text: 7:39 PM October 6th Seven days. It’s been seven days since I turned fourteen, and the only things I can think about are the cake I ate, and my mom’s decision to abandon her only daughter and husband. The shock that went through my body rapidly transformed into indescribable sadness the moment I read the text she sent. Every inch of my flesh feels like it’s burning with rage, yet frozen from the cold black mirror between my palms. A rush of chilly breeze brushes between the surface of my skin and my clothes. I habitually glance down at my body, completely occupied by the fact that I had been abandoned over a text message. I see my veiny hands holding my phone, and without notice, I shatter it on the pavement. How can she do this? A bond between a mother and her daughter should be invincible, shouldn't it? The little moments of joy and grief, the big events such as your wedding or your first day of high school. When you’d come home from school with a craft that you had just specifically created for your mom, the day you found out you had gotten your first period. It should all be in there. Shouldn’t it? I struggle to get up from the park bench. I push myself up slowly, yet I still feel the dizziness going through my head, spinning throughout my thoughts. And for a moment, I feel emptier than I have ever been. I feel every organ in my body rubbing against my bones, every vein, every movement. It was a pain I have never experienced, pain that only was caused by a simple text. You are so stupid, I tell myself. I dig my hands into my pocket, look at my broken phone, and restlessly walk back to my house. I’m barely even able to drag my feet on the ground, but I observe every motion in the distance. The mother cradling her baby on the park bench across the park, the boy trying to cross the monkey bars, the muddy dirt on the grass. You deserve this. I hear the voice in my head louder than the leaves crunching under my feet. I feel a rush of anger running down my spine before I enter my house. But the moment I step foot on the doorstep, I am attacked by my dad. “She took them!” He yelled, referring to my brothers. I look around and every piece of furniture in the house is exactly where it should be. The couch on the left side, just an inch away from the black, wood side table, The white curtains hang perfectly off the curtain rod, the carpet is pure white, the family frame on the fireplace. But my dad’s mind is not where it should be. I stare back at him as he launches towards me. “She took them!” I recognize this tone. It was the tone he used when I would come back with a B. It was the tone he used when his soup was a little too hot for his desire, the tone he used if I wore my hair a certain way. “I know,” I whisper with any and all courage I have left in me. “And she left you here with me. What am I even supposed to do with you?” He clenches his fists, hovering around. He suddenly stops in his tracks, looks at me, raises his hand, and without doubt, he swings it against my cold cheek. I don’t even flinch. I can smell the strong scent of alcohol in his breath. I look down at his left hand, holding a glass of whiskey, his favourite. “You made her leave,” He points at me. “If you weren’t so difficult all the time!” He raises his voice louder. “Why can’t you just be normal? Why can’t you just eat? The food is right in front of you. Why is it so hard for you to understand this?” Silence. 10:03 PM October 6th I grab my small notebook and a pen, and with relief, I start recording my intake for the day: Apple- 95 Calories, 0.3 grams of carbs; Green Tea- 0 Calories, 0 grams of carbs. I stare at my notebook with pride. It is the only thing I am able to control. Every bite, every chew, every swallow. It is the only thing that keeps me from losing my mind, it keeps me sane. But it was only a matter of seconds when my peacefulness would be disrupted. My father shows up to my room uninvited, and in his hand, he had a slice of cake on a plate. “You’re going to eat this cake.” It’s a big slice of chocolate cake. My birthday cake. The brown frosting is messily smeared on the plate and the fork in his hand. “I’m okay, I just ate dinner.” I lie. “This isn’t a question Ria.” He replies quietly. He isn’t doing this for me, he’s doing this to get my mom to come back. “But I’m not hungry” “You’re going to eat this damn cake or you know what’s going to happen.” He says in a stern voice. I tense up. I feel my heartbeat in my throat, I hold back the tears. He brings the plate to my bed, places it in front of me, and steps back a little bit, only to stand there and cross his arms. I smell the cake, and I immediately feel nauseous. