Lizzie woke up the next morning from a dreamless sleep. For a moment her
thoughts were cleared of the previous day's events. She felt refreshed in a
way she hadn't felt for many days. But then, slowly, the frightening
memories came to her. Her secret had been revealed. Even though she
understood how important it was for her to do the things she did, she also
knew she probably wouldn't be able to make anyone else understand. No one
else knew what it was like for her. No one else experienced the kind of
pain she felt. Did they know what it was like to forget who you are? No.
They didn't. And they would never understand.
As she got out of bed, she felt a surge of strength she hadn't felt in several weeks. It was a physical sensation of completion. She felt... full. She suddenly had a sneaking suspicion that her parents, or maybe the doctors, may have fed her while she was out of it. Maybe she had regained conciousness for awhile, though she couldn't remember it, and they had made her eat then. Or maybe they had used a feeding tube. There were several hours of yesterday afternoon that she had no memory of at all. They could have slipped anything into her, as unlikely as that seemed. What if they had forced her to break her diet? She was unsure of what had actually happened, but her mind buzzed with terrifying scenarios. She couldn't take any chances. There was possibly food in her that shouldn't be there, and she wanted to get it out. She scurried to the bathroom.
She got ready for school, making sure to stay away from downstairs and her parent's bedroom. She was still intent on avoiding them until after school, when a confrontation was inevitable. Just before her bus was due to show up, she quietly moved downstairs. Just as she reached the last stair, however, Mr. McGuire appeared beside her.
"Good morning, Lizzie," he said.
"Morning, Dad," she replied uncomfortably. *Why?* she thought to herself. *Why didn't I just make a run for the door?*
"You don't have to go to school today, you know. You should get your rest." He had trouble making eye contact with her.
*Oh, yeah,* she thought miserably to herself. *I would just love to stay home and spend the entire day with you and Mom, discussing the many ways I've gone out of my mind.* "That's okay, Dad. I don't want to get behind on my work or anything."
Mr. McGuire nodded, even though he saw straight through her lie. "I see."
"Yeah, so.... I'd better go. The bus will be here soon." She edged her way to the door. She turned, and took one last look at her father, whose face seemed much sadder than usual. The fact that he hadn't looked her in the eye since last night was unnerving. She quickly slipped out the door. The bus was already coming down her street as she walked across the lawn. She was nearly to the sidewalk when she heard the door swing open behind her.
"Lizzie, wait!" called Mr. McGuire. Lizzie turned around slowly, and her eyes met his. "I just wanted to tell you that..." He struggled to find the right way to put it. "Well, you should know that your mom wouldn't stop crying last night. She couldn't say anything, she just kept crying. She's scared for you, Lizzie. We're both a little scared."
Lizzie stared at her father. The bus had come to a halt beside Lizzie's house, but she couldn't move. Her mother had cried? That knowledge gave her a churning feeling in her stomach. And she knew that feeling wasn't because of something she ate, because there was no food in her stomach. She wanted to be selfish and escape her father's gaze by getting on the bus, but she couldn't get rid of the image of her mother sobbing.
She turned around and looked at the bus driver. She waved him on, and as the bus rode down the street, she walked back inside with her dad.
Mr. McGuire called in to say he wouldn't be able to make it to work, and a while later Mrs. McGuire woke up. She walked into the kitchen, looking weary and disheveled as thought she hadn't had much sleep. Pain rushed over her eyes as she first took notice of Lizzie. She quickly left the room and took a very long shower. There was very little conversation between Lizzie and Mr. McGuire during her absence. When she returned, the three of them had a painfully quiet breakfast. The silence in the air carried something dark that none of them wanted to face just yet.
"We need to talk," said Mrs. McGuire at last, as she picked up the plates and carried them to the sink. Lizzie and Mr. McGuire nodded solemnly.
