A Year to Remember

by Shelly Bell

  I couldn’t breathe. He hadn’t been home for more than a couple of hours and already he had a woman in his home. Had everything between us in Israel been a lie?

  I heard his voice. I wanted to hang up, but of course, he’d know it was me from Caller ID.

  “Hello?”

  “I know we agreed not to call each other, but I didn’t want you to hear this from anyone else. I got engaged to Caleb. I didn’t mean to, it just happened.”

  Dead silence greeted me.

  “I, uh, it was a mistake. I can explain.”

  “I’m happy for you. Goodbye, Sara.”

  “No, Adam, wait—”

  He hung up. I closed the phone and fell to the floor of the airport in tears.

  He didn’t care about my engagement. The Adam I loved no longer existed. Maybe he never did. He was Goldman once again.

  I felt arms around my waist help me up and a command for someone to get my bag. Alison and Hannah had stayed to watch everything unfold. They let me cry it out, never questioning me, giving me my privacy as they drove me home to my sad, little existence.

  I never felt more alone in my life.

  CHAPTER 29

  A Year to Remember Blog

  Sara Friedman’s journey to find her soul mate

  July 11, 2012 The Great and Powerful Oz!

  There comes a point in everyone’s life when you stand at a crossroads. Somewhere along my journey this year, I took a wrong turn. Not only did I take this wrong turn, but I did it with my eyes closed and fell off a cliff. Now as I’m freefalling, I’m flailing my arms and trying to grasp anything to stop the descent into the darkness.

  I know. This is supposed to be a funny blog about the ups and downs of dating. I assumed when I found my soul mate, I’d be happy.

  Guess what, readers? I found him! He’d been with me all along. I didn’t need to post a profile online, go to speed dating, or join a dating service. I just had to open my eyes and see what was right in front of me!

  You’re probably thinking, why is she miserable if she found her soul mate? That’s a great question! How about because we want different things out of life? I want to get married and he doesn’t. You may ask if they want different things, then how can they be soul mates? The answer is simple ... I just know! It’s as though my soul recognizes his and he’s admitted it’s the same for him.

  But we’re not together. I’m all alone. Completely alone. Finding myself alone once again, I realized even with my soul mate, I couldn’t be happy.

  I’m broken and need to be fixed.

  I’ve spent so much time criticizing men for their behaviors without once examining my own. The time for self-examination has begun.

  I believed God had chosen my soul mate. Now, I don’t even know if I believe in God anymore. After all, what kind of God would give me my greatest desire only to take it away? Can the man behind the curtain really help me?

  CHAPTER 30

  JULY 11, 2012

  DETROIT, MICHIGAN

  WEIGHT: WHO CARES?

  STATUS: HEARTBROKEN

  I had two days to wallow in my self-pity and misery. I spent them the only way I knew how. I suffered alone in my condo, isolated from the world with just Betty Crocker and Ben and Jerry as my faithful companions.

  I didn’t call my parents to tell them I returned safe and sound. I didn’t check my cell phone messages or my work related messages. I let my phone ring and ring, never bothering to see who called or what they wanted.

  I started watching a Buffy the Vampire Slayer marathon from the moment I came home from the airport. Two days later, I still watched, wishing I lived in a universe where a woman could have two sexy vampires lust after her and save the world on two hours of sleep.

  I hadn’t showered or changed my clothes. I couldn’t sleep more than a few hours at a time, although I only got out of bed to get more food or go to the bathroom.

  If I were a therapist, I would diagnose myself with depression. Oh wait, I was a psychologist! One that had to return to her clients the next day to sit and listen to them complain about their parents not giving them enough allowance and their friend stealing their boyfriend.

  I didn’t want to deal with anyone or anything. I wanted to stay in my dark dungeon and wait for everything to stop hurting.

  I had to go food shopping for more comfort foods like pasta and pizza. I showered, brushed my teeth and made myself appear somewhat presentable in case anyone happened to recognize me.

  The sun hurt my eyes, sensitive to the light after spending two days in the dark. The air smelled like cut grass, pure and clean, and I felt something stir deep within me. I couldn’t identify it.

  Then I saw a sign advertising that today was Cat Adoption day at the pet store. Instead of getting food, I turned into the parking lot of the pet store, racing inside.

  I walked out an hour later with a cat I named Spock. I immediately felt somehow I was meant to adopt this cranky, fat cat. All the other cats up for adoption were cute and cuddly purring in my lap, but Spock hissed and growled. I took it as a sign he had been caged too long and needed his freedom. Besides, I think if I were a cat, I’d look just like him.

  After setting up his litter box and bowls for water and food, I spent an hour researching about house cats. I determined that compared to a dog, caring for a cat seemed relatively easy.

  Apparently, the researchers had never met a cat like Spock. He wouldn’t let me near him, spending his time underneath my bed hissing and running after invisible flying insects.

  I woke the next morning with Spock purring in his sleep next to my head, his long tail whacking my face. When I shifted to pet him, he startled and ran back under the bed. Still, we were making progress.

