A Room of Their Own

by Rakefet Yarden

  “But that’ll mean that our therapy has failed,” she said quietly.

  “That doesn’t interest me in the slightest. The only thing I care about is your health. And anyway, that’s not true. Our therapy is what enables the hospitalization. You’re not available for anything when you’re this underweight. We can’t process trauma or work on your relationships. Anorexia may be your defense from all of that, but it’s also killing you at the same time. That’s precisely the aim of therapy at this stage, to prepare you for hospitalization. No one will hospitalize you if you’re not willing and fully cooperative.”

  I saw her shrinking further and further into herself, flickering, vanishing, and reappearing like the flame of a candle. After fainting numerous times, she finally agreed to be hospitalized. It’s difficult to be in the unit. A lot of patients there return again and again, dealing with a disorder that isn’t conquered. It reappears at various stages of life, when the need for control arises, and when the already fragile support system doesn’t manage to provide the necessary warmth.

  A burst of color. Someone had planted bulbs in a garden patch near the clinic last year. The scent of grass filled the air and bright poppies blossomed in purple and red. It smelled like it does just before the onset of spring. A wintry gust of air barged in. I was worried. I realized that lately this was the most prevalent feeling within me.

  A door slammed from afar. I was making way for myself among my thoughts, getting through another day, and another one. The sun was setting outside. Another day was over and I hadn’t managed to get anything done. I wanted to recoil inwards and forget about all my plans. I broke an egg over a bowl; the yellow liquid poured out, and a rebellious sliver of the shell went in alongside it. I cut up vegetables for dinner, without giving it any thought. Tomato, cucumber, lettuce . . .

  Dani

  The first day was behind me. We tried to put together a menu for me during the intake with the dietician. An impossible mission. Well, nearly impossible, as it turned out. None of my frightened looks worked on this dietician lady, who continuously repeated herself and pushed me until we managed to come up with a daily menu that almost resembled a normal person’s.

  And there I was, again, in the brightly lit hallways, surrounded by colorful girls, some looking like matchsticks, but most of them seeming as though they’re just spending their day either here or at the park. What difference does it make? To the untrained eye, there’s no way to distinguish between them and the staff.

  I’ll get out of here way before I reach their state, I thought to myself. Way before they manage to plump me up that much. I’ll just up and leave. I won’t let them do that to me.

  A week passed, and I felt that I was in a higher position within this spiral called life. I only realized after a few days that this time I’d arrived at my hospitalization from a different place. That I was making great efforts not to drag myself to dark places. That I was searching for ways to pass the time here efficiently, and not with sickness and self-harming.

  I suddenly realized that I had Miko waiting for me at home, and that I had Rotem, whom I’d promised that I’d make an effort. I felt that we’d started something that needed to be continued. But it was still difficult with the deceiving silence of this place − after all, this is where all of the thoughts resurface and make a commotion.

  I became friends with Sarit here. She’d actually come here in order to lose weight. She, too, had been at the other end, with self-starvation and vomiting, but then her ravenous hunger episodes began, and she became overweight and realized that she needed to get some serious help, so she came here. I’m reassured by the connection with someone who isn’t as thin as me. There’s also Re’ut, who is extremely underweight, and that’s after being here for a long time. She’s friendly and kind, and she immediately came up to talk to me when I arrived, but I stayed silent and avoided her, of course. She didn’t give up, and I’ve managed to open up to her a little bit.

  I see all the girls here and I think to myself that yes, I do want to get closer to them, I do want to talk and open up, but I don’t know how. I want the strict and closed-off Dani to leave me alone for a while, but I don’t know how to force her to make room for a softer, more approachable Dani.

  Rotem

  “And he rolled the stone from the well’s mouth, and watered the flock.” Biblical passages still occasionally resurface in my mind, despite the fact that it’s been years since I’d even touched a Bible.

