The Disappearing Girl

by Heather Topham Wood

  “Cut it out.”

  I removed a box of cereal from his cabinet. I shoveled fistful after fistful of the sugary flakes into my mouth. Rummaging through his other cabinets, I found a half-empty box of doughnuts. I devoured them in quick bites, powder caking over my lips.

  “This is fucking crazy, Kayla.” Cameron was planted in the center of the kitchen. I saw the suffering on his face after I polished off a third donut. He appeared unsure if he should stop me since I was actually eating or if he should protest my binging in his presence.

  “What, Cameron?” I taunted. “You don’t like to see the fat girl inside of me eat? Or you don’t like the realization that this disgusts you and deep down you’re actually a hypocrite?”

  “That’s not it and you know me better than that.” I could hear a quiet rage in his voice. “You need help and you refuse to do anything about it. You’re better than this, Kayla. Your dad would hate to know his death was doing this to you.”

  I stopped guzzling down a can of soda at his words. “Don’t you dare bring my father into this.” I darted away from him, heading toward the bathroom. Three feet from the door, Cameron’s strong arms encircled me from behind. “What are you doing?” I cried.

  “You’re not going into the bathroom and throwing that food up,” he said fiercely to my back.

  I tried to squirm out of his hold, but he only tightened his grip. “You’re the one with the problem,” I said. “Does it make you feel like a big strong man to be able to hold down your one-hundred-and-five-pound girlfriend?”

  “I know you probably hate me right now, but I can’t watch you hurt yourself anymore. We’re going to get you help,” he said, clearly agonized.

  “Cameron, let me go!” I screamed.

  My thoughts were irrational. I couldn’t think of anything else except getting the food out of me. The more seconds that passed, the more time the food would have to digest and be stuck inside me forever.

  I swung around and pelted his chests with my fists. “Why are you doing this to me? Can’t you see what kind of pain I’m in? Just let me go to the bathroom. Please!”

  “Kayla, please, we can get through this together. Why can’t you see that you’re so fucking beautiful? It wouldn’t matter to me if you were three hundred pounds …” he choked out. His eyes flooded, and I turned my face away in horror. I bucked wildly against him and his hold slipped enough to permit me to free myself from his arms and sprint into the bathroom.

  Slamming the door shut and locking it, I desired nothing more than to collapse onto the floor and disappear into oblivion. Instead, I shoved my finger down my throat and vomited. By the time I was finished, my cheeks were soaked with tears. With a sob, I clutched at the edge of the porcelain sink.

  How could I leave the sanctity of the bathroom? Once my body had been purged of every last morsel of food, lucidity returned. I’d just screamed at and assaulted the kindest, most honest person in my life. What kind of sane person could deal with my baggage? It was over. I suspected I’d finally pushed Cameron to the point where he’d no longer want anything to do with me.

  Cameron’s eyes were red-rimmed when I slunk out of the bathroom ten minutes later. My plan was to leave; to grab my things and disappear wordlessly, an attempt to give him an easy out.

  “I’ll just leave …” Docile Kayla was back. My enraged other half fled the scene of the crime, leaving behind tears and recriminations in her wake.

  After a couple of hesitant steps, I felt Cameron’s hands wrap around my elbows. “We need to talk.”

  “This is too much for you. I don’t need you to say the words—I get it. I’m messed up, and you don’t want a head case for a girlfriend.”

  “That’s not what I was going to say.” He shook his head. “I was going to tell you we’ll find someone for you to talk to. Would you just meet with a doctor? See what they have to say?”

  His tone was full of hope. I don’t know what I’d done to deserve him. He had the perfect opportunity to escape from my poisonous personality and he was refusing to leave.

  “I’m not sure if I can,” I told him. “I have a hard time picturing going to therapy and confessing all my issues to some stranger.” I stared at the floor. Angus had come up next to me and rubbed against my leg. It felt like he could sense my pain and wanted to extinguish it.