They went into the living room, where all the "we need to talk" conversations of the past had taken place. Lizzie sat in one of the chairs, and her parents sat parallel to her on the couch. She knew that this was the way you were supposed to sit whenever you "needed to talk", but she still didn't like the arrangement. She sunk into the plush cusions of the chair, all alone, while her parents sat close together, holding hands, seemingly united against her. It made her terribly uncomfortable.
They were met with silence. It took a moment for someone to be bold enough to have the first word. "Lizzie," began Mr. McGuire, "you know that we love you, right?"
It was the most cliche way to start this type of conversation. It was customary for the parents to remind her that they loved her, because in all the harshness of the words that were about to be spoken, it was easy to forget that sort of basic knowledge. Lizzie nodded, averting her parents' gaze.
Mrs. McGuire cleared her throat. "Listen, before we say anything, I want to get the facts straight," she said. She gave a pained glance in Lizzie's direction. "Have you... Have you been making yourself throw up?"
Lizzie looked up at her mother, briefly meeting her eyes, and then looked backd down at the floor. She nodded slowly.
Mrs. McGuire closed her eyes to the crushing blow, as if somewhere deep down she had still held on to the hope that everything was a big misunderstanding. "And the... the over-exertion and the sleep deprivation?" she asked hoarsely, repeated the things the doctor had told them the day before. She felt a pain in her heart as Lizzie responded to all of those things. The doctor had been correct about all of the physical causes. But what about the mental causes? What had made her daughter do those awful things to herself?
"Oh, sweetie..." Tears started pouring down Mrs. McGuire's face. It was a sight Lizzie hated to see. "Why, honey? Why would you do those things?"
Lizzie took in a deep breath. Normally, in these kinds of conversations, her parents would do all the talking while she struggled to get a word in. This was completely different from those times. Now, her parents spoke very little. Instead, they just waited to hear what Lizzie had to say. But Lizzie didn't have anything to say this time. Words failed her. How could she possibly explain it? It was such a very long story. It began so many months ago, and it involved so many complex feelings that even she herself couldn't describe. The thought of spilling the whole story was exhausting.
"I can't explain it," Lizzie said softly. "It's just something I have to do."
Mrs. McGuire sobbed a little. "Oh, sweetie, no. You don't have to do these things. If something's bothering you, you can always come to us. You should never have to hurt yourself."
Miranda had told Lizzie the same thing yesterday. But Lizzie knew they just didn't get it. She wasn't really hurting herself, was she? In her mind, the pain she felt when she wasn't throwing up or working out was much worse than any physical side effects that might occur. She looked up and saw that her mother was still crying. It pained her, but at the same time it frustrated her. Why was her mother crying, when she was the one who was hurting? "I knew you wouldn't understand. I just knew that you guys wouldn't get it!" She felt fury rise in her voice. "You don't know what it's like! You could never know! Can't you just trust me? Can't you just believe in me, that I know how to handle my own feelings?!"
Mrs. McGuire's eyes glimmered with hurt. She said nothing.
"I know you must be hurting, Lizzie," said Mr. McGuire, trying to stay calm. "You must be in alot of pain to do these things to yourself. But there are other ways."
Lizzie swallowed a lump in her throat and blinked away tears. "Sure, Dad. You just know all about it, don't you?" Her tone was harsh and sarcastic. "I'm just stupid little Lizzie. I don't know anything. Everyone always knows what's best for me, don't they?"
"That's not what I said..."
"But it's what you meant!" Lizzie stood up and flung her arms into the air. "I can't stand this! It's my body! I can do whatever I want with it!" Mr. McGuire was silent. He and his wife sat holding hands on the couch, intense pain in their eyes. Lizzie softened her voice a bit. "Look, I never meant to hurt you guys. But... But I'm not DOING anything to you guys. This is about me, okay? I need to do this."
"When you hurt, we hurt, baby," said Mrs. McGuire desperately. "If you would just let us help you..."
