Self-destruction had shaped her, had created her, had become a feature of her personality. Nobody could take that away, even if she wanted them to. It was integrated into her ship's systems. A series of vignettes exploring Kathryn Janeway's addictions.
TW: Eating Disorders and Self Harm
One of MiaCooper's tumblr anons suggested this type of story, but she didn't feel like she had enough personal experience to do the topic justice, so I thought I'd make an account and go for it, because it's always seemed pointedly canon-compliant to me too. I don't have a whole lot, but if there's one thing I do have, it's enough personal experience with eating disorders to fill a book or five. This chapter occurs around the events of Persistence of Vision.
XXX
"Coffee. Black." This was the fourth time this week that she had woken up with a withdrawal headache. The past few weeks had been trying, to say the least. One crisis after another had kept her on edge, running at a relentless pace. Though she'd never admit it, her exhaustion was overwhelming, and the more she tried to chase it away with coffee, the weaker the effect of the caffeine became. Her head pounded from even the slight movement it took to sit down. She stared down into her drink with sleep in her eyes and took a sip, almost more frustrated by her addiction to it than by the circumstances that necessitated it. I can't even go five hours without you?
She knew she needed to cut back, if only to reduce her tolerance for the drug so that it would regain its effectiveness. An endless cycle. She sighed, her mind drifting back to her first cup, the way her father had added just enough cream and sugar to temper the biting bitterness… She hated its bitterness, she always had. She craved its energizing properties, relished it for its ability to banish the headaches it had caused in the first place—but the black taste brought her no pleasure whatsoever. She consumed it as quickly as she could, then recycled the mug, forcing herself to get up and prepare for the day. She stripped herself of her nightgown and undergarments and walked across to her dresser to retrieve her clothing, catching a glimpse of her bare body in the mirror on the way. She paused momentarily, shook her head dismissively, and hastily moved away, throwing on her uniform, twisting her hair up, swiping on some lipstick and mascara, and leaving the room without so much as a single glance back in the offending mirror. I don't even want to know.
XXX
"I'm Kathryn Janeway of the Federation Starship Voyager," she announced with her characteristic combination of firmness and gentleness.
"Why have you entered our space without permission?" The silhouetted alien on the viewscreen demanded without prelude.
It's going to be one of those days, isn't it?
"We didn't realize that this was your space. On what basis do you claim it?" Kathryn took up her standard hands-on-hips pose in the center of the room.
"I have no intention of explaining myself to you. The fact is, you're violating our territory."
"I assure you, we mean no disrespect. We are from another part of the galaxy. We're just trying to make our way home." She wondered if her weariness was evident in her voice. She hoped not. Letting hostile alien leaders sense vulnerability never turned out well.
"We'll send a ship to rendezvous with you. If you meet the criteria, we'll consider your request."
"Thank you. What are the criteria?"
"We'll discuss that when we meet." The alien ended the transmission abruptly.
"Friendly fellow." She raised her eyebrows in subtle agreement with Tom's sarcastic comment, then turned and paced back toward her chair.
"At least they're willing to talk," she mused, attempting optimism.
"I wonder why he wouldn't let us see his face," Harry piped up.
"I suspect it was a calculated move. An attempt to intimidate us," she paused, turning to Chakotay, "Commander, you have the Bridge."
"Aye, Captain."
"Mr. Neelix, join me in my ready room. We should talk about this meeting," she strode efficiently toward the doors, intending to replicate a cup of coffee as soon as she could.
"Captain, if I may…" Neelix's hesitant voice came from behind her. She spun around, rather impatiently awaiting the rest of his sentence. "When was the last time you ate?"
She looked at him in genuine surprise and confusion as she somewhat nervously scanned her memory for the answer to his question. She couldn't remember. When had she last eaten? Suddenly she felt self-conscious, wondering if she looked as unwell as she felt. She cursed herself for not taking the time to put on some blush and cover the dark circles which had almost certainly made themselves at home under her eyes.
"Ate? Oh, I had some soup last night," she deftly fibbed without meeting his gaze and tried to brush off the inquiry as gently as she could, knowing others were listening. The lie stirred an old memory which she quickly pushed away.
"Then let me suggest that we conduct our talk in the mess hall. We're serving a sumptuous repast for lunch."
