The summer after my freshman year of college, I spent in a beach town with that same friend’s family in New Jersey. I worked at night, in an arcade on the boardwalk, and went to the beach during the day. I was told I had to eat regularly or go home. I began to eat regularly, but not much. The first week I was at the shore, a local high school girl suddenly passed away of an anorexia-related heart attack. She had put on too much weight too fast and her heart could not deal with the sudden stress (most fatalities associated with anorexia are due to heart disease) and her heart gave out while she slept. Rumor had it that her older brothers were all-state wrestlers, and their parents would often put a lock on their refrigerator, in an attempt to help their sons maintain their weight. I do not know what attempts were made to help their anorexic daughter. I assumed she had not let anyone help her. Anorectics are stubborn and can’t be trusted.
"Did you know the girl who died?" the clerk at the 7-11 asked me eagerly while I tried to pay for my Slurpee on the day of her service.
I looked at him. "No," I said carefully.
He seemed disappointed. "I heard she was really thin," he said.
"Well, she had an eating disorder."
He seemed perplexed. "Why didn't anyone make her eat?"
"I don't know."
Her death made me sad, and, I am now ashamed to say, slightly envious, for reasons I no longer understand. In my dysfunctional mind, had she been successful? Was being skeletal worth a lifetime? I didn’t have an eating disorder, I didn’t fit the medical requirements. I knew my attitude toward food was not healthy or normal, but I waited for the day that I would grow out of it. At the end of the summer, I weighed 105 pounds.
My clothes began to not fit so well. They had become baggier than they’d ever been, especially in the upper hip area. I figured it was because I needed new clothes, that these were clearly worn and stretched out. I usually weighed myself daily, and now, I was convinced the scale was off. I kept meaning to buy a new one but never got around to it. Behind my back, my friends were pulling each other aside, asking each other if they knew if something was wrong. As far as I could tell, nothing had changed. I was still not comfortable around food, still daydreaming about it during classes and still dreaming about it at night. Still frightened about being around it.