  Dani didn’t gain enough weight this week to be allowed home for the weekend. She’d looked forward to it so badly. She’s so skilled at overcoming her emotions. For a while now I’ve felt that she’s holding it all inside. And then she came out of the session with the ward staff with the verdict of no weekend at home, and no cutting corners, “Because you didn’t gain a full pound, there’s nothing we can do,” − and that was after she’d tried so hard.

  “I gained half a pound and that’s not enough for them!”

  “Dani, sweetheart, can you hear me?” I said. She was sobbing on the other end of the line. “I’ll come by. Do you hear me? I’ll bring Miko. He’ll surely help you feel better.”

  Miko has been staying with me because her parents said that they can’t keep a dog the size of a horse in their home. I hoped that along with Miko, we’d manage to give her the strength to get through another week. If she sees that I believe in her, then maybe she will, too.

  They’re not allowed to do anything on their own there. Even their bathroom time is supervised, so they don’t try to vomit. The head nurse asks them to throw the toilet paper in the trash can. A total loss of privacy in order to battle the cruel anorexia monster and pull them back to our side, the side of the living. At mealtime they’re required to eat everything that’s on their menus, and they are then checked to make sure there’s no food hidden in their pockets. They even have to lick the yogurt lid clean; nothing can be left.

  I thought about how hard it must be for Dani to give up her independence, to experience such an invasion of her privacy, and mostly to know that there’s absolutely no other choice. “I trust you that this really is the right thing to do, Rotem,” she kept telling me.

  It’s an honor for me to be her bridge back to life. I can breathe more easily now, knowing that she’s in the ward, protected, supervised, and receiving the appropriate care. Another round in the battle against this cruel disease. This time there’s an entire staff of professionals fighting alongside her, and I’m just someone joining them.

  I brought Miko along as backup. When she spotted him, her smile grew even bigger, filling her entire face. I wasn’t offended.

  “My love! You didn’t understand where I’d disappeared to, huh? Have Rotem and Snoopy been taking good care of you?”

  I left the hospital with a huge lump in my chest, put there by all of Dani’s replicas flickering before my eyes. So many intelligent girls, eager to appease, with lives that froze on top of the scales. Young women who spend their days struggling to gain weight, meal after meal, and then enduring prolonged sitting so as not to miss a single calorie getting absorbed. A sour feeling built up within me, which I eventually interpreted as my feeling pathetic.

  What were you thinking, spending months trying to battle it with her alone, I thought to myself. Look at how dedicated the staff here is to fighting this battle. Did you really think that you’re smarter than everyone else? Look at how difficult it is for you to lose a few pounds or to stop smoking, no matter how much you detest the smell of cigarettes sticking to everything. Stop it, I answered myself. Lay off me. I thought she just wasn’t interested, and after all, she’s not a minor and she’s not psychotic.

  The army of girls in the bodies of starved women, who simply yearn for validation and love, kept flickering in my mind, flocking to my gates. And at once, I knew exactly what I wanted to do. Emily. I want to go to her.

  I found her group’s webs
ite. A new workshop was beginning the following day and someone had dropped out, so there was an open spot. The forms asked for a declaration of mental stability or a permit from a therapist. I decided that I was sufficiently stable. I signed the forms, which included my committing to act in accordance with the rules for the entire duration of the workshop − avoid killing any and all living beings, avoid stealing, avoid any sexual activities, avoid lying, avoid any and all intoxicating substances, avoid decorations and sensual pleasures, and avoid the use of fancy beds.

  I looked for the payment section and discovered that the course, including the meals and sleeping arrangements, is a gift from those who had taken it before us. Only those who complete the course and want to enable others to experience it pay a fee. Everyone works for free. I wondered what Omer would think of their financial model, if that aspect would calm him down. He was incredibly busy at the hospital, since all the interns had to help with the COVID-19 crisis, and he didn’t have a minute to himself, so I decided not to even try to reach him.

