Recovering Irene
1/1
Irene
My Dad always asks me when it started. He just carries me into the living room and I curl up on his lap like I did when I was younger. As a sixteen year old I weigh the same as I did when I was eight.
83.4 lbs.
He rocks me, because the couch rocks, and because it gives him something to concentrate on when he asks the next question.
"Who told you you weren't perfect?"
The he clears his throat, because it breaks the silence, and he always does that when he's nervous. He always worries that it was his fault. I don't say anything though, because I don't want him to think I'm insane. He knows from other parents in the hospital who have children with the same problem that the eating disorders usually start out from words like "Fat ass", or from the media. But I don't compare myself to anything but numbers. What nobody knows is I sat standards for myself. I came home one day and I saw the scale. And 130 had one too many zeros.
13 was the perfect weight.
Mark
I could never love anybody as much as I loved my daughter Irene. I thought I could when Mary was around, but she's probably out of the country now. Irene was the spitting image of Mary when I met her. Curly, black hair. Big hazel eyes that glistened with any kind of lighting. I kept Irene closer when Mary informed me she wasn't coming back, and I promised myself I wouldn't lose her.
That's the hardest part for me now. Sometimes I wished Mary had taken Irene with her. Then I wouldn't have to worry about my own daughter dying in my arms.
I can't help but wonder if I caused this.
Irene
I lived in a dizzy atmosphere. Unless I was absolutely still, my surroundings would spin around me, and would make me feel sick. I trained myself to have a weak stomach. Any amount of nerves, worry, calories, or spinning would cause me to find the nearest bathroom or trashcan to puke whatever was living inside of me. And I enjoyed it.
Even now, I was curled up against the school toilet, my fat legs under me, and my hands against the white seat shaking from discomfort and coldness. When I was done spitting out the last of bile, I took out a package of fat free gum and let it soak on my tongue, then spit it out into the toilet and whatever excess gum was left.
My head was spinning, and I was exhausted. It was only second period, and I already felt like I could call it a day. I stood up and clutched the top of the stall. Blackness engulfed my vision and my legs shook underneath me. I wish I had a scale.
A sense of peace came about me as I walked out the bathroom. The lockers swayed on the sides of me in a carnival-like fashion. There was no noise except my heavy feet carrying my heavy boots.
Unc. Unc. Throb. I grabbed my jacket. My heart is beating really fast.
I made my way through the hall. Second period was only a few more steps, and then I could rest in my seat. Unc. Throb. Unc. The door was to the right. Success again.
"Irene? Please take a seat, you've been gone too long." Mr. McStoy's voice was distant. "Irene?"
I couldn't sense anything anymore. Only the coldness of my face and the darkness of my spinning head.
"Somebody get the nurse!"
Mark
I rushed through the wet streets, dodging any car that was in front of me. This was the call I had dreaded. We'll meet you at the hospital. There's no time for you to come and get her.
If only I had a few minutes this morning. I could have made her promise...I could have cooked her breakfast. Some pancakes. She loves pancakes.
A nurse guided me to Irene's room. I looked through a window in the door. Doctors were running around, giving her oxygen, blankets, IVs.
"I'm sorry sir, you can't go inside. It's too frantic."
Her voice was far away, but my legs didn't move. I just watched her pale face from outside, her motionless body being touched by machines and plastic.
This never would have happened if Mary had stayed.
Irene
Things were much better where I was now. It was just me. I was running along the sky, weightless. I was nothing but thirteen pounds of beautiful, angelic body.
Mark
I stayed in the hospital outside of Irene's room. They had already carried her out, telling me in an almost monotone voice that the papers would be at the front when I was ready to leave.
The beeping from the hospital around me had become part of my world. I was used to crying parents, brothers, grandmothers. The nurses and doctors knew my name and we often talked when I would come here to visit a recovering Irene.
I grabbed my jacket and walked towards the front door, wondering now who would be the unlucky one to visit a recovering father.
