Wrists

Breakfast was bright and early at 7:00 A.M. My plan instructed me to have a nutrition bar, a protein shake, egg whites (oh how the taste of it brought me nostalgia!), and whole wheat pancakes with a small container of maple syrup (optional). I knew it was probably best to learn more about the other patients rather than sitting on my own, looking anti-social. Raychel, Amelia, and Miranda invited me to their table, and talked with me until Dr. Reynolds stopped by to pick me up.

Miranda was a very shy, quiet girl when you first met her, but, over time, she opened up and up to the point she morphed into a whole other person. Amelia was, of course, the very supportive and kind one of the rest, and Raychel acted more and more like a boy every moment I watched her communicate with others, especially me. Unlike strangers that I met on a daily basis outside of this clinic, they didn’t give me strange looks or ask me if I was “alright” or tried to force me to eat something. They treated me like family; like I honestly belonged. I felt.. human.

After I completed about ¾ of my plate, with much difficulty, because my mind and my stomach was protesting, Dr. Reynolds escorted me to the bathrooms (upon request—I always had to use the bathroom multiple times after eating more than I normally did), and then to an office at the very end of the hallway. “Every other day, after breakfast, you’re to come to this room, and talk to your assigned guidance counselor.” for once, she wasn’t smiling; only giving my a serious look. “Every patient in Avalon Hills has their own guidance counselor in order for us and you to understand yourself. Okay?”

I gave her a nod, and, with one last gentle smile, she knocked on the door, and then opened it. The room was quite small, and dark. It gave off a strange, ominous aura. A woman with glasses and her fair hair tied up in a chiffon was writing at her desk, glasses reflecting the lights of her computer screen. My anxiety returned. “How long does this last?”

“An hour and a half,” Dr. Reynolds voice grew softer. She nudged me towards the open door. “Just go in and relax. She’s here to help.” Her words weren’t very comforting at all. I didn’t want to go in there. I knew what was going to happen—she was going to force me to tell her things I’d rather not say. She was going to make me try and open up to her, because that was her job. And she was going to use it all against me.

“I.. can I not go today?” My weak attempt to compromise. My hands were beginning to shake in irrational fear. But Dr. Reynolds only politely smiled at me and shook her head ‘no’.

“You’re here to face your disease and personal problems and overcome this, Graham. This is the first step to recovery—if you don’t do this now, you won’t ever. Don’t you understand?” She stroked my head of hair. “Don’t worry. She’s not going to make you feel uncomfortable or pressure you in anyway. Okay?”

She was treating me like a child. And my guidance counselor was beginning to stand up and walk over. My face turned red in embarrassment, and I nodded. Dr. Reynolds whispered a few inaudible words to the fair-haired woman before she smiled wide at me and left us to each other. I watched her leave with wide eyes, hoping she’d turn back and tell me I didn’t have to go in.

But she never did. I was stuck. My guidance counselor gave me a polite smile and said, in a soft voice, “Please call me Ms. Hill. While you’re here—in Avalon Hills—I’ll be your counselor. Please, come in. Have a seat.”

She stepped out of my way, allowing me to walk inside the tiny, dark room, and I slowly lowered myself in a red love seat across from her chair. Ms. Hill closed the door behind us, carefully walked to her chair, and sat down. Silence continued as she took her time crossing her legs, smoothing down her knee-low skirt, and fidgeting with her black-framed glasses. “What’s your name?”

“...Graham.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Graham.” She smiled, glasses flashing. “What we need—you and I—is not only a friendship, but a partnership. And what I mean is that, as you open up to me, I’ll open up to you. Not only are you trying to face your fears and concerns in life, but you’re also trying to form a support system that’ll keep you up on your feet when you feel yourself falling down.” Her soft voice paused, allowing me to drink it in. “I—Ms. Hill—am going to be the first person in your support system. I don’t want you to see me as an enemy—I’m not your enemy, Graham—I want you to see me as an individual you can trust.”

I didn’t know what to say. I just sat there and stared at her, watching her glasses flash as the nearby computer lights blinked. Ms. Hill sat there, quiet, for so long of a time that I thought she fell asleep behind those frames of hers, but then she finally fidgeted, settling in her seat again.

Ms. Hill slipped off her glasses and stared into my eyes with her dark blue ones. “I’m not going to ask you to tell me everything that’s going on in your head today, Graham. I’m not going to force you to. I want you to enlighten me when you’re ready, no matter how long that takes. Because you’re here to recover for yourself, not because you’re being forced to. Understand?”

I quietly nodded. I still didn’t know what to say. She said these things like it was routine, only confirming that she was here to get paid and to do her job. Just that. Nothing else. And, even if I didn’t know her well, it hurt. It hurt very badly. I could feel my stubbornness resurfacing.

“I’m going to start.” Ms. Hill said softly. “And I’m going to tell you—an individual that I’d just met—something big about me because I’ve learned telling someone, no matter who, secrets makes you feel better. Holding things in led to my destruction earlier in my life.”

Short pause.

“10 years ago I was diagnosed with Anorexia Nervosa, Graham.” Another short pause. “And I learned that the cause of my disease was mostly because of my boyfriend and ‘friends’. I was called fat by them both. I was told to stop eating, I was shot down until I couldn’t take it anymore.” Another pause. My chest was beginning to hurt. “And that’s when it started. I ruined myself, my mind, my relationships, and my body. I got to my lowest weight: 70 pounds.” Another longer pause. “I was supposed to die, Graham,” her voice was now shaky. “But I survived. And I don’t want to with any of the things I went through on anyone else. That’s why I became a counselor for Avalon Hills. Not because I was desperate for money, or because they were hiring. But because I wanted to make sure nobody—and I repeat, Graham, nobody—has to suffer because of their disease.” Her tears glistened in the light of the computer. I was shocked out of my mind to discover that she had been crying; seeing a respectable person breakdown was like watching a train crash into a man on a bicycle.

“Now.” She said, voice even softer than before. She wiped her tears from her face with the back of her hand. “I’m going to tell you again, Graham—I’m not going to force you to tell me about everything that’s rushing through your head. When you’re ready, don’t hesitate to inform me. Otherwise, I just want to know and understand you as a person first. Alright, Graham?”

I nodded again, still stunned by her sudden outburst. “...Alright.”

Maybe Ms. Hill was going to be alright after all.