  I made a cup of coffee before realizing I had forgotten to eat dinner the night before. Instead of bingeing on sugary foods, I spent my time taking care of Spock.

  Today, I returned to real life. I had my first client at three and I had plenty of return phone calls and paperwork waiting for me.

  I had fifteen messages on my answering machine at work. A couple of the calls were from clients telling me they needed to reschedule their appointments.

  Five of the calls were from my mother. First, she asked me to call her back to let her know how my trip went. My mother’s messages became increasingly more frantic as time passed and I hadn’t returned her call. The last message said she had talked to Caleb, who had informed her we had broken up at the airport. She figured out I had holed up in my condo and asked me to text her when I got into the office. She also told me to disregard the messages on my cell.

  The rest of the calls were from the media. The local station had called to say they would be happy to follow-up on my breakup with Caleb, but only if I agreed to an interview. Unfortunately, I couldn’t do that because I’d be in violation of my contract with the Morning show. I needed a lawyer, but there was no way in hell I’d call Adam for his help.

  My best option would be to let the Morning show know about the miscommunication concerning my alleged engagement to Caleb. They had called to check on my progress and to schedule some dates for additional coverage of my search. I dreaded making the call, but I had no choice.

  We set up an interview for the end of the month. I’d talk about my journey so far, including my breakup with Caleb and my travels to Israel.

  At least, Adam would learn Caleb and I were not engaged, if he hadn’t already found out from my brother. I don’t know why it mattered to me that he discovered the truth of the situation, but it did, even though he had already replaced me with the woman who’d answered the phone. I loved him too much to cause him any further suffering, although I questioned whether he had ever loved me at all. I couldn’t think about it without hurting and chose to lock it away in the confines of my heart for now.

  The sessions with my clients helped me forget about my own problems as I concentrated on someone else for a change. Then, Dina walked in my office.

  In the two we
eks since I had last seen her, she must have lost ten pounds, although she tried to hide it with her baggy sweatshirt. Her neck muscles bulged and her skin appeared scaly and dry.

  How had I missed the signs all these months I treated her?

  I asked her for her journal and confirmed my suspicions.

  “Dina, when we decided you’d journal, you agreed to write about your feelings. Can you show me where in this journal I can find it?”

  She took it back from me puzzled and flipped through it. “It’s on every page. I don’t understand what you want.”

  I had to be careful about how I advanced this conversation, not wanting to scare her from talking.

  “I do see it on every page. Do you think you’re fat?”

  She burst into tears. “I’m huge. That’s why he didn’t want me. Christine’s pretty and skinny and I’m just a fat lump.”

  “Have you always felt this way?” I had little training in eating disorders, but I did know what it felt like to be fat.

  “Since I was in middle school. That’s when I got huge. I tried to stop eating, but I got too dizzy, so I had to start eating again.”

  “Do you do anything now to lose weight?”

  She squirmed in her chair and started to bite her nails. I noticed for the first time she had bitten them down to the quick and her cuticles were red. Dina didn’t want to answer the question. She shook her head.

  “It says here you exercise a total of four hours a day. When do you exercise?”

  She appeared proud of herself as she responded. “I get up at four in the morning and I run on my mom’s treadmill until six. Then after school, I run again until my parents get home from work. They’re proud of the fact I take such good care of my health.”

  “Do they know you run four hours a day?”

  “No. They don’t know about my morning run, and I think they assume I’ve only done like a half hour when they get home. It doesn’t matter because they know it’s important to be thin.”

  “Do you ever throw up?”

  “Sometimes. Only if I can’t exercise enough to burn off all my calories.”

  I had no doubt in my mind. Dina had bulimia. I needed to speak with her mother.

  “Dina, with your permission, I’d like to talk about your exercise with your mom. Would that be okay?”

  She nodded, so I opened the door to my waiting room to invite her mother into the session.

  “Dina and I wanted to let you know she believes she’s fat. In order to help her lose weight, she’s been waking up at four in the morning to run on the treadmill. She runs for two hours. Then after school she runs another two hours. I’m concerned she might be hurting herself.”

  I didn’t want her to say too much and put Dina in a defensive position.

  Her mother understood immediately. She stared at her daughter, brows furrowed in concern.

  “Dina restricts her calories, but it’s not enough for her. She exercises to burn off the calories and if she can’t, she throws up.”

  Her mother made a choking sound.

  “I’d like Dina to receive treatment at an in-patient facility. It’s close by and there will be a lot of girls with similar body concerns. Would that be all right with both of you?”

  They both nodded in agreement, tears shimmering in both their eyes.

  “In the meantime, I want Dina to limit her exercise and try not to throw up. Could you try, Dina?”

  Eyes wide, she nodded.

  “Dina, if you don’t mind, could you wait in the other room while I give your mom the referral information?” I needed to speak with her mother privately.

  She left the room and her mother began to softly cry.

  “I didn’t know. What kind of a mother doesn’t know?”

  “She didn’t want you to know. She’s kept it hidden from everyone, including me. The important thing is to get her help immediately. I’ll call the treatment center to see if I can get Dina in right away. Until then, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try and change Dina’s behavior. I know it’s hard, but I don’t want to scare her. Can you do that?”

