Losing It (6 page)

Dear Matt,

Sorry, but I can’t write to Dad. I just can’t.

You can write though. I’d love that.

Dear Issy,

I saw a doctor yesterday. He told me that if I kept starving my body of protein it would start using muscles for energy. (Sounds like an interesting science
experiment
.) He also told me that my heart wasn’t functioning properly due to all the throwing up. I think that’s part of their strategy – to frighten us into eating.

Trouble is – I think my battery’s run out, Issy. Well, that’s how it feels. Like my insides have frozen and
everything’
s
ground to a halt. It all takes so much effort. Even thinking is exhausting. It’s hard to explain but it’s like part of me has shrivelled up inside.

The last few days have been crap. I’m just lying here doing nothing, like a blob of yuck. Like a cup of cold sick. ‘A cup of cold sick.’ Where have I heard that line before? Does it sound familiar to you?

Two days later:

The cleaning lady came yesterday and there was an incident. She must have finally noticed Charlotte because suddenly she had the vacuum cleaner pipe hurled way up in the air and I had to act fast to stop poor Charlotte from being sucked into oblivion. Luckily, I got there just in time.

Then two nurses came and put me back in bed and it took me ages to explain and, well…

Please tell me I’m not losing it, Issy.

Dear Jo,

You are not losing it. You are going to be fine. A cup of cold sick! Yes! I do remember that line:

I have this vague memory of chanting it for skipping. You are I were coring and poor Matt was trying to jump the rope. He was hopeless. Remember? Boys are such crap skippers.

Dear Issy,

I’ve been on special bed rest for ten days with no privileges at all, which includes washing my hair. I won’t bore you with the details but if it hadn’t been for Dot talking to me I’d have gone completely round the twist. The ‘good’ news is I’ve managed to put on two kilos, which has made everyone happy except me. I feel so revolting. Like a tub of lard.

Caroline reckons as long as we leave this place looking like over-inflated beach balls they’ll be happy. I think she’s
right. But how can putting on ten kilos make anyone happy?

She gave me some Ketostix the other day. I’d never heard of them before. They come in a box and have these little coloured bits on the end like a match and you dip them in your pee to see if they change colour. If they turn purple it’s good because that means your body is getting energy from its own fat. If they stay pink then your body is getting energy from food so you won’t lose weight. I’ve been purple for two days now.

Missing you heaps, Issy.

Luv,

Jo

P.S. There’s a very strange girl in room 22, along the corridor. I’ve seen her around but we’ve never spoken. She’s usually in a wheelchair and she dresses like a Goth – black hair, black lips, nails, the works. And bare feet. Always bare feet. Very witchy-poo.

Anyway, this morning she’s sitting in the lounge
smoking
a cigarette. Leon and I are playing Trivial Pursuit at the table. It is definitely against the rules to light up in the lounge. There are notices everywhere. You have to go right outside to smoke. So one of the nurses tells her to put out the cigarette. But she acts like she doesn’t hear, staring ahead like she’s in a trance. The nurse tells her again but she takes no notice. So then, the nurse takes the cigarette and stubs it out in a saucer. This girl doesn’t bat
an eye, even when the nurse wheels her out of the room. But as she’s going out the door she yells something out. Something weird.

Leon says her name’s Francine Colson and she’s been in here for ages, only she’s grown stranger and stranger. She got kicked out of group therapy a few weeks ago. I can’t imagine why anyone would get kicked out of group therapy but Leon says she’s got some pretty nutty ideas and she was always trying to stuff things up for the
counsellor
. Anyway, I was thinking ‘Francine Colson’ – why did that name sound familiar? And then I realised. Her initials are F.C. and she writes all this weird poetry.

Dear Jo,

Hmmnnn … those poems are pretty bizarre all right. They must have something to do with her illness.

I borrowed a book about anorexia from the school library because I thought it might help me understand. Only now I wished I’d got a nice cosy fantasy instead. Something with a good plot and a happy ending. (Or maybe I should have stuck with my usual –
The Guinness Book of Records
.)

Anyway, the book is called
Dying to be Thin
and it has five true-life stories of people with anorexia. One of the stories was about these twins called Penelope and Patricia. Apparently, Penelope was always the ‘chubby one’ until one day she decided she wasn’t going to be the ‘chubby one’ any more. So, she decided to become the ‘skinny one’ and five years later she was dead. The story was told from Patricia’s point of view, so it was like one twin watching her sister starve to death. It was so sad and I got all tearful and
had to leave the class before anyone saw me blubbing.

So I read Theresa’s tale in the loos. Far out! This Theresa gets so thin that her tailbone actually breaks through the skin and … well, I didn’t read any more after that because the book really freaked me out. There are photos of girls who look like famine victims. One is, like, twenty-three and looks about a hundred and ten. This disease is scary, Jo. Your kidneys fail and your hair falls out. Do you seriously want to go to the formal with no hair?!