  “Kayla, I’m not going to sit by and do nothing. I know you refuse to believe it, but you’ve ruined me for any other girl. You’ll always be the only girl I want. I’ve made so many plans for us in my head. The semester is ending and I don’t want you to go back home to Red Bank. I was going to ask if you wanted to stay here for the summer until you move back to campus.” He stopped his rambling speech and pressed his fingers under my chin, lifting my head to face him directly. “Kayla, I love you.”

  His words felt like a physical blow. I staggered backwards and set my palm over my heart. “Cameron, no …”

  “I do, Kayla, I love you. I’ve been terrified to say it to you. I had a feeling it would freak you out, but I don’t care. You need to hear that I love you so much it kills me inside to realize how much pain you’re in.” His eyes were full of emotion, forcing me to withstand the intensity of his feelings.

  How could he love me? We’d only been together three months, three months of being plagued by my own self-hatred. Moments ago, I had gone on a rampage and attacked him, unprovoked. What had he seen inside me that made him believe he loved me?

  How could I love someone? I hated myself so much at times I wished I never existed. I didn’t feel like I deserved love, so how would I be able to return the sentiment?

  “Cameron, I can’t …” I gasped out. I couldn’t bear it—I had to run away as swiftly as possible. Run fat girl, run as fast as you can, an inner voice taunted.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my purse on the floor. I made a grab for it.

  “I love you Kayla and I’m not going to stop fighting for you,” he said.

  Who was this man before me? Cameron was the most easygoing person I’d ever met. This was Cameron showing me how deep his feelings ran, and he was primed to annihilate the walls I’d put in place.

  “Stop it,” I hissed. “You don’t want me. I’m radioactive—I poison everything around me.”

  Cameron opened his mouth to protest, but I was gone before he could utter a word. His words would have fallen on deaf ears. A cacophony of voices inside my head was rising up together, blocking out everything else. Screaming, Fat, fat, fat! over and over again.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I was more alone than ever. Instantly, I had pushed away everyone I cared about. Lila was cold and distant; she was at a loss about how to deal with a sister no longer fitting her ideal. My roommates walked on eggshells around me, afraid to say the wrong thing and send me over the edge. And Cameron …

  I couldn’t process the fallout with Cameron. It had been two sleepless nights since I last saw him. I had sent him a text, asking for my space and an empty promise I’d call him after I figured some things out. He had called me, but I let my voicemail pick up. He begged me to call him, to not run away from him, but I had nothing to say that would fix things.

  The dorm was quiet as I sat alone in my room. Since it was a Saturday, my floor mates had gone out for the night. I hadn’t told them about my problems with Cameron, so they assumed I was spending the night with him. I wanted so badly to talk to them at that moment, to explain my feelings without fear they’d pass judgment.

  Logging onto my computer, I opened my browser and typed in: anorexia. My eyes skimmed over the medical information. There were endless websites dedicated to the dangers and complications associated with anorexia and bulimia. My mind blocked out words like “get help” and “accept your body.” After scrolling through the search results, I found a site called Pro-Ana.

  As I read through the forum posts, something clicked inside me. The girls on the site sounded just like me. They also only wanted to be thin and beautiful. They�
��d gone through similar setbacks and struggled with people saying the way they ate was “sick” and “wrong.” There was even a list of tips on how to stop eating and if you were going to purge after meals, what were the best foods to eat.

  I typed a quick message using the screen name DisappearingGirl21. I could really use some advice. I’ve lost 40 pounds since January and everyone was saying how fab I looked once I started dropping the pounds. Now, they’re accusing me of having an eating disorder and want me to start gaining weight. Right now I try to eat around 500 calories and on binge days, I’ll purge out my big meal. I don’t want to lose everyone in my life, there’s also a guy I really care about, but I can’t just pig out again and get fat. What should I do?

  Five minutes later I received a reply back from Anonymous413. Your friends are just jealous and you should ignore what they say. Surround yourself with people who aren’t haters and who won’t try to put doubts in your head. Look at old pictures of yourself to recall how awful you used to look and as a reminder of how far you’ve come.

