Recovery Road

One

I was sitting in yet another small room with my parents, older brother, and doctor. He's supposed to be the best doctor in the state of Washington. I don't believe it for a second. "You're going to need inpatient for two months." The doctor said. Great another inpatient strategy that wouldn't help me at all. Dr. Albreight wasn't the first doctor my parents forced me to see for my eating disorder. "Are you willing to go through with this?" He asked.

"Do I even choice?" I started. "I mean I've been forced to do this many times with no good outcome. I can't get better."

"Yes, you have a choice. You always have a choice here. If you choose to get help you'll be staying in a treatment center with people struggling with the exact illness." My mom winced at the word 'illness.' She was never too fond of calling my disorder an illness. Illnesses aren't supposed to be caused by the carrier, she had told me after my first doctor said the same thing. "Because it's in a hospital there's also other kids struggling with other health problems as well. I think because they're in your age range it will benefit you greatly."

"Do you know how many times I've heard that?" I said as I stared at nothing inparticular.

"In fact I do. Ninety percent of people have also said those same exact words you just said and walked out of that hospital successful in recovery."

"Yeah well I'll be one of the ten percent. I'm good at failing you know?" I scoffed.

"Will you just give it a try for once in your life, Eden?" My dad said. I could tell he was frustrated with me. That's another one of my specialties: Pissing off my parents.

"You know what? Fine I'll go through inpatient. If it doesn't work, I'm not going anywhere else." I said.

"Eden," my brother, Noah, trailed off until starting again. "You'll die if you give up on treatment." He said with a painful expression. It was the first time he's ever brought up me dying from this.

"Well, that's part of life. You're born, go through some shit, and then you die." I said. I felt like a bitch but it was the hard factual truth. No one ever liked to hear it, but it was needed.

There were a few moments of silence after that, no one willing to talk, until Dr. Albreight broke it. "Eden, I need to know if you're going to try to recover. That means eating three full meals a day with snacks in between, no exercise, and you can't talk about exercise, weight, or calories." He said. "Are you going to try you're best?"

I looked at my brother, the only one I was willing to look at. I couldn't bare to see the disappointment on my parents face. My brother's eyes pleaded with me to go through with this. He was the only person in my family who made me feel truly cared for after I got sick.

"How am I supposed to get better if I can't talk about the only things that I think of 24/7?" I ask quietly. It made me sound vulnerable which I hated.

"That's what group therapy and one-on-one therapy is for." He replied. "Also I should mention, if we're going through with this there will need to be a time set in place for family therapy."

At that I burst into laughter, "family therapy? You really think that's going to help in this case?" I asked as he nodded. "Oh my god, you're hilarious. This guy is too funny." As I faced my family, my parents looked at me with wide eyes and Noah looked like he was trying not to laugh with me.

"Eden, this isn't the time for your ridiculous jokes." My mom said as she turned to Dr. Albreight. "I'm so sorry I don't know what to do with this girl. She's always cracking inappropriate jokes."

"It's perfectly fine, I understand." He said.

"Is this an anorexic thing?" My dad whispered as he said anorexic. As if the damn word would trigger me in itself.