Not Just a Number: A Young Adult Contemporary Novel

by Sara Michaels

  I had not known about that, but it made me feel bad for questioning his experience with the topic. More so, it made me feel bad for not even knowing he was going through that. Where had I been when he was struggling?

  For the most part, my mom just sat there, shaking her head in disbelief.

  If I was honest, I had an element of disbelief too. I had no idea how I had gotten to this point. It had seemed like a really good idea in the beginning. Being disciplined about what I ate and when I exercised had made me feel better about my breakup with Brandon. Even though I wasn’t good enough for him, I remembered thinking, at least I was working on improving myself. That was better than just dwelling on my misery, surely. I could not control Brandon’s feelings for me—or lack thereof—but I could control how I reacted, and that had felt good. It had felt so good that I could still feel the desire to continue on with my plan welling up inside me even as I sat watching my mother shake her head and barely control her tears.

  None of this made much sense, and I did not have the energy to interrogate my feelings any longer.

  Part of me was angry that my secret was out, but most of me was relieved. It had been exhausting carrying on with the charade of having eaten when I hadn’t, really. Coming up with stories to convince people had sapped me of all my energy. I was pretty sure that part of me wanted people to find out. After all, if I had been so keen on the idea of keeping my secret, I could have just blown up at Ryan, told him to leave and that I never wanted to see him again. If I had really been so committed to my plan, I could have ended my friendship with him there and then, but I hadn’t. In fact, the thought hadn’t really crossed my mind because he was just too important to me. Much more important than my secret.

  Now, it was all out there. All on the kitchen counter for everyone to see, and I was well aware that this was just the beginning. Already, this conversation, this thing was probably the most difficult thing I had ever lived through, but now that there were no more secrets, I could try to move forward the best way I knew how and with the knowledge that I had the unwavering support of those that loved me.

  11

  I had forgotten to switch my alarm over to a later time, and the next morning I woke up with a fright as the alarm blared in my ear. I briefly considered going for a run, but I knew my mom would be angry if she found out. My body screamed for me to pull on my running gear and hit the pavement.

  Stop being such a baby, just do it! You’re going to get weak and fat and lazy lying here in your bed! I actually wanted to put my hand over my ears to block out the thoughts. Obviously, that would make no difference because it was all inside of me anyway.

  Instead, I pulled the covers over my head. At some point, the thing stopped screaming at me, and I succumbed to sleep.

  I woke up to my mom sitting on the edge of my bed, gently touching my arm in an attempt to rouse me. “Abby, you need to get up, hun.”

  I sat up with a start, almost knocking heads with my mom as she leaned over me. The last thing I remembered was fighting against the urge to go running and burn calories.

  “What? What time is it?” I looked around. I had thrown my alarm clock on the floor when it had woken me up that morning.

  “It’s only 7:00 am, you still have plenty of time,” my mom gently assured me. “I made a doctor’s appointment online for you.”

  I sat up with a scowl on my face. “Mom, that’s not necessary. We don’t need to make a big fuss about this. I’ll just start eating again, and everything will be fine.”

  She was already shaking her head. “Abby, this is exactly the kind of thing that I need to make a fuss over. This is your health we are talking about, both physical and emotional, and we need to get proper help.”

  I knew that she wasn’t going to change her mind, I could hear it in her tone, but I had to try. “Seriously, Mom, it’s just a waste of time and money. I know that what I was doing was wrong. I’m sorry, and I can make it better myself.”

  She took a deep breath, now engaged for the battle. She looked away from me when she spoke. “Do you know that’s exactly what all the stuff I read online last night said you would say? That’s your anorexia talking, Abigail. Telling you that you can fix it all yourself, and that you don’t really have a problem. But you do, and we have to get you help.”

  Hearing her refer to an eating disorder as part of me was disconcerting. It was like she was pointing to this black part of my soul and saying, “See, there’s the problem.” It wasn’t what I wanted to hear because it meant that even while I had thought I was taking control, I never really was. That could not be right, could it?

  As though she sensed my confusion, she softened her tone, the desperation replaced by sadness and a resolute determination. “Look, we are in this together. I let you down once by not seeing what you were dealing with and it’s not going to happen again.”

  “It’s not your fault, Mom. You didn’t let me down. I let you down!” I insisted.

  “Well, really, it’s no one’s fault, not mine fully, and not yours fully, but I’m your mother and it’s my job to help you through stuff like this.” She paused, her eye falling on my college acceptance letter that lay on my bedside table. I occasionally took it out to read it again, perhaps in an attempt to confirm that not everything in my life was going downhill. “You have a really bright future in statistics, Abby. I’m not going to let you become a statistic.” She leaned over and kissed me. “Now, get showered and dressed, and meet me downstairs for breakfast.”

  “You’re going to be late for work, Mom.”

  She had usually left by now, calling to me from the bottom of the stairs. I knew she hated being late for stuff as much as I did. She had taught me the importance of being prompt and respecting other people’s time and your own.

  “I’ve already spoken to my boss. I’m working from home today, and I will be shifting my hours around for a while and working from home more to make sure I see you off to school every day.”