She should have predicted this suggestion as soon as he asked the question, but she still faltered for a moment. She couldn't quite manage to conceal her sharp exhale or her dismayed expression. She looked at her feet briefly, fully prepared to tactfully decline when she suddenly felt everyone's eyes on her, waiting for her reply. She glanced around the room and saw Harry, Chakotay, and Tuvok giving her identical stares which indicated that they would not take no for an answer. She wasn't sure whether to be touched by their concern or annoyed and embarrassed by the condescension. Why have they suddenly decided that I need to be looked after like a child? My habits haven't affected my work. That's all that matters.
"Right. Lunch it is," she smiled weakly and reluctantly conceded defeat under the silent public pressure, following Neelix to the mess hall.
"Captain, you have a nasty habit of skipping meals, and that can do horrible things to your electrolyte levels," Neelix chirped. Kathryn was beginning to lean toward annoyance, but tried to remind herself that the Talaxian had good intentions. She had been on the receiving end of lectures about her eating habits more times than she cared to count, and she knew from experience that if she pushed back on such lectures it would only arouse additional concern.
"I know, but sometimes I just get too busy to eat." A tired excuse, she knew, but a practiced and believable one. She hated to be weighed down by solid food during the day, especially when she was busy. And it's nobody's business but mine anyway. Plenty of people go days, even weeks without eating. Why do people act like it's the end of the world if I skip a meal here and there? She tuned him out a little as he listed the foods on offer. Her heart was racing, and she felt lightheaded, looking for any excuse to leave. She hadn't been this stressed by the prospect of a lunch break in years. Her responsibilities were piled high, the ship was entering into a potentially hostile area, and the idea of losing her iron grasp on her routine by wasting time sitting and stuffing her face in the middle of the workday was particularly disorienting. She made sure to keep Neelix talking and bustling the entire time she was there, distracting him with a steady stream of questions until suddenly she was paged, giving her an opportunity to dart out of the mess hall after taking only a few bites from the buffet of alien snacks.
The day careened out of control quickly from that point. Many hours later as she got into bed having finally resolved the dispute with the Bothan alien, her mind lingered not on the close call or the troubling waking dreams they had all endured, but on her painfully public encounter with Neelix on the bridge. She kept returning to the way her officers had all stared at her as if she couldn't be trusted to take care of her own health. She felt a twinge of guilt for giving them cause to lose confidence in her, fruitlessly reflecting on what exactly had given her away.
She had been so sure that her restrictive habits were still fully under control, but remembering Tuvok's expression, how it had felt so piercing, so much more meaningful than the others', she began to question herself. Tuvok alone had known her long enough to remember the years in which she actively grappled with the illness of her youth. He knew her predispositions, and evidently, they had been looming largely enough to warrant his attention for the first time in almost a decade. Are they right to be concerned? Do they see something I've missed? She remembered her easy on-the-spot lie, closed her eyes, and finally confronted the memory that had resurfaced along with it.
"Ensign Janeway, do you truly believe you are ready to return to active duty?"
"Yes, Counsellor. I've been doing everything you asked, it's been six months. I think it would be harmful to postpone my life any longer..." she paused, "I need a task, something to refocus my mind on the future so that I won't continue to be consumed by the past. I've switched to the command track, I'm starting over."
"You are ambitious. I respect that, but do you think you will be able to pass the physical fitness tests required for reinstatement in your current condition?" the Starfleet-assigned counsellor looked her up and down skeptically.
"Look, I know my weight has been a point of issue recently, but I assure you, I feel fine. I eat plenty." Kathryn lied firmly, crossed her arms and balled up her fists, trying to warm her ice-cold fingers by tucking them into her palms.
The counsellor leaned forward, still scrutinizing her with sympathetic eyes. "Your weight is only a concerning symptom of the real point of issue. Understatement and denial will not change the facts. According to the doctor, you are still underweight and you have only gained four pounds over the last month. You know your bone density has declined significantly from the time of your enlistment two years ago, and you are still suffering from bradycardia. Have you been following the meal plan you developed with the nutritionist, Ensign? Do you understand the dire importance of adhering to it?"
