Authors: Victoria Sawyer
I try to join in on the conversation going on around me,
laughing when they laugh, putting in a comment here and there where I’m able. For
the most part no one seems to know that I’m fighting an internal battle. I am
literally sitting here screaming inside my own mind
. I am dying. I am
freaking out. I am losing it. And not one of them knows!
My stomach churns, abs tight, and I feel as though I need a
restroom immediately. I’m not strong enough to endure it. I’m weak. I know that
soon we’ll be passing a McDonalds and I want to ask Stacia to pull the car over
so that I can use the bathroom. I watch out the window as we approach the fast
food joint and just as we’re almost there I finally speak up.
“Stacia, do you think you could pull over at that McDonalds
so I can use the bathroom?” I ask, cringing inside, wishing I didn’t have to
ask.
“Why?” she asks with a slight sneer. Not enough for the
others to pick up, but just enough to let me know that my suspicion that Stacia
doesn’t like me is definitely right on. Her dislike makes things much worse and
my stomach clenches again, a wave of heat rushing over me, setting me on fire.
“I’m not feeling well,” I say, embarrassed that she’s making
me spell it out.
Damn her!!
“Arggg!” she says, making a face in the rearview mirror. “We’re
almost there, Victoria, God, really?” she asks, looking at me again her
eyebrows drawn up in an annoyed question mark, but when she sees the expression
on my pale white face she finally says, “Fine, I can pull over,” clearly
unhappy that I’ve asked something irritating.
Once we pull over, I immediately jump out, happy to be out
of the car for the moment, dreading the moment when I have to get back in. I
rush to the restroom, feeling like I have the flu. Inside the dirty bathroom
stall, I can’t stop shaking. I don’t want to go back outside and get into the
car. Already I’m sure they are wondering what the hell is wrong with me. Already
they are probably judging me and thinking I’m disgusting and strange.
I do what I have to do in the bathroom as quickly as possible,
but it doesn’t make me feel any better. My stomach is still churning and my
hands are shaking like a drug addict who needs a fix and boy do I need a fix…
I
need something
.
Shit the truth is, I even look like an addict.
Eyes
blood shot, trembling, sweating, face dead white. I might as well be on PCP or
strung out on meth, the way I look. Instead I’m strung out on anxiety, hyped up
on crazy Victoria. I stand at the mirror in the bathroom and stare at my face,
knowing that the girls are waiting, knowing that I should hurry up, my eyes
watering as I hold back unwanted tears.
How can this be my life, how can I be pathetically weak, so
utterly despicable? This situation is damn
normal!
And yet I cannot
handle it! I’m terrified, knowing that very soon I have to head back out to the
car when all I want to do is sag sobbing to the floor and cry myself to death.
I’m
fucking irrational! I’m scared of my own body and I don’t know how to control
the sickness!
And I cause the sickness with my own mind. I know that as soon
as I get back into the car I will immediately feel panic stab me all over
again. Nothing will get better.
After washing my hands, I grab some toilet paper and blow my
nose, barely able to stop the tears from coursing down my face. I feel awful. I’m
afraid of embarrassing myself in front of these girls. Hannah is the only one
who might not judge me. Stacia is a bitch who hates me and will surely enjoy
singling me out for torture and she’ll probably want to tell her “friend” Jared
about what a crazy weird disgusting bitch I am. I take a few deep breathes and
try to pull myself together and finally make my way back out to the waiting
car. The girls seem puzzled, but no one says anything as I climb back inside.
“Feeling okay?” asks Stacia, a mocking look in her eyes as I
settle into the backseat, my face white as death in the rear view mirror.
“I’m feeling a little sick,” I say again, gazing into
Stacia’s cold blue eyes.
We pull out of the parking lot and I try desperately to
ignore the way I’m feeling. It’s like the ride to the shuttle lift off all over
again. The situation I always try to avoid. I stare out the window, noting that
we’re about 10 minutes from the mall. Every minute feels excruciating as my
stomach muscles contract and I try to force myself to relax. But I can’t. I can
only focus on how I feel, on terrified thoughts of what could happen if I were
sick now. I’m keep replaying every comment each girl would make about me later,
Stacia using my weird gross sickness against me in her quest for Jared. I grip
my folded arms around my middle and try to focus on Hannah. I can’t breathe.