Lizze found herself unable to hold in her emotions; she burst into tears. "No! I don't need any help! I've already figured it all out. THIS is what I need to do to make everything okay. It's the one thing that keeps me in control of my feelings. And you want me to stop, don't you? YOU WANT TO TAKE IT AWAY FROM ME!" She turned and ran out of the living room. Mr. and Mrs. McGuire tried to go after her and console her, but their words weren't heard over the sound of Lizzie's crying.
As she got out of bed, she felt a surge of strength she hadn't felt in several weeks. It was a physical sensation of completion. She felt... full. She suddenly had a sneaking suspicion that her parents, or maybe the doctors, may have fed her while she was out of it. Maybe she had regained conciousness for awhile, though she couldn't remember it, and they had made her eat then. Or maybe they had used a feeding tube. There were several hours of yesterday afternoon that she had no memory of at all. They could have slipped anything into her, as unlikely as that seemed. What if they had forced her to break her diet? She was unsure of what had actually happened, but her mind buzzed with terrifying scenarios. She couldn't take any chances. There was possibly food in her that shouldn't be there, and she wanted to get it out. She scurried to the bathroom.
She got ready for school, making sure to stay away from downstairs and her parent's bedroom. She was still intent on avoiding them until after school, when a confrontation was inevitable. Just before her bus was due to show up, she quietly moved downstairs. Just as she reached the last stair, however, Mr. McGuire appeared beside her.
"Good morning, Lizzie," he said.
"Morning, Dad," she replied uncomfortably. *Why?* she thought to herself. *Why didn't I just make a run for the door?*
"You don't have to go to school today, you know. You should get your rest." He had trouble making eye contact with her.
*Oh, yeah,* she thought miserably to herself. *I would just love to stay home and spend the entire day with you and Mom, discussing the many ways I've gone out of my mind.* "That's okay, Dad. I don't want to get behind on my work or anything."
Mr. McGuire nodded, even though he saw straight through her lie. "I see."
"Yeah, so.... I'd better go. The bus will be here soon." She edged her way to the door. She turned, and took one last look at her father, whose face seemed much sadder than usual. The fact that he hadn't looked her in the eye since last night was unnerving. She quickly slipped out the door. The bus was already coming down her street as she walked across the lawn. She was nearly to the sidewalk when she heard the door swing open behind her.
"Lizzie, wait!" called Mr. McGuire. Lizzie turned around slowly, and her eyes met his. "I just wanted to tell you that..." He struggled to find the right way to put it. "Well, you should know that your mom wouldn't stop crying last night. She couldn't say anything, she just kept crying. She's scared for you, Lizzie. We're both a little scared."
Lizzie stared at her father. The bus had come to a halt beside Lizzie's house, but she couldn't move. Her mother had cried? That knowledge gave her a churning feeling in her stomach. And she knew that feeling wasn't because of something she ate, because there was no food in her stomach. She wanted to be selfish and escape her father's gaze by getting on the bus, but she couldn't get rid of the image of her mother sobbing.
She turned around and looked at the bus driver. She waved him on, and as the bus rode down the street, she walked back inside with her dad.
Mr. McGuire called in to say he wouldn't be able to make it to work, and a while later Mrs. McGuire woke up. She walked into the kitchen, looking weary and disheveled as thought she hadn't had much sleep. Pain rushed over her eyes as she first took notice of Lizzie. She quickly left the room and took a very long shower. There was very little conversation between Lizzie and Mr. McGuire during her absence. When she returned, the three of them had a painfully quiet breakfast. The silence in the air carried something dark that none of them wanted to face just yet.
"We need to talk," said Mrs. McGuire at last, as she picked up the plates and carried them to the sink. Lizzie and Mr. McGuire nodded solemnly.
They went into the living room, where all the "we need to talk" conversations of the past had taken place. Lizzie sat in one of the chairs, and her parents sat parallel to her on the couch. She knew that this was the way you were supposed to sit whenever you "needed to talk", but she still didn't like the arrangement. She sunk into the plush cusions of the chair, all alone, while her parents sat close together, holding hands, seemingly united against her. It made her terribly uncomfortable.