  My eyes cut to the family photo on my desk. I was certainly rounder in the photo, but I didn’t experience disgust looking at myself forty pounds heavier. I coveted the smile of old Kayla. It lit up her entire face, crinkling the edges of her eyes.

  ClaudiaNoShame piped in with a reply to my forum post. Your best bet is to hide your ED from them. There’s a ton of excuses you can give them over why you’re not eating. Like I tell people I have food allergies or I’m on meds that mess with my appetite. Or a lot of times, I carry around a piece of food, like a cookie or a bagel, and throw away little pieces when they’re not looking.

  I stayed online until another reply appeared from another user called ThinNatalie17. When you binge you have to be sneaky about it too. The best place to do it is in the shower. The noise of the water will drown out the sound and it’ll also make clean up a cinch. If you can’t do it in the shower, you can always crank up your iPod or use a bathroom with super loud hand dryers.

  Hours later, after exchanging back and forth messages with the girls on Pro-Ana, I felt lighter, less anxious. Maybe I wasn’t as messed up in the head as I thought. The girls insisted there was nothing wrong with wanting to be skinny. We lived in a society where thin meant beautiful.

  The advice that hit home the most was I needed to stop talking about dieting and losing weight. These topics would be red flags to the people around me. I had to be a play actor, imitating a girl who ate like a normal person, hiding her dirty shame behind closed doors.

  “Hi, I’d like to make an appointment to see one of the counselors.”

  I swallowed hard as I waited on the line for the secretary to return with open appointment times. The college offered psychiatric services for free to students. I could call and set up an evaluation session and from there the counselor would recommend services provided through the campus.

  “How does Wednesday at nine sound?” The secretary chirped in my ear. I didn’t have classes at the time and agreed readily. She told me to arrive ten minutes early to fill out some paperwork. I would have to decide on the spot about how to answer intrusive questions about my mental state.

  After disconnecting with the health center, I debated whether to call Cameron. If I was perfectly honest with myself, I’d made the appointment solely because of him. The fact was being separated from him was killing me a little bit more each day. Each time I closed my eyes, I would see the hurt on his face as I tore out of his apartment. I would replay his words again and again. “Kayla, I love you.”

  I tried to reach inside myself and find the ability to tell him I felt the same way. But each time, I found the intense feelings I had for him locked away. It was as if I had an internal security system in place not allowing me to get too close to him. If I showed my vulnerability and permitted myself to love him, I’d never recover from the damage if he ended up hurting me.

  After I’d left his apartment, I convinced myself it would be best to walk away. Nothing good could come of our relationship. I was unraveling, and I couldn’t expect him to put me back together.

  The problem lay with the ache I felt being apart from him. Being with him for such a short time had been a tease, and I wanted so much more. I wanted a thousand nights locked in his arms, his deep voice whispering secrets into my ear, lulling me into a dreamless sleep. With him gone, I couldn’t get lost in his presence, and I found myself returning often to the day I found my father’s corpse; his body already decomposing under the sweltering summer sun.

  I resolved to call Cameron after I went through my first counseling session. His insistence I needed therapy hadn’t resounded in me, but I could continue my playacting for his benefit. He was worth it—he was worth everything.

  Time slowed down as I waited for my appointment. I hoped talking to a counselor would be enough for Cameron. If he saw how much I was willing to make an effort, maybe it would appease him for the time being. He couldn’t expect me to fix everything overnight. With the encouragement of my Pro-Ana friends, I was finding myself closing in on the elusive one hundred pounds I’d decided was my new weight loss goal. It was funny how once I surpassed my previous goal weights, I had never felt satisfied. I would focus on more stubborn fat on my body I couldn’t seem to get rid of.

  On the night before my counseling appointment, Brittany called me from her cell phone around midnight. I could barely make out what she was saying because of the loud music blaring in the background. Brittany and the twins had headed out hours earlier to bar hop, since they didn’t have classes the next day and I had begged off, figuring I’d go to bed early to make sure I got enough sleep before my therapy evaluation.

