would have thought all this impossible, I would never have saw the happiness to be had through all the pain, and although the pain is still there it doesn't control me like it used too. I have control of my life now, I am living and loving, and I am exactly where I am supposed to be.
I watch as a familiar figure ducks under the fabric cordon that lines the arrivals lounge. I roll my eyes and laugh at his impatience, for he isn't prepared to wait the five minutes that it would take me to reach his side of the cordon.
I shake my head at him and he smirks, his grey eyes sparking with that excitable mischievousness that drew me to him in the first place. He jogs towards me, a bunch of flowers in hand, and before I can scold him for this public display of affection, he draws me close for a warm and welcoming kiss that makes me melt into him.
"Welcome home babe, I missed you like crazy," Steve, my thoughtful and loving boyfriend croons happily in my ear.
I give him my best eye crinkling smile, because I don't think he'll ever know how incredibly long my journey was to get here...to get back my life...to find home.
Fin
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'Vive ut Vivas' is my short story entry for the 'The Big Collab 2k16' short story contest for the following campaigns official-visible Project-ED and nomorescars .
I would like to dedicate this to my friend and peer princesswithashotgun for keeping the writer in me focused so I didn't fly off in a campaign induced rant! I also want to dedicate this to the Nurse in BCH who was the first to hold my hand and assure me that what happened to me wasn't my fault and that I didn't have to suffer the cruelty of ignorant medical staff anymore - I was going to be okay, she was going to help me. I never met her again and I don't remember her name, but I'll never forget the happiness she brought me.
Word Count: 3150
Prompt: Project-ED : Someone close to your MC is diagnosed with an eating disorder.
Plot Point 1: official-visible : Your Main Character realises that their disability/illness doesn't have to hold them back.
Plot Point 2: nomorescars : Your MC gets angry while scrolling through social media and finding posts that glorify self harm.
Youtube Media: Meet me on the Battlefield - SVRCINA