Clandestine Confessions

Before you read on, I must preface this particular writing.
Because it is not a piece of my history I was sure would actually ever reach the light.
It took me until I was 24 years old, during my very last attempt at treatment, to make it known to a therapist.
26 until I addressed it directly with my parents.
And 28 until I truly began the work to mend the wounds of the child within.
And I contemplated leaving it at that.
For it is the emotionally safer option.
But as I continue to share these excerpts of my life, I knew I could not omit this very significant event.
I could not keep it forever trapped in the darkness of my past.
Because it is the only story that gives explanation as to how the eating disorder escalated.
The tale of how a little trickle of behaviors became a tsunami quite literally brainwashing me.
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None of this is written with any bitterness, anger, or resentment.
I will reiterate what I said in my last writing: I refuse to project blame onto anyone.
I extend grace for any of the decisions made that were done without the knowledge of what we all know now – choices that were heavily persuaded by the “direction” of a doctor’s chart…
(Yes, that same one that turned my tears into a painful lullaby.)
I have forgiven.
I have found peace.
I cover all those involved with immense love and empathy.
And I hold such hope for the purpose of it all.
I ask as you read that you do the same – knowing all of it God will use.
Understanding we are all imperfect individuals trying our best with what we have been given.
Trusting all of it will be redeemed.
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It was late summer 2000.
I had come upstairs from playing video games with my brother – Goldeneye 007 on the Nintendo 64 – to get a glass of water.
Wearing my favorite outfit from Limited Too – green sparkly shorts and a white T-shirt that had two turtles on it – one on top of the other – “weeee!” the little one was saying.
It was my sister’s favorite shirt of mine.
She would mimic the tiny turtle whenever I wore it.
My curly hair tied back with a scrunchie.
Innocence has a look – and it was her.
I will never not wish she had more time to exist.
For this was the last day she ever reflected back at me.
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My mom was in the kitchen ironing clothes.
Standing right beside the island.
The same place I would have daily morning weigh ins exactly three years later.
It was right when I reached the doorway to the basement she called my name.
“J, can we talk a minute?”
That phrase carries with it a reputation for impending catastrophe.
This time was no exception.
I sat down at the table, anxiously going through in my head what I possibly could have done to be in trouble.
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And how different life would be had that been the fate of the conversation.
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“Your dad and I have been talking and we agree that you can get a rabbit if you lose ten pounds.”
I had been asking for one for years at that point.
Even that day I had walked out of the pet store in quiet tears after having to put a bunny back in its cage when once again was told no.
The deep adoration for these animals planted in my heart by the book “Goodnight Moon” – read every night to me as a baby.
The things you love are material representations of what your soul needs.
Pay attention to them.
I was seeking more than a bunny…
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Of course, without hesitation, I agreed to the deal.
I hugged my mom tightly.
“I love you! Thank you so much! I am going to make you proud. I will not let you down.”
–
I ran down the stairs and ecstatically shared the news with my brother.
He paused his game, looked up right into my eyes and said, “why would they tell you to do that?”
I had not even thought to ask that.
Nor did I ever understand the depth of his question until three summers later – lying awake in fear and confusion my first night in the children’s psych ward.
“They probably just want the best for me,” I said. “But I get a bunny!”
–
6 months later I found the perfect one during our weekly trip to the pet store.
I had only lost 8 of the 10 pounds at the time – done so in what “seemed” like a very innocent way.
Tracking my progress daily on the white scale my mom bought for me for that very purpose.
Every night I would close the bathroom door, turn on the water pretending to get a shower, and I would get on and off and on and off that scale.
Obsessively ensuring it was telling me the correct weight.
And frighteningly quick, that number would come to dictate my mood for the next day.
My worth and identity evermore wrapped up in my size.
In intense worry someone else would buy that rabbit, I wrote a persuasive letter to my parents stating that if I could get this bunny, I promised to lose the two pounds plus five more.
I listed all the ways I would make it happen and by when I would.
I had just turned 10 years old…
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Peanut was mine on March 2, 2001.
At a cost I am still paying two decades later.
But an expense I have a radical, undeniably crazy faith will be returned tenfold one day soon.