Paperweight
By Meg Haston
4/5
()
About this ebook
This emotionally haunting and beautifully written young adult debut delves into the devastating impact of trauma and loss, in the vein of Laurie Halse Anderson’s Wintergirls.
Seventeen-year-old Stevie is trapped. In her life. In her body. And now in an eating-disorder treatment center on the dusty outskirts of the New Mexico desert.
Life in the center is regimented and intrusive, a nightmare come true. Nurses and therapists watch Stevie at meal time, accompany her to the bathroom, and challenge her to eat the foods she’s worked so hard to avoid.
Her dad has signed her up for sixty days of treatment. But what no one knows is that Stevie doesn’t plan to stay that long. There are only twenty-seven days until the anniversary of her brother Josh’s death—the death she caused. And if Stevie gets her way, there are only twenty-seven days until she, too, will end her life.
Paperweight follows seventeen-year-old Stevie’s journey as she struggles not only with a life-threatening eating disorder, but with the question of whether she can ever find absolution for the mistakes of her past…and whether she truly deserves to.
Meg Haston
Meg Haston is the author of How to Rock Braces and Glasses and How to Rock Best Friends and Frenemies. She lives in Jacksonville, Florida, where she writes and works as a counselor in an independent school. Paperweight is her first young adult novel.
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Reviews for Paperweight
117 ratings12 reviews
- Rating: 2 out of 5 stars2/5Even though this book gave an interesting insight into eating disorders, I found the plot slow and I did not like the main character, Stevie, at all! She was extremely self-centred and did some stupid things including drugging her room-mate with sleeping tablets, not once but on a number of occasions. I would have preferred to have had the story narrated by Ashley or Cate, two other girls living at the ED treatment centre - they were much more likeable and interesting.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5PAPERWEIGHT is an excellent story of a young woman dealing with tragedy and a life-threatening illness. It begins when she is taken to rehab to deal with her eating disorders. She has a plan. She plans to die on the anniversary of her brother's death. She feels that she deserves to die because she feels that she killed him.Through flashbacks we learn what brought Stevie to this place and we begin to understand why she has made the decision that she intends to accomplish. We also see how she begins to interact with her fellow housemates and with her therapist Anna - who she first thinks of as Shrink.I think one of the things I noticed as she begins her first tiny steps toward recovery is that people become more real to her, that they have their own names, rather than what Stevie has named them. I liked the friendship that she developed with her roommate Ashley. I liked that she recognized how toxic her relationship with her friend Eden was. The style of the book - with each Chapter marked by Date and Time - added to the tension in the story and kept me wondering if she was going to be able to fulfill her plan and die on the anniversary of her brother's death.This book was an engaging story about a real and serious problem. I will be adding it to my High School Media Center when our new school year starts.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Review courtesy of Dark Faerie TalesQuick & Dirty: Terrifyingly authentic, this book is raw, gripping, and devastating.Opening Sentence: Twenty-seven days to freedom, and I am caged.The Review:Stevie is trapped. Her life has became hell as she descends closer and closer to death. Every day she mourns the loss of her brother, the brother whom she grieves for and carries guilt for. She counts calories as a desperate way to grasp control on her life, but now even that is slipping away, in the treatment center where girls like her with eating disorders go to heal. Stevie doesn’t think she needs healing — in fact, she doesn’t want it. Because the anniversary of her brother’s death is approaching and she has a plan for that day. She plans for it to be her last. Stevie’s journey towards recovery is raw and gritty in this novel about forgiveness and regret.I didn’t know much going into Paperweight. I knew vaguely that it was about a girl with a bad eating disorder who is faced with a treatment center, but I didn’t realize just how painful this book would be. It’s very hard reading from Stevie’s perspective. She’s in so, so much pain and is teetering on the edge of a cliff. There are so many different interconnecting things that took a part in this pain — her guilt, her anger towards her mother, her confused feelings towards her “best friend”. Sometimes I would have to stop reading, take a deep breath, and remember that happy things existed.The development of Stevie was the most important element of the story. She starts off super bitter and angry all the time. She sets up a wall of hatred, for herself and others, in order to block out the brunt of her guilt. She could be kind of bitchy, forgive my language. She mocked the girls that were healing and looked down on them. She only respected the ones that fought getting better — she felt that they were the strongest. That was hard to watch. As the story goes on, very slowly she regains herself. She begins to forge friendships with other girls and is able to consider the possibility of not killing herself. There were a few roadblocks. She was furious at herself for, at one point, eating more than her usual measly amount, and she thought she was showing weakness. For a long time, she truly was hopeless, and it was frightening. Thankfully she grew to be a whole new Stevie after coaxing herself there.There were some side characters as well that I enjoyed. One was the therapist for Stevie, Anna, whom was called Shrink in Stevie’s head. Her approach was gentle and she didn’t push too hard, but I think she played a good part in showing Stevie that there was a possibility for a better future. I also liked watching the other girls in the house grow. They each had individual stories and problems, and each was fighting a different battle. Watching Stevie group together with