Dear Jo,

Please ignore my last letter. I’m sure you don’t need any more lectures or scare-mongering (is that the right word?).

What you need right now is gossip.

Okay … here goes. So guess who Marko Deans is taking to the formal? I’ll give you a clue. Her name starts with ‘A’ and she’s been going out with his best friend for the past six months. (Yes. Amanda Curtis!)

You should have been there. Marko and Dave had this big scrap outside ‘D’ block near that purple rhodo bush. We were just coming out of maths and there they were. Marko had Dave’s tie and was pulling it really tight and Dave was all red and sweaty. They were both yelling and swearing and some of the girls started squealing and
then Mr O’Malley came racing out of class to break them up. But they just carried on hitting and kicking like Mr O’Malley wasn’t even there and you could tell he was too scared to get between them, like they were pitbulls or something. Tane Milton had to break them up in the end and they all got marched over to the principal’s office.

Oh, and guess what else?! There’s this new school rule. All Year Elevens have to do at least one culture option. It’s the new DP’s idea. Mr Stalker. Mum thinks the sun shines out of that guy’s bum, but that’s another story. Anyway … I’ve joined the school newspaper. Yes, me! Don’t laugh. It was a choice between choir, kapa haka, debating, or newspaper, and deciding which one I’d hate least. After serious consideration I figured that ‘newspaper’ was the only one that didn’t involve standing on a stage making a complete dork of myself. I know I’m useless at writing but I’m hoping to get a job as photographer, which might be good for a laugh and could also be a possible career option providing I steer clear of self-timing units and try not to chop everyone’s heads off.

Most of the others are from Year Twelve. There are two issues per month and we meet once a week on Tuesdays in the library. Doesn’t sound too daunting. I’ll keep you posted.

Not much else to report on the school front. In English, we’ve started reading
A Slipping Down Life
by Ann Tyler. I’m up to page 88, which is pretty good for me. We were having this discussion in English the other day. One
of the characters in the book – Evie – gets a guy’s name tattooed on her forehead. (And his name is Drumstrings Casey!!) Well, Miss Haddock was talking about tattoos and stuff and Sarah Woodrow starts giggling down the back of the room. So Miss Haddock says what’s so funny and would she like to share it with the rest of us. And guess what? Well, Sarah rolls up her sleeve and shows the whole class this tattoo, which is like a proper tattoo of a heart with someone’s name in it. SAM F.! And it’s real. Sarah Woodrow?!! SAM F.! Can you believe it? Absolutely the last person on earth you would ever imagine with a tattoo! And who the heck is Sam F.?

Luv,

Issy

P.S. I found this joke book at a sale at Paper Plus in the weekend and I thought it might cheer you up. Read the one on page 13!

Dear Issy,

You?! Working on the school newspaper?! I don’t believe it! Next thing you’ll be signing up for library duty, buying ‘save the whale’ badges and hugging pine trees.

Hey, thanks for the joke book.

These are my favourites so far.

Leon put the one about the mental health hotline on the noticeboard:

A couple of nurses raised their eyebrows at that. And mean old Morag took it down. Dot says not to take it personally because Morag has absolutely no sense of humour.

Dot is really cool, Issy. Some of the others don’t talk to you much. One really looks down her nose at us, in fact – but Dot’s great. She treats me like a proper human being and not some screwed-up teenager. And she tells me stuff about her own life as well. She’s probably not supposed to do that but she does and, I know it sounds weird, but it really helps to hear about other people’s problems sometimes.

You get pretty self-centred in here and you forget about normal people having issues. Like, Dot is on this anti-male rampage after discovering that her husband had been cheating for the past five years. And not only that but most of her friends knew and didn’t bother telling her. Gutted! Dot thinks that even her own daughter might have known about it. She asked me the other day what I’d do if I knew my dad was cheating on my mum. Would I tell? I said I didn’t know. For a start, I couldn’t imagine Dad doing that in the first place but I guess you never know. I don’t think Dot thought it would happen either. What would you do?

Dot’s favourite joke is on page 156:

I felt bad when I read your last letter, Issy. That sounds like a very depressing book to me and it pays not to believe everything you read. My tailbone is not going to come through my skin and I am definitely not going to die. I’m sure they exaggerate these things to sell books. I bet they had something really gruesome and eye-catching on the cover too, didn’t they?

As I’ve already mentioned – I am the fattest person in the ward by far.