  On the spur of a moment, I decided to take the golden trolley down from above the closet, open it up and put it on the bed. I threw in a few shirts and my jogging pants, then remembered there’d be no jogging there and took them back out. I was better off taking comfy, loose pants. Underwear, bras, and socks. Almost forgot my contact lenses liquid − I haven’t yet fulfilled my dream to get a new prescription, and meanwhile my distance vision got worse, too, which lowered the motivation altogether.

  Instead of calling Omer, I dialled Yulia’s number. “I’m going to Emily. There’s a Vipassana workshop starting there tomorrow.”

  “Bring them right over,” Yulia said.

  “Are you sure? There are three of them: Yotam, Snoopy, and Miko.”

  “They’ll all be at home either way. Come on! The main thing is that you go already. You’ve been tossing this idea around for months now,” she cut to the point in her graceful manner. “And if I perish, I perish.” Yulia, too, had gone to a religious school . . .

  The Dietetic Meeting

  Tuesday arrived, and with it the dietetic meeting, as they call it here. I was already familiar with all of the definitions and terminology from my previous hospitalizations. The same forums existed at the other wards I’d been in as well, although sometimes with different definitions. In any case, I found it easy to get used to it and to know what was expected of me.

  This week was my third dietetic meeting, and I’d decided to tell the staff about my desire to be released. Since I’d already gained a little bit and was no longer at a life-threatening weight, they didn’t have the option of threatening me in any aggressive manner anymore. It’s not that I was expecting total support for my subversive plan, but I’d hoped for at least some sort of agreement.

  I walked into the meeting room near the nurses’ station in the hallway. There were three dieticians, two nurses, a psychologist, a social worker, two doctors, and the head of the unit, Dr. Tzur.

  “Hello, Dani. How are you? How has your week been?” the chief dietician started, and I was immediately filled with despair. There was no way I’d manage to talk in front of all those people.

  “Fine,” I answered, my eyes fixed on my knees.

  “There’s been a slight weight gain. Not major, but sufficient. We’ve received reports from the dining room. Would you like to say something? Or ask something before we continue?” she said once she’d realized she wasn’t going to get much out of me.

  “I want to be released,” I suddenly heard myself saying. I couldn’t believe that I managed to say anything in that forum.

  The room went silent.

  “Dani, this is your second time here with us, and you’d been to other institutions before that. Do you think that it’s appropriate to leave before completing your treatment?” the chief dietician asked.

  “I’ve made my decision. This time it’s different. It’ll be different. I have a plan and I have things waiting for me out there and I don’t want to stay here anymore.” I suddenly felt strong. I was so proud of myself for managing to speak and to express myself. I felt a surge of strength bursting from within me.

  “What is it that you find difficult?” the psychologist asked.

  “I don’t know. Everything. The disconnection. The lack of purpose. The intense and endless dealing with weight, calories, the meaning of life. I don’t want to sit here and think about life. I want to live it.”

  Another long silence followed, and then Dr. Tzur’s deep voice cut through the air.

  “Let me tell you what I think about it. I think it’s a very bad idea. It’s a bad idea and you’re deceiving yourself, your loved ones, and us. You’re telling us that it’ll be different but in reality, it’ll be exactly the same. You’ll go back out and lose weight again and you’ll discover that nothing’s changed. So then you’ll either make peace with your situation and with your disease’s decree and continue living underweight in acceptance, or you’ll lose weight more and more until you can’t take it anymore and you’ll return here in an even worse state. The way I see it, those are the only two options. So if that’s what you want − no problem. No one can force you to stay here, but you need to know that you’re not fooling me. I’m not buying it.”

  Tears welled up in my eyes. I felt like a knife had slowly penetrated my stomach and now I was stuck with it deep inside me and didn’t know what to do. I felt that I was under an unexpected attack, and then came a sense of hurt, or humiliation, which was slowly swapped by intense fear. Fear that maybe he was right, that I was actually just deceiving myself and the world.