They were met with silence. It took a moment for someone to be bold enough to have the first word. "Lizzie," began Mr. McGuire, "you know that we love you, right?"
It was the most cliche way to start this type of conversation. It was customary for the parents to remind her that they loved her, because in all the harshness of the words that were about to be spoken, it was easy to forget that sort of basic knowledge. Lizzie nodded, averting her parents' gaze.
Mrs. McGuire cleared her throat. "Listen, before we say anything, I want to get the facts straight," she said. She gave a pained glance in Lizzie's direction. "Have you... Have you been making yourself throw up?"
Lizzie looked up at her mother, briefly meeting her eyes, and then looked backd down at the floor. She nodded slowly.
Mrs. McGuire closed her eyes to the crushing blow, as if somewhere deep down she had still held on to the hope that everything was a big misunderstanding. "And the... the over-exertion and the sleep deprivation?" she asked hoarsely, repeated the things the doctor had told them the day before. She felt a pain in her heart as Lizzie responded to all of those things. The doctor had been correct about all of the physical causes. But what about the mental causes? What had made her daughter do those awful things to herself?
"Oh, sweetie..." Tears started pouring down Mrs. McGuire's face. It was a sight Lizzie hated to see. "Why, honey? Why would you do those things?"
Lizzie took in a deep breath. Normally, in these kinds of conversations, her parents would do all the talking while she struggled to get a word in. This was completely different from those times. Now, her parents spoke very little. Instead, they just waited to hear what Lizzie had to say. But Lizzie didn't have anything to say this time. Words failed her. How could she possibly explain it? It was such a very long story. It began so many months ago, and it involved so many complex feelings that even she herself couldn't describe. The thought of spilling the whole story was exhausting.
"I can't explain it," Lizzie said softly. "It's just something I have to do."
Mrs. McGuire sobbed a little. "Oh, sweetie, no. You don't have to do these things. If something's bothering you, you can always come to us. You should never have to hurt yourself."
Miranda had told Lizzie the same thing yesterday. But Lizzie knew they just didn't get it. She wasn't really hurting herself, was she? In her mind, the pain she felt when she wasn't throwing up or working out was much worse than any physical side effects that might occur. She looked up and saw that her mother was still crying. It pained her, but at the same time it frustrated her. Why was her mother crying, when she was the one who was hurting? "I knew you wouldn't understand. I just knew that you guys wouldn't get it!" She felt fury rise in her voice. "You don't know what it's like! You could never know! Can't you just trust me? Can't you just believe in me, that I know how to handle my own feelings?!"
Mrs. McGuire's eyes glimmered with hurt. She said nothing.
"I know you must be hurting, Lizzie," said Mr. McGuire, trying to stay calm. "You must be in alot of pain to do these things to yourself. But there are other ways."
Lizzie swallowed a lump in her throat and blinked away tears. "Sure, Dad. You just know all about it, don't you?" Her tone was harsh and sarcastic. "I'm just stupid little Lizzie. I don't know anything. Everyone always knows what's best for me, don't they?"
"That's not what I said..."
"But it's what you meant!" Lizzie stood up and flung her arms into the air. "I can't stand this! It's my body! I can do whatever I want with it!" Mr. McGuire was silent. He and his wife sat holding hands on the couch, intense pain in their eyes. Lizzie softened her voice a bit. "Look, I never meant to hurt you guys. But... But I'm not DOING anything to you guys. This is about me, okay? I need to do this."
"When you hurt, we hurt, baby," said Mrs. McGuire desperately. "If you would just let us help you..."
Lizze found herself unable to hold in her emotions; she burst into tears. "No! I don't need any help! I've already figured it all out. THIS is what I need to do to make everything okay. It's the one thing that keeps me in control of my feelings. And you want me to stop, don't you? YOU WANT TO TAKE IT AWAY FROM ME!" She turned and ran out of the living room. Mr. and Mrs. McGuire tried to go after her and console her, but their words weren't heard over the sound of Lizzie's crying.