  “Yes. Whatever we need to get my baby better.”

  Dina and her mother left my office as my next client arrived. At eight o’clock, I sat at my desk to process the day’s events.

  I couldn’t help but beat myself up for missing all the signs of Dina’s bulimia. What kind of psychologist was I? If anyone understood what it was like to feel fat, it was me.

  Dina had relied on her best friend Christine, who in turn betrayed her trust. Coupled with what she deemed as rejection by Robby, the boy she liked, she felt a loss of control. She possessed an inability to express her emotions as she obsessed over the event I presumed pushed her over the edge. Furthermore, she withdrew from social situations and didn’t appear to have any close friends. She blamed her body for it all, deciding being thin would bring her happiness.

  After I left a message for my contact at the treatment facility, my mom walked into my office and sat on the couch. She waited for my explanation. I didn’t know where to start.

  I told her when I returned from Israel, I had already decided to end my relationship with Caleb. He set the scene with the media and trapped me into accepting his marriage proposal.

  I told her about falling in love with a man in Israel who professed to love me, too, except he never wanted to get married. I didn’t tell her it was Adam. It would be too awkward when he joined one of our family functions. She’d try to play matchmaker, and I couldn’t allow him to hurt me again.

  Then I filled her in on Dina, without mentioning her by name. My mother showed great interest in my self-contempt over missing the signs of Dina’s eating disorder. I wanted to know why.

  “Sara, sometimes it’s difficult to see in our client what we ignore in ourselves. You both have body issues. Weight is just a symptom of a disease.”

  The little girl in me wanted to protest and slam the door to show my mom she was wrong. The woman in me felt shame and guilt because someone else had uncovered the secrets I assumed I kept well hidden. The psychologist in me agreed with my mom.

  “Have you ever tried an OA meeting?”

  “You mean Overeaters Anonymous? Aren’t the people there like four hundred pounds and anorexics and bulimics?” Familiar with the Twelve Step organization, I never met anyone who attended meetings. I couldn’t picture myself in a room filled with people talking about God.

  “There are people of all shapes and sizes in OA. Yes, some of them may be obese or extremely thin, but you’ll find lots of men and women at a normal weight who still have an addiction to food.”

  Did I have an addiction to food? I had kept my weight within ten or so pounds for the last couple of years, but in order to do it, I had to restrict my diet to cancel out the binges. Surely that placed me in the same position as most women in this country.

  “I’m not sure I’d call myself an addict,” I protested. My mom rose from the couch and gave me a hug.

  “Just go to one meeting. See what it’s like. If you don’t want to go back, you don’t have to.”

  I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and my body craved the comfort of a batch of chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven. How could I give up food, the one thing that makes me happy? Especially now that I had lost Adam?

  Still, I had promised Adam to make changes in my life. Even though we’d never end up together, I owed it to myself to honor my promise.

  “I’ll go. I’ll find a meeting from their website and go tomorrow.” I hugged my mom back and then remembered I had a cat waiting for me at home.

  “Sara, I’m very proud of you. Never forget that,” my mom said as she kissed my cheek.

  “Thanks, Mom.” I wiped a tear from my cheek. At least one person was proud of me. Now I just had to learn how to be proud of myself.

  CHAPTER 31

  JULY 13, 2012

  DETROIT, MICHIGAN

  WEIGHT: ?

  STATUS: SINGLE

>   At ten the next morning, I sat inside of my car in front of the church, gathering the courage to attend my first Overeaters Anonymous meeting. I didn’t want to be the first one in the meeting, but I also didn’t want to walk in late. I pretended to talk on my cell phone as I waited and watched the people entering the church. I couldn’t identify if they were churchgoers or there for the meeting. I decided that was a good sign and started to make my way to the church.

  How ironic that I had to go to church for an OA meeting.

  I walked into the church and made my way up the stairs, following a sign that directed me to the meeting. My palms were sweaty and I felt the beginnings of an anxiety attack. I paused in front of the door, took a deep breath, and walked into a room filled with strangers.

  Fifteen men and women sat in a circle. Some sat on chairs and some sat on couches, all with a little blue book on their laps. I kept my eyes on the floor and found an empty chair. When I finally lifted my gaze to the people in the room, one pair of familiar eyes welcomed me.

  Alison, my friend from the Israel trip, smiled and gave me a small wave of her hand in greeting.

  She sat with a binder in front of her and I figured out she was running the meeting.

  “Hi, I’m Alison and I’m a recovering anorexic, bulimic, and compulsive overeater.”

  Everyone responded by saying “Hi, Alison, welcome.” They recited something called the serenity prayer and started reading from a story in the Big Book. I became confused when the story was about an alcoholic. I thought we were supposed to be talking about food, not alcohol.

  As we read the story, I discovered the person in the story and I shared several characteristics. We both isolated ourselves from the world around us, while using a substance to make us feel better.

  Only it didn’t. We ended up feeling worse than we had before.

  But we didn’t want to stop.