  I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell her that she didn’t need to do that, but I knew there was no point. If there was one thing that my mom and I had in common, it was our determination. It was my determination that had gotten me into this situation, and it was likely going to be hers that helped me get out of it.

  In the shower I thought about my mom sitting in the dark the night before until goodness knows what time, bathed in the light of her laptop, researching eating disorders. Her insistence that I needed to get professional help and that she didn’t want me to be a statistic made me think that she had seen some pretty rough stuff in her research. If I was honest, it was a very scary thought. I didn’t want to be a statistic, and even if I really did think I could handle this myself, I’d put my mom through enough, and perhaps it was time to take a step back and let someone help me.

  At the very least, I could have breakfast with her. That wouldn’t hurt too much.

  By the time I made it downstairs, there was already a cereal bowl on the counter filled almost to the brim with dry cereal. A quart of milk stood next to it waiting to be used.

  “That’s a lot of cereal, Mom. That stuff is packed with sugar. Not exactly healthy.” It wasn’t that I was complaining about having to eat it, but I really would have preferred a healthier option.

  Mom, seated at the breakfast nook, looked up from her phone. “Eat it, please.” I took in a deep breath and unscrewed the cap of the milk, pouring it over the cereal until the colorful circles threatened to spill over the side of the bowl. The first mouthful felt weird, and I was pretty sure I had to chew a million times to get it down. “You’re going to need to tell Jennifer, Abby.” On my third mouthful, the bowl of cereal would likely last forever.

  “Tell Jennifer what?” I mumbled between chews.

  When my mom didn’t reply, I looked up to see her cocking her head to the side, looking at me like I had to be kidding. “Seriously?”

  “Why?” I didn’t see the benefit in worrying another member of my family with
my problems. “Jen’s got enough to think about with the wedding and all that stuff. She doesn’t need my problems too.” My stomach felt like it was going to burst after the fifth mouthful and I put my spoon down, the bowl still half full.

  “We need to work together to help you as a family. Jen is your sister and we have to tell her.” I briefly wondered whether she just wanted another set of eyes watching me. I knew Jennifer would be hurt if we hid this from her, but like the initial conversation with my mom, I just could not see myself forming the words to tell my sister this. I could see myself destroying the image that she had of me as her great little sister.

  “Can you tell her?” I said softly.

  “Sure,” Mom eventually said after a long pause when she likely considered whether that was a good idea or not. “I’m here to support you, and if that’s what you need, then I will do that.” I was simultaneously relieved and terrified. The next time we saw each other, my sister would know that I had been lying to her. She might even feel partially responsible because of all the bridesmaid dress stuff. Mom wasn’t finished, though. “You’re going to need to tell Kya.”

  I had abandoned my cereal now, hoping that my half-bowl effort would be enough. “I’m pretty sure Ryan will tell her. It’s not really that important for her to know anyway, is it?”

  “You need to have a support network at school too. Ryan can’t shoulder all the support for you.” This was starting to make me feel like quite a burden. All these people suddenly had to be on alert just in case Abigail didn’t eat? I sighed deeply. “Abby, we love you, and we just want to help you. Please let us help you.” The desperation in my mom’s voice was painful. I did want to be helped. I wanted to get better, but all of this just seemed extreme. As if to punctuate the fact that I was no longer living the life I had been, my mom peered into my cereal bowl. “Eat, please.” The last time she had done that, my feet hadn’t even reached the floor when I sat on these stools.

  “Mom, I’ve had like three-quarters of the bowl. I’m full. I’m not used to eating so much in the morning.” I knew that I sounded like a petulant child, but honestly, I felt like I was being treated like one, so maybe my behavior was only matching her treatment. I checked the time. “And I need to get to school.” I started to get up.

  “You can’t leave yet. I asked Ryan to come over. He’ll walk to school with you. Just have a few more bites, please.” I laughed out loud. Why the heck was Ryan coming over? To escort me to school in case I ran all the way there?

  “Why is Ryan—” My question was interrupted by the doorbell.

  “Ah, that must be him now.” As soon as she left the room to let him in, I forced two more spoonfuls into my mouth just so that I could say I had done it. Then I got up and emptied the rest of the now-soggy cereal into the dustbin. I didn’t feel bad because I had made a really good attempt, and I felt so full that I might vomit. Although under normal circumstances it would be nice to have someone to walk to school with, especially Ryan, this morning I felt like a cloud was hanging over my head, and I really did not feel like talking much.

  I grabbed my school bag and headed into the living room. Ryan was there with a huge smile on his face, and I couldn't help but smile back. He didn’t deserve my scowl, or my bad mood. He had really done nothing wrong.

  “Hey.” He enveloped me in his arms, holding me close to him for longer than seemed necessary. “I’m your armed guard,” he joked, waving his arms around.

  I did love his silly sense of humor. It often made me laugh in the most difficult of situations. My mom laughed a little too loudly, and I thought she must be nervous. She was living a whole new life this morning too, I guessed. Yesterday morning none of this had been a reality for her, but today suddenly her daughter had a disorder of some kind and she was relying on a teenager to escort her youngest daughter to school. It could not be easy for her.