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I bite the first piece, then the second, then the tenth. He just watches me. 7:34 AM October 7th I wake up the next morning with a still full stomach. I feel the heaviness of the cake on my arms, my stomach, my thighs. I immediately run to my scale. Forty-six point two kilograms. I feel a knot in my throat, I feel the tears streaming down my face. I can’t go to school like this. I can’t be fat. I cannot be fat. I will not be fat. I am in control. School was when all of this started. That one little comment that sparked up the conversation between my friends about my eating habits. I started to notice any comment that had even a slight mention of food or my eating habits. I remembered every bite I have ever had, every meal at a restaurant, every sip of a carbonated drink. That was the first time I truly understood what shame felt like. It wasn’t a feeling I got when I failed a class, it wasn’t a feeling I got when I cheated. It is a feeling I only got when I ate food. It is a feeling I get when I bite into a sandwich or a fry. It is a feeling of disappointment, defeat, weakness. As time went by, I started getting repulsed by the idea of food more and more. I thought that if I started to eat healthier, then I would have a different outlook on food. I made meal plans that had designated days for certain foods, a specific amount of water I would have to drink per day, and I definitely made sure to never eat more than two bites of something in front of any of my friends. Now the only thing on my mind is that cake. It took all of my mental strength to pick that fork up and eat it. I told my dad that I wasn’t feeling well and that I was going to bed just so I could process the fact that I finished the cake. All I feel is humiliation. Sitting on my bed, the only thing I can think about is the nauseating feeling throughout my body. My stomach, for once, feels full and I can feel my muscles in my throat tense from eating that much. It wasn’t even a lot, just a slice, but my body feels like I just ate enough to feed a small country. All I know is that I need to lie down. I can feel my body getting heavier from that cake. I feel disgusted with myself. Fat, fat and more fat, is all I see in the reflection. I feel my heart start to beat out of my chest as if I can feel every cell in my body move through my dense figure. I could feel my stomach getting bigger. My fists are clenched so tight around my waist covering the vile image staring back at me. This has to stop. The only way to feel better is to gain more control. I have to, that is the only way I will stop feeling so revolted. I am in control. I close my eyes and start to count back from one hundred. Something about numbers calmed me down. I think it was knowing the exact number that would come next that grounded me. I knew I was right, and I knew I was in control of what I was saying. 3:23 PM October 7th I came to my house after school, with no motivation or energy to do anything but sleep. My head was spinning and I have my usual migraine. I can still feel yesterday’s dinner in my stomach and I want to curl up into a ball underneath my sheets and hide from everything. The only thought pounding in my head is the chocolate cake. I grab the bottle of water standing on my nightstand and chug it, feeling the water stream running down my throat, filling my stomach just a little, sufficing my intake for the day. I grab my notebook from my bag again and I write down today’s intake: 7 bottles of water, 0 calories, 0 grams of carbs. I weigh myself again, forty-five point eight. Not enough. I hear a voice in my head. I lay in my bed, frantically searching for a way to calm my breathing, but it isn’t stabilizing. I suddenly feel the world around me spin. I am engulfed by a wave of panic, and the next moment, I’m on my feet getting ready to go for a run. Running is the only time I feel like myself. Running is the only thing that can create a safe enough atmosphere for me to live in. I’m on the sidewalk, my feet are in motion, and I am Ria. The wind gushing against my face brings back a rush of blood to my lifeless, pale cheeks. I could hear and see every little thing. Every falling leaf, every voice in the distance, every face in the perimeter. My breathing is controlled, my eating is controlled, my body is controlled. I am in control. I manage to avoid my inebriated father after my run and skip dinner by pretending to study for a test, which is probably the biggest accomplishment of my day. I do not have the mental capacity to handle the same emotions that went through my head last night. I just could not feel the same way I felt last night, it was horrifying. By the time I get under my sheets, I notice my body shaking, my teeth jittering from my cold figure. My shoulders roll forward, caving into myself, my legs tuck into my chest as if I’m protecting my body from distant criticism. My head was dizzy and I could hear my stomach growl, almost a euphoric sensation. Allowing my body to feel like it was swaying in my bed, I fall asleep with a smile on my face. 5:47 AM