Hey, guess what. There’s a swimming pool in the next building across. I only just found that out. It’s a lap pool. The doctor says when I put on another 3 kilos I might be allowed to use it. I haven’t swum for months. Not since you and I went to the salt-water pool on the bus that day and your wallet got stolen. Remember?! And it had all our money in it, plus all those Glasson’s birthday vouchers from your sisters. We had to walk home that day. And it was nearly eight o’clock by the time we got back and Dad went crook because it was Tuesday and he’d missed his rugby game. He reckoned he was angry because he was concerned about me but I’m sure it was because of missing the rugby…

Anyway, you’re not to worry because I’ve made some
resolutions. I’ve decided I’m going to try really hard from now on. And I’m going to eat everything they give me because when I get to 50 kilos they’re going to let me out.

Oh well, I better go. There’s a group therapy session this afternoon.

Keep writing,

Jo

Dear Jo,

Good for you. You go, girl!

Hmmmnnnnn … Poor Dot. I don’t know what I’d do in that situation. I don’t think my parents have time for
extramarital
activities!!! Mum has far too many meetings as it is! Don’t think there’d be room in her hectic schedule for any sneaky rendezvous. I guess you never know though.

Yeah, I remember when my wallet got stolen. The ugly sisters never forgave me for losing those vouchers!

Dear Jo,

Meredith hates my formal dress. She thinks it’s the wrong colour and makes my bum look fat. She hates the bells, too, I can tell. Not that she comes out and says so. Oh no, she’d rather keep dropping these subtle hints. Like,
‘Are redheads supposed to wear purple?’ And ‘Have you thought about joining the gym, Issy?’ And, ‘Would you like a go on my new rebounder?’

No thanks, Meredith, I’ll just stay the way Mother Nature intended. She hates me saying that cause as you know she’s exactly the same build as me and would rather waste her life fighting against Mother Nature’s intentions. The fact is – big hips and thighs are part of the Muirhead gene pool. You’ve only got to look at Mum and Dad to see where I come from. And Meredith!

Make the most of what you’ve got and cover the rest with a baggy top, that’s my theory.

Dear Issy,

You are definitely the wisest person I know and I think you should hire yourself out as a professional
cheerer-upper
.

Luv,

Jo

P.S. ‘Make the most of what you’ve got and cover the rest with a baggy top.’ I like that. Might put it on our
noticeboard
. Does that go for baggy bottoms as well?

Dear Diary,

First I’d like to make it absolutely clear that this is absolutely not my idea. Blame the new OT. As well as making homemade chocolates, she thinks keeping a journal will be ‘beneficial for my recovery’. I told her I am not the journal keeping type but sometimes it’s easier to go with the flow and I don’t have the energy for aggro these days.

So I agreed, but only if she promised that no one can read it without my permission. You have to be careful about stuff like that. Issy’s cousin, Laura, kept a journal once. She had a crush on this boy from St Paul’s called Russell Richmond and she wrote all this stuff in her diary about him. But then her mother read it and freaked out. She acted like Laura was a raving nymphomaniac and wouldn’t let her out of the house for months.

I thought that was so unfair. It should have been the mother who was grounded for being such a nosey old cow.

Jo

Hi Sis,

It’s me, Matt!

Dad thought it would be a good idea for me to write you a letter. He says I have to write at least one page, which is why the letters
are so big
. As you know I’m not that great at writing but I’ll give it a go. Please excuse any spelling mistakes. Today is sunny. I hope it is sunny at your hospital. This term at school we are doing food technology, which is the same as cooking but they think boys will like it more if it’s called technology. Dumb, eh. Cooking is cooking and it’s much better than maths, whatever they want to call it – because at least you get to eat.

Anyway, on Monday we made Weetbix Delight, which is yummy and doesn’t take much technology to make. I put a sample in this letter for you to eat. Hope it’s not too squashed.

Recipe for Weetbix Delight

3 crushed Weetbix

1 cup coconut

4 oz butter, melted

1 cup flour

1 cup sugar

1 tsp baking powder

Add melted butter to dry ingredients. Press
into sponge roll tin. Bake 15 mins in moderate oven.

Get well soon,

Luv Matt

Dear Diary,

Okay, where to start? This is so embarrassing, like going on a date or something. Not that I’ve been on an actual date. Well, not a proper one. Last year I went to the movies with a guy called Todd Pritchard. It was some James Bond thing. Anyway, things were going okay until half time when he asked if I wanted an ice cream. I said ‘no thanks’ but he bought me one anyway. Probably thought I was just being polite, except that polite is not really my style. I’m more of a straight talker. If you don’t want something, say so – that’s my theory. So I did. And when he came back with two ice creams I said it again. ‘No thanks.’ (Well, I hadn’t eaten anything for two days and I wasn’t about to ruin it for his benefit!) So then he had to sit there eating both ice creams, which served him right really but was kind of embarrassing for both of us. We didn’t talk much after that and he never asked me to the movies again. Or anywhere else, actually. Wonder why?!

So …

My name is Johanna Margaret Morrison. Margaret was my grandmother’s name but she’s dead just now. She was eighty when she died (which everyone said was a good innings) and had no distinguishing features apart from a fetish for crocheted doilies. (When she died they found 164 stacked in her hall cupboard. So Mum and Aunty Kay got half each.)