My Dad always asks me when it started. He just carries me into the living room and I curl up on his lap like I did when I was younger. As a sixteen year old I weigh the same as I did when I was eight.
83.4 lbs.
He rocks me, because the couch rocks, and because it gives him something to concentrate on when he asks the next question.
"Who told you you weren't perfect?"
The he clears his throat, because it breaks the silence, and he always does that when he's nervous. He always worries that it was his fault. I don't say anything though, because I don't want him to think I'm insane. He knows from other parents in the hospital who have children with the same problem that the eating disorders usually start out from words like "Fat ass", or from the media. But I don't compare myself to anything but numbers. What nobody knows is I sat standards for myself. I came home one day and I saw the scale. And 130 had one too many zeros.
13 was the perfect weight.
Mark
I could never love anybody as much as I loved my daughter Irene. I thought I could when Mary was around, but she's probably out of the country now. Irene was the spitting image of Mary when I met her. Curly, black hair. Big hazel eyes that glistened with any kind of lighting. I kept Irene closer when Mary informed me she wasn't coming back, and I promised myself I wouldn't lose her.
That's the hardest part for me now. Sometimes I wished Mary had taken Irene with her. Then I wouldn't have to worry about my own daughter dying in my arms.
I can't help but wonder if I caused this.
Irene
I lived in a dizzy atmosphere. Unless I was absolutely still, my surroundings would spin around me, and would make me feel sick. I trained myself to have a weak stomach. Any amount of nerves, worry, calories, or spinning would cause me to find the nearest bathroom or trashcan to puke whatever was living inside of me. And I enjoyed it.
Even now, I was curled up against the school toilet, my fat legs under me, and my hands against the white seat shaking from discomfort and coldness. When I was done spitting out the last of bile, I took out a package of fat free gum and let it soak on my tongue, then spit it out into the toilet and whatever excess gum was left.
My head was spinning, and I was exhausted. It was only second period, and I already felt like I could call it a day. I stood up and clutched the top of the stall. Blackness engulfed my vision and my legs shook underneath me. I wish I had a scale.
A sense of peace came about me as I walked out the bathroom. The lockers swayed on the sides of me in a carnival-like fashion. There was no noise except my heavy feet carrying my heavy boots.
Unc. Unc. Throb. I grabbed my jacket. My heart is beating really fast.
I made my way through the hall. Second period was only a few more steps, and then I could rest in my seat. Unc. Throb. Unc. The door was to the right. Success again.
"Irene? Please take a seat, you've been gone too long." Mr. McStoy's voice was distant. "Irene?"
I couldn't sense anything anymore. Only the coldness of my face and the darkness of my spinning head.
"Somebody get the nurse!"
Mark
I rushed through the wet streets, dodging any car that was in front of me. This was the call I had dreaded. We'll meet you at the hospital. There's no time for you to come and get her.
If only I had a few minutes this morning. I could have made her promise...I could have cooked her breakfast. Some pancakes. She loves pancakes.
A nurse guided me to Irene's room. I looked through a window in the door. Doctors were running around, giving her oxygen, blankets, IVs.
"I'm sorry sir, you can't go inside. It's too frantic."
Her voice was far away, but my legs didn't move. I just watched her pale face from outside, her motionless body being touched by machines and plastic.
This never would have happened if Mary had stayed.
Irene
Things were much better where I was now. It was just me. I was running along the sky, weightless. I was nothing but thirteen pounds of beautiful, angelic body.
Mark
I stayed in the hospital outside of Irene's room. They had already carried her out, telling me in an almost monotone voice that the papers would be at the front when I was ready to leave.
The beeping from the hospital around me had become part of my world. I was used to crying parents, brothers, grandmothers. The nurses and doctors knew my name and we often talked when I would come here to visit a recovering Irene.
I grabbed my jacket and walked towards the front door, wondering now who would be the unlucky one to visit a recovering father.