October 8th I just woke up, physically. Emotionally and mentally I’m drained. The weight of the guilt from the cake still sinks my chest. The weight of my mother’s departure creates a larger force on my body, deluding the number on my scale. I step on it as I do every morning. I don’t look at the scale right away, my anxiety is eating me inside out. I feel a slight rush of heat travelling to my face. I rub my hands against my thighs, attempting to remove the gallon of sweat I managed to make in ten minutes. Forty-five point three kilograms. The number was looking at me, practically laughing in my face, making fun of my inability to achieve such a simple task without messing it up. I pinch myself. I brush my teeth vigorously, knowing the mint taste will prevent me from taking a bite of anything. I need to lose five kilograms. I am in control. My legs are bouncing as I brush my teeth, anxiously waiting to go for my morning run. I take a deep breath, I shake my limbs. Right arm, right leg, left arm, left leg. I repeat that again, and again, and then again. I did it four times. That's bad luck. My heartbeat starts to race, but I try to brush it off. I run my 10 kilometers. I come back before my dad wakes up, and quietly leave to go to school. 10:17 AM October 8th The only thing that is occupying my mind is the number on the scale. Forty-five point three. Four, Five, Three. Was I really that big? Did I eat too much? Was I not trying hard enough? It has to be the cake. It’s the cake. I can barely keep my eyes open during class, I’m exhausted, consumed by the three numbers on the scale- Four, Five, Three. My hands are too cold to even write anything, too cold to even tuck my hair behind my ear. I subconsciously lead myself to the library, skipping my third-period class. As I sit down in the chair, I feel my eyelids shut close. They weigh fifty pounds. It is so cold, I start shivering. The weather is changing, which is what had to explain my drowsiness. After school, I go straight into my room, eager to see my scale. It’s been seven hours and I have not had anything to eat today. I hope that helps. I take my clothes off and weigh myself. Forty-five point three. That number taunted me. I can’t remember the last time I was so frustrated with myself. For sure the number would have had to drop at least a little; I didn’t even drink water today. I was doing something wrong, I was eating too much. 6:27 PM October 8th I’m so exhausted, I’m trying so hard to finish this repetition of crunches. I can’t even do a hundred. Seventy-seven, seventy-eight, seventy-nine... 3:48 AM October 9th I wake up on the floor. I don’t even know where I am. My anxiety starts to build up as I quickly realize I’m in my room. I look around, it’s pitch black. I try to scramble for my phone before remembering that I broke it. I start to panic; I have to know the time. I have to know the time. I jolt up from my anxiety. I feel lightheaded; I stood up too fast. I lay on my bed to calm down for a minute. After I regain awareness, I immediately head downstairs to the kitchen. Every step I took down those stairs felt like stepping on knives, every bone in my body felt like glass, every inch of my skin felt like paper. I look at the microwave- it’s almost four in the morning. I’m trying to recollect memories to put yesterday's pieces together but I can’t even remember past three in the afternoon. I try to go back upstairs, but I can’t, I'm so tired. I lay down on the staircase, and I feel every glass bone break, and every paper skin rip. But the exhaustion was overpowering the pain. I can’t stay awake. 9:32 AM October 9th I wake up to a force on my head. I try to lift my head up. There’s no one there. I fell asleep around four o’clock in the morning. I was so tired. I could not move a muscle in my body; breathing became so difficult as my rib cage felt as though it was crushing my lungs. My head is spinning as I try to process my thoughts, but last night’s nightmare suddenly replays in my head. I dreamt that my mom was serving me dinner. She put a plate in front of me; on it were two steaks the size of my face, a steaming mountain of mashed potatoes with peas rolling down the side of it like an avalanche. I was forced to eat it, or else my mother would leave again. It felt so real, so I ate. I snap back into reality, but I quickly start to feel a panic attack coming. I pinch myself, bite my lip, bite my nails, none of which were able to calm me down. My leg is shaking so fast, that stresses me out more. I feel the deep emptiness, contradicted by the flooding amount of emotions going through my body. My mind is racing. 