  “Okay, are we on our way? We’re going to be late for school.” I looked between Ryan and my mom, wondering what else they had in store for me. From the table next to the front door, Mom produced a brown paper bag. I hadn’t seen her preparing it; she must have done it before I came into the kitchen. I briefly wondered who the deceptive one was now, but immediately realized that to be a ridiculous thought.

  “Your lunch!” She smiled unnecessarily broadly as though she could read my mind.

  “There’s a cafeteria at school, Mom. We get lunch there.” I had to try, but then Ryan spoke.

  “I’m going to be your lunch wingman for a while. Make sure you get all your veggies in.” He winked at me.

  This was now beyond ridiculous. Ryan took the brown paper bag from my mom and tucked it into his backpack. He was clearly not even going to give me possession of my own lunch.

  I stood in silence as he and my mom spoke about how his parents were coping with the knowledge that he was going off to college soon and a few other mundane things.

  “Oh, I know exactly how they feel, Ryan,” Mom said. “Both my girls are heading off at the same time. I have no idea what I am going to do with myself.”

  “You’ll have to take up some hobbies, Lorraine,” Ryan joked. “Maybe buy a motorcycle or join a gang.”

  Mom laughed, but I just smiled, still stinging from all these plans that had been made behind my back. When had they even had time to discuss this? Nothing had been said about Ryan guarding my lunch when he was here yesterday, so they must have spoken on the phone last night. I was pretty sure that Mom didn’t have Ryan’s number. She did have his mom’s number, though, so she must have phoned her! Well, that was just great—now Ryan's mom probably knew as well. I was seething by the time they finished their chit-chat.

  “Okay, yeah, we better get going or we’ll be late.” He looked at me. “You ready?”

  I faked the brightest smile I could. “I guess so.”

  Ready or not, here comes the girl with the personal lunch monitor, I thought.

  12

  The waiting room was painted a pastel shade of blue. Wasn’t that the color they used in mental hospitals to calm the crazy people? Or was that pastel green? The room seemed to have been professionally decorated. Either that or Theresa Bowden had impeccable taste and an eye for putting just the right things in just the right places.

  Vases stood with decorative arrangements in each corner of the room. Each arrangement was perfectly coordinated to the rest of the furniture and the color of the walls. The room definitely had a calming feel to it, and I could imagine curling up on the couch I was sitting on now with my mom and just reading a book. I could not remember the last time I had done something relaxing. If I wasn’t at school or studying, I was running or figuring out ways to avoid eating.

  Reading a book on a couch would be nice right now, but instead I was waiting for Theresa Bowden to call my name so that I could have my first ever therapy session.

  Therapy.

  The word sounded alien. Never in my eighteen years on earth had I thought I would be in a therapist’s office, least of all as the patient. If anyone had ever told me that I would be here I might say that it would be to accompany my mom, who might have eventually cracked under the strain of being a single parent.

  Me, though? Never.

  Everyone had always said how I always had myself so ‘together,’ and I had often wondered what a person looked like when they weren’t ‘together.’ What was the opposite of that? Falling apart? What did a person look like when they were falling apart? I guess if I looked in a mirror, that is exactly what it looked like when you were falling apart. Totally normal on the outside and utterly shattered on the inside. It made me sad to think that many other people might be walking around while falling apart, like me. You would never know it just by looking at them. I had looked at myself every day and hadn’t known until the falling apart was complete.

  I thought about the scenes I had seen of therapists’ offices on television and wondered if my session would be anything like that. Would a bespectacled older man with little to no
understanding of human emotions sit and ask me how everything made me feel? Well, clearly not unless his name was Theresa, but still. Although I knew it was unfair to judge an entire profession by things I had only seen on television, I didn’t hold out much hope for any massive breakthroughs.

  In fact, I still hadn’t decided whether I even belonged here or not.

  Mom had been thumbing through a Psychology magazine, and now she placed it back in the rack and wrung her hands. Surely they could have put magazines about a different, more distracting topic in the waiting room. Sports magazines perhaps, or pet journals—anything would be better than reading about disorders when you were about to discuss your disorder, right?

  I guessed that Mom must be nervous too, and she was probably also imagining that she would never find herself in this situation. Lots of firsts for everyone, and none of them were very pleasurable. If I was honest, I was getting pretty sick of all these firsts, along with all the things that I was being told were for my own good. Maybe I knew what was good for myself; did anyone ever think of that?

  “I’m really impressed that this was scheduled so quickly after you saw the doctor,” Mom said.

  It had been pretty quick, I had to agree. Just a few days after I had sat in our family GP’s office and he had frowned at my weight loss and the things that I had admitted doing, Theresa’s receptionist had called with a suggested appointment date which my mom immediately accepted.

  In some ways, I felt like it had been too quick. I wouldn’t have minded some time to just get into the swing of things again, but I knew in my heart that it was the right thing to do.