“Are you going to buy anything at the mall today?” I ask,
practically gasping, knowing it’s a lame question, but trying desperately to
start a conversation that might take my mind off how I’m feeling.
“I don’t know,” Hannah replies, looking over at me for a
moment, her face full of sympathy for how I’m supposedly feeling, “I really
need some new jeans, so hopefully I can find something. I’m always looking for
a good pair because so few of them actually fit me right.”
I nod, trying to concentrate on our conversation, trying to
fight the magnetic urge to focus on my own thoughts. It’s impossible. I can’t
turn off the thoughts. I’ve trained myself so well, that I cannot escape my
darkest fears. They are always there in every situation. I’ve analyzed every
potential embarrassment before, every angle, every nuance, I know this path by
heart.
Finally we arrive at the mall and I feel a bit better once
we’re inside. It’s only a momentary feeling, because I know I’m trapped here,
too, no ride home and I know I have to get back in the car with Stacia. I have
no way to escape. No way to excuse myself. No way to get home without these
girls.
We walk from store to store in the mall but I’m distracted,
unable to pay attention to anything that anyone says, my stomach still sucked
in like a black hole, eating myself from the inside out. I finally find a
reasonable time to slip away, telling the girls I’ll meet them at the food
court in 10 minutes for the ride home.
I rush to the bathroom, knowing that I still won’t be alone.
Mall bathrooms are usually pretty crowded and I can remember a time a few years
before when I had gone into the bathroom and heard and smelled that someone was
sick in the next stall. It was gross. Honestly. I don’t want to be “that
person.” It doesn’t matter to me that everyone experiences these things now and
then, I can’t get away from the fact that it embarrasses me and therefore I
hate dealing with it. I’m sweating buckets now, thinking about the ride home. I
will do almost anything to avoid that car ride, anything except admit the real
reason why I don’t want to.
When I finally meet up with the girls, I’m knocked sideways
again to hear that Stacia wants to go to a few other stores at an outlet mall
about 15 minutes away. My stomach clenches even harder and searing heat races
up my body. The “real world” pulls away again, falling behind as the panic
takes control of my brain. I can’t take anymore. I’m dying for a quick trip to
my car and then finally, blessedly, a relief from these feelings. Suddenly my
stomach heaves and I grab at my middle. I feel like I’m going to be sick right
here. I turn to the Hannah,
“Would you guys mind bringing me back to my car,” I ask, my
legs quivering. Stacia glares at me with annoyance and then sighs.
“Can’t you just wait a little longer, Victoria? It can’t be
that bad and we’ll only be there for a few minutes.” Then she continues under
her breath, something only I could hear, “Selfish bitch.”
Hannah looks at me compassionately, shrugging her shoulders.
Now I really start shaking after hearing this. I can’t get back in a car with
Stacia. There is no way. No way in hell. What am I going to do? What can I do
that won’t seem strange?? I rack my brain. Who can I call to come pick me up? Who
can help me now? But my heaving, rolling stomach will not stop and I clutch at
it, unable to stand the sensations any longer.
“I’ve got to go to the bathroom again,” I say, turning away
from them, just hearing Stacia say that she thinks my sickness is gross.
Damn
her.
In the bathroom, I pick an empty stall and just stand there
with the door closed and locked. I’m not sure what is going to happen. I might
puke. Something else might happen. I have no idea. I feel the gorge rising in
my throat at the thought of getting in that car again and I lean over the
toilet bowl, disgusted with myself that this is happening now. I purge
everything, racking my stomach, dry heaving again and again. Someone walks into
the bathroom.
“Victoria?”
It’s fucking Stacia. What the fuck is she doing in here?
Give
me some Goddamned privacy bitch!!!
“Victoria, do you have an eating disorder?” I hear her say
sweetly and I can tell she’s at the sink as the water turns on. I heave again
but thank God nothing happens. I can’t believe this bitch.
“You know, I think you were freaking out earlier. I’m not
sure what your problem is, but I do know this, you are fucking weird,” she
hisses and then I hear her heels clicking their way out of the bathroom again. I
just stand there over the bowl. Amazed. Who treats someone else like that? Only
a bitch who sees me as competition for the guy she wants. Or is jealous in some
other way.
