Clandestine Confessions

I was brought to my room while my parents finished the paperwork.
Envision a hospital room that collided with a hotel from the 90s.
Wallpaper beginning to peel at the seams showing the advancing age of the building.
A ledge in front of the non-functioning window – wide enough to sit on.
But currently decorated with cards and flowers and coloring books.
And also housed the heating and air unit.
(And eventually my contraband – but we will tell that story at another time…there is a version of Jenna I have kept hidden within an ironclad heart – not out of shame but protection.)
Pastel artwork of two women dancing on the wall underneath the clock – in between the two closets belonging to my roommate…and now me.
Beside each was a cupboard with a cubby above it – a random unreachable outlet on the wall behind it.
The purpose of its existence I would question every day.
The hospital bed – with the bright lights overhead – controlled by the remote attached to the wall.
The two high back wooden chairs with the polyester cushions – already facing one another.
The indicator of a recently completed therapy session.
–
I sat on the bed.
MJ, the mental health counselor, repositioned one of the chairs to face me.
She handed me a booklet we would read through together – the rules, schedule, dos and don’ts of the dining room, list of coping skills, community guidelines.
My communication limited to nods and “mhmms”.
Still in shock over all that has unfolded – an emotionally jarring blindside triggering trauma to the surface.
Anxiety forcing the room to spin.
Or perhaps that was the consequence of my grand display of anger earlier…
I could feel the bump making its appearance.
“All for nothing,” I thought to myself.
Would all of this pain follow suit…?
–
A knock on the door.
The nurse, Jeanine, wheeled in my suitcase and gave a pair of gloves to MJ.
They searched through it together.
Removing the “prohibited” items – straightener, q-tips, tweezers, nail clippers, gum (this was my only stay this was not fully banned – at this point we’d just have to sign out a piece when desired).
Putting it all in a plastic bin labeled with my name which would eventually find its way to the cabinets across from the nurse’s station.
–
“Am I good to meet with her now?” Jeanine asked after the entirety of my suitcase was sprawled out on the bed.
“Yup. She can go through the rest in her quiet time.”
Which I would…but solely the menu section.
Scoping out the battleground before me and obsessively planning my attack.
We would move to the two chairs – back to facing each other.
I would be asked question after question about my medical history.
And that of my family.
“Health of your paternal grandfather?”
“What about your maternal grandmother?”
“Anybody diagnosed with cancer?”
“What about heart conditions?”
“Ever had surgery?”
“Previous hospitalizations?”
Just when I thought she was done she would flip the paper and continue on.
A knock on the door gave me a reprieve.
The nutritionist peeked her head in the room.
“We can finish this later, J. I will let you meet with Jodie.”
–
This was now a game of musical chairs.
And unfortunately, I always had a seat…
“Hello J. I am going to be working with you during your stay. But first, let’s get you some lunch. What would you like?”
Her question jolted me back to the reason why I was here.
Fear of this new place overshadowing the fear that drove me into this position.
I thought this to be a strange question to ask a girl starving herself…
What did she expect me to say?
“I am not hungry,” I told her.
“I know. But we need you to at least try. What kind of sandwich do you like?”
Defiance had not yet set in – give that another 7 years – so I went with turkey on white bread.
“How about a fruit?”
I went with an apple.
“And a vegetable?”
I went with a salad – a mistake I would never make again after being forced to complete EVERYTHING – and that includes drinking the dressing sitting at the bottom of the bowl.
And the cherry tomatoes that caused me to almost throw up.
(We were off to a great start…)
“Now let’s figure out dinner. Try going for a hot entrée since you already had a cold.”
I was now fully convinced she had gone completely mad.
And her insanity forced free the tears I was trying to hold back.
Nevertheless, she continued on.
–
She pulled out the little white paper with exchanges to use as my guide.
I would accumulate many variations of them over the coming weeks – and years.
They went from being labeled with numbers to letters to colors back to numbers and then back to letters.
Their attempts to white out the calories valiant…but futile.
Starches, proteins, fats, fruits, vegetables, milks.
All of it, at this point, a foreign language leading me to utter confusion but so quickly would become my native tongue.
“This is what you will follow. We will have you start here and then gradually increase it as your health restores.”
AKA – gaining weight.
The “safe” lingo parroted by the entire staff to not trigger our fragile minds into frantic rebellion of their plot to heal us.
But let’s be honest, we all knew what they were implying – no matter how they creatively tried to phrase it.
One cannot successfully control a mind conditioned to masterfully manipulate as a means of survival…
–
She showed me where to find the list of foods from which to choose in my packet – the exchanges of each listed beside the item.
Three pages worth – front and back.
Divided by category.
I still can tell you each one…and find myself rattling them off whenever at the grocery store.
For no reason except it is pointless stored knowledge that I feel compelled to actually apply somehow to not feel exceedingly irate over its dominating existence.
I often wonder how much more mental capacity I would have if I could forget all of it…
“What if I cannot complete a meal?”
“We will visit that if we ever reach that point.”
A knock on the door.
“J’s lunch is here.”
–
And so it began.