12:59 PM October 9th I can barely walk up the stairs at school. Every tiny movement is a marathon for me. It feels like I’m walking out of time. I head to the washroom, close my eyes and sit on the floor. My stomach is finally empty, no more cake. It’s paradise. I finally feel like I am me again. I feel my eyes rolling to the back of my head and I enjoy every second of it. I sit on the floor for ten minutes relishing the feeling of my body finally being able to let go of any tension and relax. I feel satisfied. I am in control. Next period is gym class, my favourite class. On my way to the locker room, a girl stops me and compliments my physique. She asks what workouts I have been doing. I love hearing that. I tell her I have a whole planned routine for the week and tell her she could find the same workout online. For a minute I feel accomplished. I feel as if the drowsiness and the shivering were worth it. I knew it is worth it. I empty my gym bag and begin to change. I stand up and all I see are stars. I knew I got up too fast, I keep doing it. My entire body starts to feel like an electric current is going through it. I have to sit down but I can’t move. Every noise around me amplifies. I can’t have a panic attack now. I can’t get a panic attack now. My head starts to spin and I feel a harsh force hit my side. I was out cold. But only one thing matters- I am in control. 2:36 PM October 10th I barely open my eyes, the bright light above me is blinding me. I try to speak but the dryness of my mouth prevents me. I can’t move either, I can’t do anything. I try to make a noise, a grunt, a sigh, but nothing is coming out. I start to get really anxious. What time is it? What day is it? Where am I? All I want to do is scream out to my mother, all I want is for her to be next to me. But she’s not. With all the power that I have, I turn my head ever so slightly. My head feels like metal. I see my dad sitting in the corner of the room, snoring. I tried to call out to him but I barely got a whisper out. I had no energy. My eyes start to rapidly move around the room. I look down at my body and see three IVs stuck in my arm filled with potassium, sodium chloride and another chemical that I don’t recognize. I immediately realize I am at the hospital. My thoughts start to rush, I start to panic. I can’t get admitted now. I haven’t lost all the weight yet. The heart monitor starts to ding faster, and before I knew it, my father is awake. He looks at me, sighs, and walks out of the room. He walks back into the room with a doctor. “Hi Andria, I’m Dr. Fenech and this is my intern Oliver Yaseen. How do you feel?” I can’t speak. The fluids coming from the IVs create a burning feeling in my arm and I just want to rip them out of my arm but I can’t move. My father is sitting in the corner, drinking his coffee, but I know he mixed alcohol with it. ”I know this might be confusing to you right now, but you’re in the Intensive Care Unit. Your body gave out during gym.” The doctor clicks his pen. I don’t respond. “Your body is extremely malnourished. It’s a miracle you’re even alive right now. Have you been eating?” Every word that comes out of his mouth created a feeling of hatred, loathfulness, despise in me. But it was myself who I hate. I hate my brown hair, my brown eyes. I hate my round face, droopy eyes. The way my nail beds look, the way I laugh, the way I speak, my voice. It’s silent. “Your inpatient program start in a week, right?” Dr. Fenech asks. I try to nod my head, but all that came out was a sigh. “I understand it’s frustrating for you right now. However, we might need to start tube feeding you sooner.” My heart rate starts going up. The doctor notices it. “Your vitals are extremely low. Technically, these vitals shouldn’t even be real.” That doesn’t matter to me. I think. Voices start to fade, and before I know it, I’m asleep. 8:11 AM October 11th I woke up to the nurse fiddling with a plastic bag. Her blonde hair effortlessly fell down her shoulders. Her blue eyes are observing the bag so carefully she didn’t even notice I woke up. I look around the room and it is empty. It feels so peaceful whenever my dad is not around. His traditional personality oppresses me. His desire to make me look presentable and be the girly girl he wants all the time made me hate being the only girl. I started straightening my hair in grade five because my curly hair was too messy. My clothes were all picked out by him. His absence leaves me at ease and calmness, but not before the nurse realizes I’m awake and smiles at me. “Good morning” She speaks so softly, but loud enough that I can hear it. “How are you feeling?” “Okay, I guess.” I whisper. She tilts her head and furrows her eyebrows, alluding to her inability to hear me. I shrug and she chuckles. Her laugh is so cute. “I’m sorry to hear. It might not be the best time for this right now but I have to insert the feeding tube in you.” I can already hear myself think about all the ways I could burn off these calories. The idea of even gaining the slightest bit of weight makes me feel like five hundred kilograms of weight are dropped on my chest. I’m not in control.