  My eyes remained lowered. The room was silent. The dietician then said a few more things, but I was no longer listening. I got up and left the room, and while walking down the hallway, my fear turned to anger. I decided that no one will ever make me recoil into my shell again. That I’d show Dr. Tzur and the whole world that I can do it, that there is another way, and that their strict method might not be suitable for everyone.

  I went back to my room. Sarit was sitting on the bed and crying. They hadn’t agreed to drop things from her menu, and she was scared she’d gain weight.

  “They don’t understand that I can’t, I absolutely can’t gain weight. I don’t need to. I came here in order to lose weight,” she said with tears streaming down her face.

  “What’ll happen if you gain just a little bit?” I heard myself saying. I’d managed to get myself together enough to talk.

  She looked at me, surprised. “I don’t know. I’d just feel awful.”

  “Okay. And then what?” Well done, me!

  “I’d gain more and more uncontrollably, and what did I even come here for?”

  “For dealing with your eating habits. For treating your eating disorder. For understanding that five pounds more or five pounds less isn’t really the issue.”

  She was bewildered and stayed quiet. I didn’t know if she was shocked by what I’d said or by the abnormal flow of words coming out of my mouth. But at least she calmed down and stopped crying. It seemed to have made her take a step back and think for a bit.

  “You’re right,” she suddenly blurted out.

  I didn’t say a word, hoping that she’d continue.

  “Worst case, if I do gain then I’ll probably lose it later. And anyway, that’s not the main issue. Maybe it’s actually these episodes of hysteria that I need to work on. I hate myself when I’m this way.”

  “Exactly,” I ruled. I didn’t know if I was feeling proud and satisfied because of Sarit’s fast realization, or because I’d managed to speak, thereby really being there for someone and helping them.

  A Time for Freedom

  Every morning at 7:30 sharp, a nurse entered the room, said good morning to the two of us and asked, “Bowel movement? Menstruation?” The first time she asked me, I was lost for words. I mean, it’s obviously nobody’s business, and ho
w dare anyone ask that question out loud, in public? Also, the answer was obviously “No.” After all, I’d arrived here extremely underweight, and everyone knows that extremely underweight girls don’t get periods.

  In any case, this morning I knew that it would be the last time I’d ever have to answer those two embarrassing questions, which had already become a matter of routine during my three weeks here. I knew that today I would dare to leave.

  I’d already arranged for Tal to pick me up at 12:00. I hoped that by then I’d manage to say goodbye to the two nice girls who’d become my close friends here, and that I’d speak to the doctor and get prescriptions and recommendations from him as well as pack the few things I’d brought here and the stuff I’d accumulated. And also get a few antidepressant pills from the nurses, just to have for the next few days, until I got my bearings.

  I knew that this morning would be filled with attempts to persuade me to stay and not stop the treatment. Attempts at explaining that I’m making a mistake, that I’m giving in to the disease, that it’s the voice of the sickness controlling me . . . and other such claims. But something inside me knew very well that this was the right thing to do and the right time to do it. That this time I wasn’t about to reach my expected weight and wait around for my release date, and then, after months on end of being closed off in the ward, try to rebuild my life from the few crumbs of hope I’d managed to gather. This time, I was determined to resume my life and grow from within it. I strongly felt that something inside me was ready. A couple of days earlier, I’d called Mikki, the dietician that Rotem had found for me, and made an appointment with her for the day after my release. Even though I didn’t yet know her, I knew that this time I’d succeed. I knew that this time it would work.

  Northbound

  I started my journey, got onto the northbound highway and traveled up the familiar route. I turned towards Yokne’am at the Ein Tut intersection and kept going. There was hardly any traffic and the road was clear. I stopped at the Mahanayim intersection on a whim and went into a grill restaurant, having decided to eat some dead animals just before entering the once-a-day rice and lentils regime, and I ordered a burger and fries with all the dressings. After that, I felt that I was able to continue.