Anyway, I’m fifteen years old. They tell me I’ve got anorexia but they tell everyone in here the same thing. They’re into labels. And they want us all to get fat and roly poly out of here. Ye hah! But fat doesn’t mean happy, does it? Take poor Dot for example. She’s put on eight kilos because of what her slimey husband did behind her back.

Anyway, most of the patients in here are piles skinnier than I am.

I used to eat loads but now food makes me ill so I have to vomit, which is pretty disgusting, I know. But I can’t help it, which is why it’s better not
eating
in the first place. It’s easy once you get used to it. I can go without food for days. Eating makes me feel, like, so out of control. My favourite food used to be KFC. I could eat a whole five piece pack all by myself, plus potato and gravy, chips and a large Coke. I’d die if I had to eat one now. I feel sick just writing about it. Have you seen how much fat drips out of that stuff??!! Did you know that one
steak and cheese pie has a golf ball of fat in it?

Sometimes I think that if I started eating again I might never stop. And I might end up like Dot (who is a really nice person but a bit on the plump side).

Well, that’s all you’re getting for today.

Bye,

Jo

Dear Issy,

Why do bagpipers walk when they play? They’re trying to get away from the noise
. Ha. Ha.

I think that’s what I’m doing in here, trying to get away from the noise. Except that it’s not working. But maybe I brought my own noise with me because usually the noise in my head is rowdier than anything outside. Sometimes it feels like pot lids crashing together with me stuck in the middle. Matt used to drive Mum mental when he got into the pot cupboard and started crashing about. She didn’t do anything to stop him though, just lay on the couch with her hands covering her ears. Either that or she’d take herself off to bed and leave me to deal with it.

All this writing I’m doing, yet I still feel like I’m going round and round in circles. I may as well tell you now, Issy. I’m not going to make it to the formal. It’s not going to happen. Please don’t be too mad.

Tell Mrs Hopkins the virus has mutated (is that the right word?). I know I’ve let you down, Issy, and I’m really sorry. But I figured if I let you know in plenty of time you could get someone else to double date with and to be honest I’m pretty crap company at the moment so I’d probably ruin it for you, anyway.

Hey … fancy Marko Deans asking Amanda. No wonder Dave S. had him swinging by the necktie. Some guys have the morals of a spider (especially the ones at Cameron College) and I think you did right getting a blind date. I know I was against the idea in the beginning but surely he can’t be any worse than a dickhead from our school.

So … how is the posh frock coming along? Lucky your mum is such a great seamstress. I think purple will be stunning with your red hair and don’t let that Meredith put you off. She’s always had a bit of a jealous streak.

Not much has been happening here lately. A new girl called Pip arrived last week. Poor thing. She looks totally petrified – like a mouse with a twitchy nose and little pink eyes. She has this posh accent and wears expensive pink clothes. Even the braces on her teeth are pink! She and Ingrid seem to get on okay though, which is good.

Yesterday Leon asked if she’d like to play Trivial Pursuit and she looked like he’d just asked her to get naked or something. I thought she was going to scamper up the bookcase in fright. Pity! It’d be good to have an extra player. I get sick of always coming last.

Still, at least it gives us an excuse to chat. Leon isn’t
exactly what you’d call a ‘chatterbox’ but sometimes when we’re playing Trivial Pursuit he really opens up. Like the other day he told me some stuff about his family. He has an older sister who’s studying to be a doctor and his mum is a high-powered executive type who trains staff for (wait for it …) Jenny Craig! Somehow I don’t think having an anorexic son would be great for business. (Or maybe it would.) Anyway, his dad left them a few months ago and he and Leon don’t get on. I get the feeling his dad isn’t too keen on Leon being gay. Not that he said so. Well, actually Leon hasn’t said anything about being gay, either. But I think it’s highly possible and, like I said, he’s certainly got the voice for it.

Mind you, one thing I’ve learned from being in here is that appearances can be deceptive. Also, you never know what goes on inside other people’s heads.

For example – Kara came by my room the other day. She’s the Asian girl – very shy and nervous. Her nails are bitten right down so raw that sometimes they bleed. Anyway, she’s sitting on my bed looking like she has something really important to say.

‘There’s something I need to tell you, Jo,’ she says.

‘Okay. Fire away, Kara.’

Then she takes a deep breath and my heart is like pounding in anticipation for what’s coming next.

‘That painting’s crooked,’ she says.

‘Sorry?’

‘That painting’s crooked.’ Then she walks over to
my lighthouse, straightens the painting (which wasn’t crooked in the first place) and wanders off.

Like I said, you never know what’s going on inside people’s heads and usually it’s not nearly as interesting as you think.

Keep writing.

Luv,

Jo