  “Hello,” I mumbled. I answered the phone in a half-dream state. I’d been in the midst of a nightmare where I was trapped on the ground of our backyard. I couldn’t move or scream, my body glued to the freshly cut lawn.

  “Kayla!” Brittany called out over the noise. Without preamble, she demanded, “Why didn’t you tell me you broke up with Cam?”

  “Huh?”

  “We’re at Hunter’s,” Brittany said, naming a bar in town, “and Cam is here, completely wasted. I went over to say hi and I could tell right away something was wrong. He barely mumbled a hello. When I asked him what was going on, he said you ended things with him last week. Kayla, I felt like a moron for not knowing my best friend broke up with her boyfriend!”

  I had to strain to hear her over the noise of the bar. “Is he okay?”

  “No, he’s not okay! He looks like his dog just died! What happened?”

  I groaned. “I can’t get into it over the phone. I’m going to throw on some clothes and come there to talk to him. See you in a few.”

  Before she could reply, I hung up. I reached into my closet and put on the first thing my hand connected with, a black, knee-length dress with cap sleeves. After putting on a pair of heels, I grabbed my makeup bag, figuring I’d attempt to fix my hair and makeup while driving, and ran out of the dorm.

  I had to make things right with Cameron. If I didn’t work things out with him straightaway, I ran the risk of losing him forever. I was constantly putting restrictions on our relationship—how close he was allowed to get to me, how much of my body I permitted him to see—and it hadn’t stopped him from relentlessly trying to break down the protective walls I had built since my father died.

  For the past few weeks, I’d believed our relationship couldn’t work. That it was impossible to have a boyfriend while I was obsessed with getting my body the way I wanted it. Yet, according to the new friends I made through Pro-Ana, it was possible to have a boyfriend. The key was to hide my habits from him and put on a normal façade. Shockingly, girls on the site had come forward claiming their boyfriends not only knew about their anorexia, but were also fine with it.

  Hunter’s was crowded when I arrived. I earned a couple of appreciative double takes as I pushed my way through, searching for Brittany or Cameron. It stung to remember how invisible I had b
een before I lost weight. I was finally becoming beautiful enough to be noticed.

  Danielle spotted me quickly. Brittany was standing next to her and they both moved toward me after Danielle tapped my best friend on the shoulder and gestured in my direction. Brittany’s eyebrows were pulled together and I could see the annoyance shining in her eyes. Gradually, I’d been pulling back from our friendship, and this was going to sting more than any of my other past mistakes. I should’ve turned to Brittany as soon as I fought with Cameron, but I was confused about how to explain the fallout without admitting to my eating disorder.

  “You said you were seeing Cam later and that’s why you weren’t coming out with us tonight,” Brittany said. “What else have you been lying to me about?”

  Danielle seemed to notice a few bar patrons gaze at us with interest. In a harsh whisper, she commanded, “Keep it down, Britt. People are starting to stare.”

  “What’s wrong with you? I’ve been there for you! I held your hand at your father’s funeral! I’ve defended you to your crazy mom!” Brittany’s skin was flushed and her fists clenched. “Now, you decide to push me away!”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve been going through some stuff …”

  “We’re all going through stuff, but it doesn’t mean you ignore me for months! Do you have any clue what’s going on with anyone else? Or have you become as self-absorbed as your mom?”

  I took a shaky step back. Saying I was like my mom was the worst type of character assassination, and Brittany was well aware of that fact. Brittany’s eyes flashed, and I realized she wasn’t giving up. “Cam thinks I need mental help,” I admitted softly, “so I decided I needed some time apart to figure things out.”

  Brittany’s dangerous expression faded. “Kayla, you could’ve just told me.”

  My eyes swept between Brittany and Danielle. “I was embarrassed. It’s not exactly flattering to confess your boyfriend thinks you’re crazy.”