the others was heartwarming, especially in a book that was so dark and depressing.This book dealt with a very sensitive subject in eating disorders. It really helps you to understand what those who go through it feel. I think that the author executed the painful subject matter with expertise and wasn’t afraid to add lots of raw emotion. If you are looking for a cute contemporary than this is not it; there is no fluff in this book. There wasn’t a romance either. It was about a character’s journey towards forgiving herself and moving on. There was so much grit in this book, it kind of reminds me of Bleed Like Me. Go ahead, read it, it’s wonderfully done. But be prepared to shed more than a few tears!Notable Scene:I imagine myself dead. Cold. Perfect and unbreathing with a still, stone heart. The weight of my useless body rotting in the ground. My soul lighter than paper and drifting far from its fleshy prison.I allow myself a small smile. Death won’t desert me. It’s waiting for me, beckoning. And I’m ready, taking sure steps towards my final act. An intricately choreographed scene that will amaze. I will face the audience: my mother, Eden. My father, Shrink. And with a glittering cloud of smoke – poof!I will disappear.FTC Advisory: HarperTeen provided me with a copy of Paperweight. No goody bags, sponsorships, “material connections,” or bribes were exchanged for my review.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5When I read the synopsis, I knew I had to request this book. Some personal issues in my life, which some of you have read about previously on this blog, have led me to love these types of books so I went in with high hopes. That’s the thing, guys. You cannot go in with high hopes or it is a very high chance you will be disappointed.Stevie can be described as a very complex character whom I thought I would love as the story progressed, yet I didn’t. I didn’t feel any emotional pull towards her. I tried to like her and would even forgive things she would do but she still irked me a lot. I couldn’t comprehend what was going on through her head, which to be honest happens quite a lot with real life people. There were two characters I loved in this story and they are Ana, the shrink and Ashley, the roommate. Ana is what every aspiring Psychologist should look up to. Yes, she did quite a few minor things that are not okay by the APA (American Psychological Association) but she did everything she could to help Stevie. There are times where you even see her shedding a tear for Stevie because she truly cares. Do you know how hard it is to find a psychologist who truly cares about you? You’d be surprised how difficult it is to find one. The ones that are lucky to have one like Ana, should treasure them 110%. Then there is Ashley, another character who is a bit complex but is easy to love. In the beginning, Stevie didn’t quite like Ashley, which even led me to dislike her a bit but then I realized I was being stupid since Ashley is probably the best friend Stevie could have asked for in a place where she is. Ashley looks out for Stevie like no one has ever done, besides her brother. She is another character that cares for Stevie and is there for her.Now let’s talk about the characters I didn’t like and one of them is Eden. Eden is Stevie’s friend from before she went into treatment and let me tell you, I wasn’t fond of her at all. While reading about her, I felt like she thought she was above everyone else and she would toy around with people’s emotions. I also didn’t like Stevie’s mom. She abandoned Stevie and her dad after the funeral and they hadn’t heard from her in a while. She also didn’t care about anyone but herself, or at least that’s how she was portrayed to me. It shows why Stevie has the behavior she has when it comes to her body image. Yes, it is Stevie’s mind and it was her choice, but sometimes the people that surround us play a role in how we act. In this case, Stevie didn’t receive love from her mom—only from her brother and father. This could lead to many negative thoughts running through ones head and in this case, it leads Stevie to take a negative action.I have to warn some of you. This book has some triggering parts to those that suffer from Anorexia and/or Bulimia Nervosa and those who Self-Harm or have suicidal thoughts. I want to put that out there because people do get triggered by these things, even if it tries to portray a positive message in the end. With that said, even with my rating, I recommend teens to read this book—the reason being that it deals with many things that sometimes teens tend to be ignorant about, even adults. This book could serve as a learning material to some and even on how to deal with someone who suffers from the subjects mentioned above. These subjects are very serious and shouldn’t be taken lightly. It was inspiring to read that this story was based on the author’s experiences at a treatment camp, which makes you realize that these things do happen in real life, no matter how frustrating a person can get. This book shows that you don’t give up on someone who suffers from this. You give them your support until the end.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5This is the story of teenager Stevie who blames herself for her brother’s death in a car accident. She finds herself in a treatment center for eating disorders closed to the first anniversary of his death. It is her intent to honor him and punish herself by committing suicide on that date. While her original plan involved starving to death, the treatment facility has made that impossible, so she searches for other ways. However, she ends up bonding with her therapist and roommate, making such an ending impossible. While some of the action is contrived, see relationship with Eden, the insights are credible.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5This book hits a lot of heavy spots and is definitely not a book to take lightly as the title may suggest otherwise. I think that this book will speak to a lot of people. The force of guilt is so strong and it's so heartbreaking to see that it causes some people to get on a downward spiral.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5This novel was incredibly moving and I won't forget all the tears I shed over it.