I hate her!
Finally I think I am done being sick and make my way out of
the stall. This cannot be happening to me. Stacia will tell everyone I have an
eating disorder or am crazy or weird or fucked up. I walk back down the hall
from the bathroom to the main concourse of the mall. Just as I’m about to turn
the corner, I can hear Stacia’s voice.
“Victoria is fucking weird, I think she might be fucked in
the head or something. I mean seriously, who is perfectly well and then
suddenly throwing up. Maybe she has an eating disorder or something.”
This is all I can stand to hear. I turn and walk very
quietly a few feet down the hall. I don’t want them to hear me. But once I’m
far enough away, I run down the cement block hallway until I reach a door with
a red exit sign above. I have to escape. I need to get away from her. I push open
the door and walk out in the glaring sunshine. Black pavement and a dumpster
are now my companions. I lean against the wall on the other side of the
dumpster from the door, cradling my mid-section. I feel ravaged. I cannot go
back in there. I cannot get in the car with them again.
I get out my cell phone with shaking hands, almost dropping
it into a puddle in the process. Who can pick me up? Who can save me from
myself right now? I can’t go with them. The idea of actually making my body get
into the car is incomprehensible. I can’t do it. My body won’t cooperate.
I scroll through the listing of names in my phone and every
single one is person who doesn’t really understand me. No one knows about my
problem. I am terribly alone in the world. I will never be normal. I scroll the
list again. Isn’t there anyone other than my parents who I can call? The
highlight clicks over each name and with each one a judgment booms through my
head.
You are fucked up. These normal people will hate you. They will
destroy you. You are destroying yourself and you cannot stop. Loser!
Finally I come across one that feels like a savior.
Henry.
My little brother who just got his driver’s license and wants any excuse to
drive. Maybe he would come get me? Instantly I tell my phone to dial his cell
phone number. Henry answers after the first ring.
“Hallo,” he says lazily and I picture him sprawled out in
front of the TV, video game controller in hand.
“Henry, it’s Victoria,” I say. “Do you think you can come
pick up your ole sis’r at the mall? I’m not feeling well and the other girls
I’m with don’t want to bring me back to my car on campus. Can you do it?”
I hold my breath. My brother and I have a love hate
relationship. Sometimes we get along really well, other times not so much. I
love the kid, but he also drives me crazy. I hear him sigh as if it’s such a
chore and then he says,
“Yup, I’ll get you, but I gotta ask mom and dad if I can use
the car.”
I hear him throw the phone down and then yell for my
parents.
Typical Henry.
Finally he gets back on the line.
“I’ll be there in 30 minutes. Where will you wait for me?”
“I’ll be waiting outside the food court. Thanks broski, I
owe you one,” I say with a smile, the mental relief of being able to leave
without calling my parents or getting in the car again with Stacia is
instantaneous. My brother will save me.
Thank God.
But now what to do about the girls? Just leaving them seems
weird and suspect, however I cannot face them. I never want to see Stacia’s
bitch face again. I jab at the text button on my phone. I’ll just send Hannah a
quick text so she doesn’t have to worry and that will be the end to it. Still
weird, but the best I can do right now and better than disappearing without a
trace. I compose a nice lie in text format, saying I am really ill, my brother
is coming to get me and I’m going home and hit the send key.
Now I have to wait. I’m still on edge, I realize, because
now I’m stuck at the mall with no way of immediate escape. Thirty minutes to
wait without anyone to talk to, without anything to do. For now I just lean
against the freezing wall and try not to think about how trapped I still am. My
phone trills. A text. I open the message and it’s from Hannah.
Hope you feel better. Sorry. Stacia sucks. We’re leaving
now.
At least Hannah still loves me. After a reasonable amount of
time for Stacia and everyone to leave, I finally walk to the door. I’ve decided
I’ll go into a few stores and then back to the food court just before my
brother is due to arrive. I can’t sit here contemplating my fucked up brain any
longer. I need to do something, move around. My stomach is still telling me
that it needs only the smallest provocation to start clenching up again. My
respite from pain and anguish was temporary. The deadly poison has been
released into my body and there is no calling it back. I’m going to be quivery
for days now.
Fuck
.