"Yes. Of course. I know I've been endangering myself and I know I need to gain some more weight. I fully intend to do so. I ate just before I arrived here." She smiled and lied again as sweetly as she could, but her body was rigid and it was clear that she didn't really believe her own words. She dug her fingernails harshly into her skin. "I will do whatever I have to do to be returned to active duty."
"Weight restoration is only one piece of the puzzle, as you well know. We need to do our due diligence to ensure you won't deteriorate again once you are released from mandated medical supervision. I have no doubt that you are capable of physically pushing yourself to succeed. That's what I'm worried about, Kathryn. You need to learn when to stop pushing yourself, or the consequences could be fatal."
"So, are you denying my request?" Kathryn tried to keep the edge out of her voice.
The counsellor regarded her carefully. "No. You have made very impressive progress, you have clear goals for your future, and I believe your effort should be rewarded. I will approve a provisional return to active duty if you agree to continue coming in for counselling once a month for the next year. No physically strenuous or off-world assignments. At the end of that time, if your eating disorder has not reasserted itself, I will fully sign off on your return. Is that acceptable?"
"Yes, very good." Kathryn fought a cringe at the words 'eating disorder' and lied for the third time, knowing she would use all her connections and pull all the strings she could to avoid submitting to the conditions the counsellor had listed. She walked out of that office and never returned.
It had been a long time since she had lied to anyone about her eating habits. She wasn't sure why she had done it today of all times, and she couldn't ignore that. She also couldn't deny that she had been unusually finicky about her diet in recent months, increasingly reluctant to eat any solid food at all, often only consuming vegetable bouillon and the occasional dinner with Chakotay. She would readily admit that it was precisely this type of gradual elimination of meals and systematic reduction of caloric intake which had developed into a severe problem in the past. But even as she tentatively indulged it, she wasn't stupid about it.
She knew how to avoid some of the more dangerous pitfalls. She took vitamins, she never fasted for too long, she stayed hydrated. She was a scientist. She knew what she was doing. She was well aware that stress made people susceptible to relapse. But this is not really a relapse. She had carried these neuroses with her every day since she was a young woman, she knew from experience exactly how much self-denial she could endure before her body broke down, and this wasn't even close to that. I haven't even lost very much weight, I don't think. Sure, her clothing felt looser than it had when they were first pulled out into the Delta Quadrant, but not loose enough to merit anything more than a quick uniform downsize and a passing mental acknowledgement of the change. She really didn't like to look at herself if she could avoid it, and she certainly didn't bother to weigh herself.
If after all these years she had retained a tendency to be rigid and unforgiving with herself, it was because the strict discipline aided her and grounded her. Not only had she learned to live with it, she depended heavily on it. Besides, she thought, it had always seemed fundamentally wrong to categorize asceticism as "disorder". Leniency breeds weakness. Weakness is disordered. Being in complete command of oneself—that's perfect order, that's professionalism, that's why she had risen through the ranks so quickly. She could never relinquish her self-control without losing her command persona, without losing herself. Her self-destructive habits had been too deeply formative, had served her too well to turn her back on them now. The irony was not lost on her.
Are they right to be concerned? She thought about it for a moment. No.
XXX
"Coffee. Black."
"I don't know how you can enjoy drinking that without any cream or sugar," Chakotay thought aloud absently, watching her in the dim light of her ready room. She took a sip, staying silent for what felt like a long time. She looked up at him, thinking back on all the private, intimate stories he had told her about his father and the loss of his family, and she decided it was safe to expose this part of herself.
"My father used to make it for me with cream and sugar," she said simply. "After he was gone, the bitterness and the lack of nutritional value seemed right somehow."
Chakotay placed his hand over hers without a word. She felt a surge of tenderness.
She had carried a cup of her father's sweet coffee with her all the time at the Academy, using it to fuel countless all-nighters and thesis writing sessions and physical training classes. It had often been her only source of pleasure in the crucible of her intense academic schedule. It was an addiction even then, but an enjoyable one. It reminded her of her father, reminded her that she was working toward becoming like him. Now it reminded her of all that she had lost, all that she was trying to regain, dragging painful memories to mind and then propelling her forward, distracting her from the pain. The poison and the antidote, in more ways than one. She wondered what her father would think.