- Rating: 1 out of 5 stars1/5Extremely trite. This reads like a high schooler's understanding of bulimia. I genuinely did not care about a single person in this book. The prose was cringe worthy, the story predictable, the main character lacked any true personality. If you are looking for a YA book that tackles similar issues just read Wintergirls. It is infinitely better.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5I wanted to read Paperweight because I am drawn to books about heavy issues such as mental illness and eating disorders. As most of you know, I deal with mental illness and I have always had a lot of body image issues and have struggled with not eating, binge eating and purging. Luckily the anorexic and bulimic behaviors are no longer something I personally struggle with, they are such vital topics to talk about. I find it therapeutic when reading books like these, when it is handled realistically, with sensitivity and doesn't hold back on the emotional involvement. Stevie, the main character in Paperweight has just entered into treatment. She is not at the place where she wants help, or believes that she needs it. She actually wants her disorder to kill her, or at the very least, guilt over her brother's death, which she considers her fault, makes her want to die. That aspect, her feeling like her brother's death was her fault is another reason I was curious about this one. I know that survivor's guilt and grief has a way of distorting reality, so I wanted to know what really happened and how that ties into the person she is today, with the struggles she has. I liked the relationships that she formed there, even though she was really reluctant at first. She had a very good therapist who was open with her, and was good at asking the right questions. She realized when she pushed too hard and she was awesome enough to apologize. Her roomie and her got off to a rough start, but I liked the bonds that they ended up forming. They shared parts of their past, and she realized what a non-judgmental and supportive friendship could be like. The flashbacks showing her relationship with her brother were really nice. They of course are colored by her guilt and things she wished she had done differently. This is a great use of sibling dynamics, and I love how he was a big brother and tried to be there for her and also protect her. He was the only one who noticed and addressed her adversarial relationship with food and the weight that she lost. In her memories we also get to meet her friend Eden. They had a complicated relationship, but she is the one who introduced and facilitated Stevie's drinking. Stevie had to realize a lot about that friendship and that it was unhealthy for her. The character growth in this one was pronounced but realistic. It took a lot for her to realize that she was sick and to have the desire to want to change, and beat her illness. Nothing was a miracle or over night cure, which is true to life, but it was a big catalyst that helped her want to change, and realize that she can honor her brother by living, instead of the warped idea that her death on the anniversary would somehow be big enough event for the year anniversary since he died. Bottom Line: Dark and realistic look at a girl in treatment for her eating disorder.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Stevie was too wasted to remember exactly how she ended up at an eating disorder rehab center in the middle of the desert, but she's angry she's there. After fighting for so long, bring so strong, and no one at home even noticing or saying anything... NOW they want to ruin her progress? She's so close to the end - the date she chose to kill herself. The one year anniversary of the day she killed her brother. She wants to waste away to nothing, a sacrifice to honor his death, but Stevie isn't sure she'll be able to starve herself with people forcing her to eat. If she doesn't maintain her weight, they'll put her on a feeding tube, and that will make her blimp up. Plus Anna, the shrink at the rehab clinic, is getting inside Stevie's head, causing her to forget who's right and who's wrong in this whole mess. All Stevie knows is that she can't go on this way - harming herself out of guilt while missing her brother.
1 person found this helpful
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5I received an advanced reader's copy from Epic Reads in return for an honest review.
Paperweight packs an emotional punch that has you feeling for Stevie and all the other girls in the treatment center. It touches on such an important subject, eating disorders, and shows how people and events can affect a person and create overwhelming atmospheres. It is a stark reality that eating disorders consume one's life, and Stevie's need for control manifests itself in this form.
Stevie is forced to go to a treatment center after her eating disorder spirals out of control. While at first determined not to progress, Shrink (Anna) and the other girls there help Stevie process her past and start to move forward. The flashbacks to Stevie's life before add depth and complexity to her story. The supporting characters play such intricate rolls in Stevie's life and it is clear to see how each has impacted her.
