I am out of sleeping pills

We were driving through the city at night. We passed a little restaurant, and I looked at the people smiling and laughing inside.

"We should go there someday." I said.

"Yeah, we should!" He smiled.

And we both pretended that I am just a normal girl who could eat a hamburger and be ok.

...

I had a doctor appointment on Friday. For once a regular, routine doctor appointment.

I debated staying silent about everything, but I knew there would be questions. Since my last routine visit, I've lost 37 lbs and gained two new medications that label me "MENTALLY ILL" in flashing neon lights.

So I had to explain what happened. I've become quite skilled at giving a cliff notes version of the past year. I can say the words easily with no emotion. I think my manner rattles people almost more than my story. I would explain to them that I can no longer cry, but it's too exhausting.

So she gave me a general exam, and once again I was declared perfectly healthy. And then my doctor innocently said this:

"You're very thin, but you're not at an unhealthy weight."

My head belongs in a carnival freak show. Disparate emotions living in harmony.

Yes! See? You're FINE! You're perfectly healthy! There's nothing wrong with you!

Fuck! See? You fat disgusting failure. You can't even get to an unhealthy weight!

...

"So, do you feel like you ever win?"

I blinked at Molly in confusion. "Win?" I repeated.

"You have this other 'voice' in your head that dictates how you eat, but do you ever feel like you fight back? Do you ever win?"

I stared at her, silent. I didn't know how to explain that I am not the good guy. I am on the other side. When she wins, so do I.

...

Every year the week before Thanksgiving, we have Friend Thanksgiving. It is my favorite holiday.

As the date grew closer, I found myself repeating the same things over and over in my head like a magic spell. Maybe if I said it enough times, it would come true.

I can do this. I love Friend Thanksgiving. I can eat food and be happy and enjoy myself.

One of my very best friends surprised us the night before. We screamed and jumped up and down and hugged, and for a brief, wonderful moment I thought I would cry.

But I didn't. 

I cooked the turkey and baked a cheesecake.

I can do this. I love Friend Thanksgiving. I can eat food and be happy and enjoy myself.

We decorated, we set the table for nineteen, we cooked and laughed and drank wine. And by the time we ate dinner, I was on a high where I actually believed I was ok. 

I'm fighting back, Molly. I'm winning.

I ate food. I was happy. I enjoyed myself. 

One of my friends surprised us all during dinner by announcing that they were pregnant. They are the first of all of us to have a baby. Everyone screamed and jumped up and down and hugged and cried, and my smile was so full of joy and pain, I was sure I would cry.

But I didn't.

Afterwards, we went to the movie theatre and saw Catching Fire. It was amazing and heartbreaking and my throat ached like I was going to cry.

But I didn't.

We hung out in our little house late into the night. Our friend was leaving in the morning to go home, and we were all delaying the inevitable. Saying goodbye to her is always so hard. So we talked and laughed and played with my cats. But eventually we had to say goodbye. I hugged her tightly and my eyes burned and I thought I would cry.

But I didn't.

They left. I went into the bathroom and gulped down laxatives. Then I turned and stared at my reflection in the mirror for a long time, all of the rich, delicious, horrifying food sitting like a brick in my stomach. I looked at the girl in the mirror and was disgusted by her. I hated her.

And I wanted to cry.

But I didn't.