Status: The end. Thank you all so much for reading.
Wrists
change .
My mother’s idea of “spending time together” was completely different from what I had imagined. One moment she was talking about a great amusement park to take me, and I was excited to finally be only with her, and enjoy one another’s company, but after an hour of driving we pulled into a clinic. And eating disorder clinic. I contemplated making a run for the highway, but I knew my sore legs wouldn’t be able to carry me that far, and who would drive me home?
“Please, Graham—let’s just see how it is.” My mother begged as I sat stubbornly in the passenger seat of the car. “We’re just looking, Graham. Please.”
“I don’t want to.” I muttered, feeling tears of frustration quickly arriving. “Please, mom, don’t make me do this. I don’t want to.” I pushed a mop of chestnut hair from my face and sighed silently, willing myself not to break down.
“I’m not entering you into the clinic, Graham,” my mother continued to push on. “I just want to see how it’s like. What they do. The conditions. They’re not going to force you to eat, or anything. They take it slow, and—and—” She fished out a brochure from her purse. “I already have some information on them.” She extended it to me. “Please just. Just look through it.”
I eyed the brochure for a while longer, but then finally relaxed my shoulders and took it from her hands. I quickly skimmed through the information. Provide care, blah, blah, blah, support groups based on age, blah, blah, blah, 24/7 care for those in need, blah, blah, blah, emotional and physical guidance, blah, blah, blah, 60-minute one-on-one sessions, blah blah, blah. It was sounding more and more like hell as I continued to read it.
But, finally, I let my guard down and walked with my mother inside. One look at me and the woman behind the receptionist desk said, “Is he interested in guidance?” My mother nodded, and the woman explained a summary of what they provided. My eyes nearly glazed over; I could barely listen to her ramble on.
My mother was listening, though. Listening intently. A sense of joy filled my chest as I watched her go on. I was so, so happy that my mother was actually interested in helping me. She actually cared. She was being so supportive—I couldn’t be more pleased at that moment.
The idea of attending this clinic was frightening, but my mother’s attitude made it all worth it.
“Please, Graham—let’s just see how it is.” My mother begged as I sat stubbornly in the passenger seat of the car. “We’re just looking, Graham. Please.”
“I don’t want to.” I muttered, feeling tears of frustration quickly arriving. “Please, mom, don’t make me do this. I don’t want to.” I pushed a mop of chestnut hair from my face and sighed silently, willing myself not to break down.
“I’m not entering you into the clinic, Graham,” my mother continued to push on. “I just want to see how it’s like. What they do. The conditions. They’re not going to force you to eat, or anything. They take it slow, and—and—” She fished out a brochure from her purse. “I already have some information on them.” She extended it to me. “Please just. Just look through it.”
I eyed the brochure for a while longer, but then finally relaxed my shoulders and took it from her hands. I quickly skimmed through the information. Provide care, blah, blah, blah, support groups based on age, blah, blah, blah, 24/7 care for those in need, blah, blah, blah, emotional and physical guidance, blah, blah, blah, 60-minute one-on-one sessions, blah blah, blah. It was sounding more and more like hell as I continued to read it.
But, finally, I let my guard down and walked with my mother inside. One look at me and the woman behind the receptionist desk said, “Is he interested in guidance?” My mother nodded, and the woman explained a summary of what they provided. My eyes nearly glazed over; I could barely listen to her ramble on.
My mother was listening, though. Listening intently. A sense of joy filled my chest as I watched her go on. I was so, so happy that my mother was actually interested in helping me. She actually cared. She was being so supportive—I couldn’t be more pleased at that moment.
The idea of attending this clinic was frightening, but my mother’s attitude made it all worth it.
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Can you believe this page is only 64 pages on Word document? Wow—and I'm going to make this story about 200 pages. Maybe 300. So fortunately or unfortunately? you're going to be in for a ride.