Read an Excerpt
September
the psychiatrist
dr. mantell,
the psychiatrist’s nameplate shouts.
i fight the urge to ask if his name is printed in loud uppercase letters to drown out us lowercase people and our lowercase lives.
his scalpel-gray eyes dissect me,
quarter me, sternum to pelvis, left breast
to right,
wrench me open, reach inside, find all the nothing i’ve eaten since yesterday.
evie,
the muscles in my body contract and freeze. i sit, still and staring:
portrait of a girl afraid.
evie,
do you know why you’re here?
why i’m here
because of the tests.
they took my height and weight,
took my blood, took my heart rate, took my pee,
took my family history,
then a man in a lab coat took my parents aside to tell them i failed.
i’ve never failed a test in my life.
because my mother says this is an important appointment. we are lucky a cancellation let capital-t Them fit me in.
because sometimes i get a little sad and overwhelmed.
because sometimes i feel like falling asleep and never waking up.
because my parents and my sister and my friend darcy and my dog would probably be happier without me. because all i do is try and try to be a perfect daughter and sister and friend and student and person but it doesn’t make me any less scared of living. because i would be happier without me.
because sometimes i have trouble eating and my mother and i argue over dinner plates
just three more bites
like i’m a misbehaving toddler.
i slouch down in my chair,
glare at the doctor,
refuse to speak.
why i’m really here
because of my lies.
the first:
i’m on a diet.
wrong,
i’ve been on all of them:
mediterranean,
keto,
raw food,
low-fat,
gluten-free,
atkins,
vegan,
paleo,
south beach.
whatever let me restrict.
intermittent eating with frequent fasting.
second:
it’s only one more . . .
sit-up,
push-up,
squat,
mile.
that i wouldn’t add one plus one plus one plus one
until my muscles ached,
body broke.
third:
i’m in control.
i can stop whenever i want.
professional opinion
your height and weight
are very low
for a fourteen-year-old,
dr. mantell says
same with your hemoglobin,
and your electrolytes.
you have all the symptoms of
extreme malnourishment.
pride flutters in my chest.
i nod along benignly, glare at the office door my mom stands behind. i missed school to be here. does no one care about my GPA?
the results from your EKG
indicate
bradycardia.
bradycardia?
a slow heart rate.
thirty-eight beats per minute.
i nod. i don’t want him to think i am a stupid girl.
i am not a stupid girl.
do you understand?
don’t blink.
yes.
evie,
your heart is so slow
it could stop
at any moment.
the offbeat drumming of said organ floods my ears.
dr. mantell observes my reaction.
me the frog, his eyes the scalpel. see the ease with which they slit my pale, white skin,
my muscles,
my rib cage,
until my empty guts spill out.
you are,
in my professional opinion,
anorexic.
that word
anorexic.
it lodges itself in my coronary artery.
heart palpitates. thousands of excuses dam up my mouth:
i eat,
i’m fat,
i’m not obsessed with my looks,
i eat,
that’s not the type of girl i am.
i come from a good family—
but i eat,
i squeak.
do you eat enough?
i think about the ice cream i don’t eat.
the chocolate,
the potato chips i also don’t eat.
the avocados,
bananas,
cookies,
french fries,
granola,
hamburgers,
marshmallows,
peanut butter,
spaghetti,
tacos,
yogurt,
an alphabet of off-limits food.
yes?
dr. mantell leans back in his chair,
scrunches his white face in thought,
impatiently tap-tap-taps his pen against the notes he’s been taking.
i think we should get
your mother in here.
my mother
she barges in with as much restraint as a freight train. this woman who gobbles firewood so she can keep running and running and running along her one-track mind.
my diagnosis derails her.
she fires coal-hot questions:
what does this mean?
how does she get better?
can she get better?
what about her heart?
how do i make her gain weight?
i think she’s really asking,
what do i do
with this damaged daughter?
drowning
mom and dr. mantell position me as a problem to solve.
say words like program,
therapy,
refeeding.
i’m stuck on
anorexic,
ANorexIC,
ANOREXIC.
it floods me, fills my lungs.
i can’t shout, can’t breathe,
only flail. fail.
drown.
too weak to surface.
i’ve drowned before
when i was five, at a beach that’s more dream than memory.
bubble-gum-ice-cream-blue sky,
chocolate-brown lake.
i ran, reckless,
into calf-deep water.
splashed in waves left in motorboats’ wakes.
another girl, eight or nine,
joined me, chanted,
follow me, follow me,
i will lead, so follow me!
powerless against this pied piper,
i followed, the water reaching my shoulders,
my neck, my scalp.
i followed, until I couldn’t.
my feet floundered for lake bottom.
my left foot found ground. stepped down and sunk, stuck in deep muck.
scared, limbs swinging,
i struggled, stomped,
trapped my right foot.
panic pounded in violent waves.
come on,
my new friend giggled.
my head barely breached the surface.
restless ripples muffled my screams.
help!
only silence answered.
my last thought as static clouded in:
this is all my fault.
warm hands grabbed under my armpits.
hauled so hard my side-body ached.
evie! you know the rule,
don’t go in past your waist!
my dad hissed through gritted teeth.
he carried me
to safety,
where my rules have kept me ever since.