My heart hurt for Stevie as her story unfolded. While at first she comes across as cold (and maybe even unfeeling?), it is soon evident that she is broken, hurting, and full of self-hate. How can she love herself when her own mother doesn't and (according to herself) she is the reason her brother is dead?
This is a great book that deals not only with mental health and eating disorders, but also with grief and the healing process. Haston doesn't sugarcoat anything and for that I am grateful as what Stevie went through is all too real for too many.1 person found this helpful
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5*Thank You Harper Teen for an Advanced Copy*
This book caught me off guard with it's deep rooted emotion and addicting storyline. I'm not usually keen on switching from past to present, but with this one, it worked. It added depth to the story and made me truly empathize with the lead character. Now I will warn you... Stevie is a tough character to like. She is selfish, troubled, and confused. Give it time though... Let the story progress and get ready to be surprised by many twists. In the end my heart was filled with Stevie love.
The writing in this book was great. I applaud the Author for tackling such an intense theme with poise and charm. Most of the scenes were intense, but she did throw in some witty parts that put a smile on my face. I particularly loved the swimming scene. It was the turning point for me... At that point, I saw the light at the end of the tunnel.
Overall, Paperweight is a story I recommend to all teen readers. It opens your eyes to a tough subject and shows you that in the darkest of times there is always a sliver of light.1 person found this helpful
Book preview
Paperweight - Meg Haston
day one
Friday, July 4, 1:34 P.M.
TWENTY-SEVEN days to freedom, and I am caged. Suspended in a boxy aluminum prison with gray cloth seats and the synthetic stench of piña colada swinging from the rearview.
Josh—sorry! Joshua—would say I’m being a drama queen. I imagine him saying things like that sometimes. It’s not like I can actually hear his words out loud, or he comes to me in my dreams, or some bullshit like that. But if I’m really still, I can almost hear him. The closer I get to the Anniversary, the more I’m trying. I pretend that he’s next to me on our rotted wood balcony before dawn, when my shallow breath rattle is the only sound. I conjure him up in the middle of the night, and he’s sitting next to the bed when I’m dizzy and sick with Eden and booze. I imagine him rubbing my back in easy circles, whispering these sweet French lullabies our mother used to sing. I can almost feel the warmth of his hand.
I wish he were here now to calm me. I am a hostage in the passenger seat of a white minivan, trapped next to a strange woman with cotton candy hair the color of ginger ale. She is telling me about her granddaughter’s masterful performance in the role of Velma Kelly in her middle school production of Chicago. As if we were old friends, as if I didn’t see her activate the child lock the second we pulled out of the airport parking lot.
In old movies, men in white coats cart the crazies away. I get a woman in a white minivan.
"—just such a vivid performance. Cotton Candy’s pearly pink acrylics tap the steering wheel at exactly the ten and two positions.
She really transformed herself into the part. Bill—that’s my husband—got the whole thing on the camcorder."
I glare out the window at the infinite stretch of two-lane highway. The flat New Mexico desert looks like a kid’s drawing: swirls of waxy blue sky over jagged red dirt, leaning cacti like somebody just plunked them down without bothering to make sure they were screwed in right. I even see wavy heat lines like when Josh and our dad used to barbecue behind the house on Broad. But then I blink and they’re gone.
She’s the only one in the family with any creativity.
Cotton Candy laughs and shakes her head. Her hair doesn’t move.
The van veers onto a long, skinny dirt road. To the right is a pasture, the only green I’ve seen in hours. Beyond the green is a dusty riding ring with several horses tethered to a fence. There are a few square stucco structures with flat roofs scattered across the grounds. They are old and unevenly spaced, like dice slung across a sandy floor and forgotten.
We’ll get you situated at the villa and then I’ll take your bags to your cottage,
Cotton Candy says.
Villa? Cottage? She makes this place sound like an all-inclusive resort. I almost order a complimentary cocktail. Last night’s buzz is starting to wear off.
The bruise above my left eyebrow throbs, and I scrutinize my reflection in the window. The knot has morphed into a purplish welt that looks like Italy, only horizontal. I’d cover it with my hair if I had any. But I got sick of it last week, the way it was wavy in some places and flat in others, like it had no idea what to be. So I got Eden to crop it close to my head. Now uneven, razored layers fall lifelessly around my skull. I can’t remember the last time I showered.
The road dead-ends into a circular drive in front of a large stucco building. It’s similar to the others but imposing, with a slanted red tile roof.
"There are nineteen other girls with us right now, four girls to a cottage. You’ll be in Cottage Three. Great girls in Cottage Three. Just great girls, Cotton Candy chirps.
