September good-byes
A little love storytime…
It was September 2020.
I hadn’t kissed him since his birthday — April 6th.
I told him to meet me at the park around my house. I wanted to get it over with. I felt like the least I could do was say goodbye to his face.
I wasn’t sure if the goodbye was forever or a short time.
I felt disconnected from my body and heart. I didn’t know what I wanted.
I parked my car, and he pulled in soon after. We got out, staring at one another. It was a perfect September night; I was cold, though I was always cold. Face masks were covering our mouths. I questioned if it was covering my heart too.
I didn’t want to get into a long conversation about feelings. I told you, “I can’t feel right now! I don’t want to be touched. I don’t want to be held in your arms”.
His arms were once my safe place, the place that felt like home. It was now a place I thought I didn’t belong.
Tears welled in my eyes because of frustration. What didn’t he understand? I didn’t know when I would be home; I didn’t know how I would be and feel after it all.
“Don’t wait for me!!! Please don’t wait for me.” I didn’t want to be a problem anymore; I didn’t want to hold him back. Why couldn’t he forget about me and move on?
Tears welled in his eyes because of sadness. The girl he loved with every bone in his body was leaving, and he didn’t know when she would be back or what would happen when she returned.
We gave each other one last hug, tears still present. Then, finally, I turned to walk away, scared, unsure, angry, and broken.
A few weeks rolled by. I was in Alexandria, Virginia, at the Center for Discovery. A treatment center for eating disorders. I was admitted for Anorexia, a disease that was killing me.
One night after dinner or night snack, I can’t remember which one; I was lying on my back on the living room floor (which I did quite often). Then, I rolled over and laid my head on my hands with my eyes closed.
I thought of him. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Tears welled once again. Was he doing okay? Was he happy? Was he angry with me or sad? What was he doing right at this moment? I wanted to talk to him. It was the first time in a while I felt like I wanted a connection. I felt selfish for feeling that way. “Now you want to talk to him, Julia? After telling him to move on? Make up your mind!”
But love doesn’t feel that simple sometimes.
I didn’t have access to my cell phone. But there was a computer in the living room we were allowed to use in the evening. I sent him an email. “Would he check that email?” I wasn’t sure, but I was going to try. My heart told me to try.
Hi,
I know it’s been a little bit. But I have been thinking about you. I hope you have been doing okay, more than okay. And I hope you haven’t been working too much… I hope you have been smiling and giving yourself permission to rest every now and then.
Treatment has been going well, but it’s not easy. It’s uncomfortable and challenging every single day. I wanted to leave the moment I got here, but my therapist scared me straight, and I knew deep in my heart I needed to stay and well, I’m still here, and I am grateful for being here, although I feel eager to get out of here too. Physical health-wise, I was in worse shape when I got here than I had even thought, but that’s the ED voice telling me I was “fine.” I’m on the up and up, though…
And after almost three weeks…I have seen what a little nourishment can do for the soul. It makes you start to see things a little clearer and even allows you to smile again and laugh. I forgot how good it feels to smile and laugh. But I have my moments; this shit is hard. I get discouraged, but I keep going. This is the hardest thing I have ever had to do, but I show up every day and keep fighting.
I know you may not want to speak, and that’s okay if you don’t. But if you want to send me your number, I can call you from the house phone here. After dinner, I have access to the phone to talk any night around 7:15–7:30; if you want to, let me know what day works best for you.
Love,
Julia
I hit send.
A day later, he responded, and butterflies filled inside of me. It felt like the past. The way my heart beat a little faster when we first started dating. When we would walk the streets of New York City together or when we would be standing on the subway heading downtown laughing and saying, “No one is having as much fun as us right now.”
Every day, we talked. 5 weeks into treatment, I was told to find another treatment center because that facility was transitioning to an adolescent facility. So I ended up on a flight heading to Tucson, Arizona. For the rest of the time in residential treatment, I was at Marisol.
I was allowed to use my phone for one hour after dinner. I called him every night. He answered every time, no matter what. I looked forward to those phone calls. It motivated me to take care of myself. To heal so that I could go home and we could start again. I don’t remember everything we talked about on those calls, but I do remember the way I felt, the way it was hard not to smile while talking to him. For that hour, I forgot where I was or how I got there for a little while.
I was in residential treatment for three months, then in a day program in Arizona for six weeks. And then, on January 1st, 2021, I was back in New York.
I wanted to surprise him, so I didn’t tell him when I would be coming home. I’m not shocked he figured it out; he knows me pretty well. And then, two days after I arrived back in New York, he came over. I felt nervous and excited. The butterflies were all there.
I had changed. My body was no longer frail and sick. My clothes no longer hung on my body far too loosely, and my face had life in it again. But, while it all sounded positive, my mind made me feel scared for what others, especially what he might think of me. Would he like me like this? Would he love me and look at me the way he used to? When he hugged me would he remember who I was?
The text arrived, “I’m here.”
I walked outside. He stepped out of his car. Again, we made eye contact, and we ran toward each other this time. No longer did the fear of being judged or him not remembering me haunted my mind. It all stopped.
I jumped into his arms. My arms and legs were holding tight to his body. I was home, finally. I was safe, and we were no longer miles apart.
Since being back, he’s been by my side. Has it been easy? No. But does life feel a little easier than before? Yes. Eating disorders don’t just affect the person who has one. It involves the people around them too. My relationship suffered because my eating disorder was controlling my life. It slowly pushed me further away from love, connection, and the person I love the most.
I still wake up confronted by Eating disorder thoughts and uncomfortable feelings, but these days those thoughts and feelings don’t dictate my life as much. I know how to stand up to them now. I’m in recovery. I’m living my life. And his love, support, hugs, and kisses keep me going when it feels like I can’t.
It used to feel like nothing made sense and that life would never feel okay. I wasn’t looking for great. I was looking for okay.
Some would say that was setting the bar too low, but to me, being okay meant life doesn’t have to be perfect to be happy. It told me that we could still have our hard days and come out the other end knowing that tomorrow has the possibility of being better.
And so it’s been a year and a half since I came back to New York. And today, life makes a little more sense to me, and me and him, we’re okay.
