Freedom (Part 2)

My days went on this way. A carefully calculated system I had devised, of just three to four meals week, if I was lucky. Because of cheerleading, I got to be away from the dinner table for two nights a week during basketball season, and some Saturdays, as well, for practice, in addition to practice on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

Needless to say, I was very good at what I was doing. I had the act of lying down to an art form. “Do you want any dinner? We saved some for you.” “No, I ate at the game. I’m fine,” became our regularity in the car ride home. It was easy and I was in control.

When the holidays came around, I was pushed to my limit. Using my system, I would “save myself” for the multiple family gatherings we would have through out the season, eating nothing at all, until I got to the party that weekend, or other social event involving food. I could go on like this for weeks, a human shark, the times between meals stretching far beyond most people’s comfort level.

What people do not understand about eating disorders, is that, most of the time, food is not the problem. An eating disorder is a mental instability, all in the mind. I used my absolute power I had over the food I allowed in my body as a pacifier, exercising the control I had over it as a mechanism to satisfy the feeling I that had about my life – that it was spinning out of control.

A time that exemplifies this that particularly stands out in my memory was a short scene around the table during Christmas Eve. It was simple. Small talk over coffee and Christmas cookies after dinner. I was sitting with my aunts, my bloodless fingertips fiddling with the festive table cloth. “How long until you can get your license, Emily?” “Six months.” “Oh that’s not long! Before you know it, you’ll be out cruising around with all your friends, driving all over the place, doing whatever you want!”.

It was at this time I was to the point of tears. I excused myself and went into my bedroom to cry. Simple. A driver’s license. But to me, a prisoner within myself, trapped, caged, and alone, this simple symbol of freedom meant so much more. I wasn’t free and I needed to be. Something had to be done.