They’ll be thrilled to show you the ropes as you’re getting settled."
God, I hope there’s a secret handshake.
So this is the villa.
She parks the van and turns to face me. She’s an ex-smoker, redeemed—I can tell from her fake blue-white teeth and the hairline cracks snaking from her pursed lips like barren riverbeds.
I’m so happy you’ve chosen to take this step, Stephanie.
For a second it seems like she’s going to grasp my hands in hers, maybe try to pray with me. But then I think she sees the look on my face and decides against it. We all are.
It’s Stevie. I go by Stevie.
My voice sounds hoarse. Weak, even though I’m suddenly furious. Why didn’t Dad tell them when he called? Stevie. Never Stephanie. I am not her.
Stevie.
She sounds uncertain, probably because she’s just noticed the outline of my mother on my left forearm. Stevie,
she tries again. Welcome to the first day of your recovery.
I hear a click and try the handle. The passenger door opens.
I lower my gray flip-flops into red dust and squint into the light. There are two sets of cement steps that lead to a wooden front door with a twisted wrought-iron handle. Between the sets of stairs is a tiered stone fountain that’s choking on weak spurts of moldy water.
It reminds me of something I saw on that sucky home renovation show Josh used to half watch while reading for one of his psych classes. That’s how smart he was: classes at the university at seventeen, and still he could watch TV and read at the same time.
Seriously, Josh,
I said, lowering myself to the dingy mustard-colored carpet in the living room. It smelled like cat pee and cigarettes. After our mother left, we moved to this run-down apartment on the west side of town. It was nothing like the airy Victorian house the four of us had shared on Broad. Josh and I christened the new place Le Crâpeau, which we decided was Franglais for the Crap Castle.
Can’t we watch something else?
On the coffee table was an unopened bag of salt and vinegar chips. Our mother would never have allowed them.
Shouldn’t you be writing?
Josh said from the couch, an eighteenth-century French love seat. Like the rest of the furniture, it used to be hers. It didn’t exactly fit with the slatted plastic blinds and ugly fluorescent lighting. Or at least locking yourself in your room with writer’s block?
Ben says there’s no such thing as writer’s block. Only writer’s ‘I really, really, really don’t want to do this.’
Bennett Ashe was a novelist friend of our dad’s. They’d met when Dad started a men’s writing group and advertised it in the local paper, where he worked as an arts and leisure editor. Since then, the group had been predictable: Tuesday nights in our kitchen, bourbon, and too many In my next novels to count. Ben was the only real novelist among the group, if you didn’t count the three manuscripts stashed at the bottom of Dad’s desk drawer like dirty magazines.
How’s, uh . . . the class?
It’s not what he wants to ask. Or who he wants to ask about. But there is an unspoken rule between us, and he obeys it.
Good, I guess.
Ben taught a narrative prose seminar to community college kids over the summer and had agreed to let me audit the course. Dad swore that it had everything to do with my talent. Nothing to do with the fact that Ben was basically family—and pitied me for being motherless. Right.
I could take a look at some of your stuff, if you want.
It’s not ready,
I said quickly. Later, maybe.
I stretched out my legs, pressing my palms into the carpet and feeling the scratchy fiber fingers struggling beneath me. I took a slow, deep breath and tensed the muscles in my legs with intention. The leg lifts had to be exact or they wouldn’t count. One, pause, hold, and down. Two, pause, hold, and down.
Josh ignored me, staring at the Spanish-style mansion on the screen. It was in Miami, surrounded by palm trees. There was even an infinity pool in the backyard. The owner’s shirt was unbuttoned so far you could see his chest hair.
Look at that fountain in the front there. Nice, huh?
Josh reached for the bag of chips and tore it open. It belched salt and acrid vinegar. My stomach twisted with guilt. Too much salt, she would have said. Too much fat. Josh didn’t care. He acted like it didn’t matter, like she was never coming back. Come on. You love these.
He tilted the bag toward me.
I don’t,
I spat. Besides, I already ate.
I switched legs. Faster now, double time. I was efficient. A machine. I made sure to breathe through my mouth, so not even the smell of the grease could penetrate me. I was a fortress. This show is for bored housewives, Josh. Seriously.
Shut up.
He tossed the remote at me, hard, and it whacked me in the shoulder. I grabbed it and switched to A&E. "And it’s Joshua." Changing to his full name was the first order of business after he’d gotten his acceptance letter from the university. He probably thought it would make the real college kids forget he was seventeen and a virgin.
Sorry,
I snorted. "This show is for bored housewives . . . Joshuuuuaahhhh."
Now Cotton Candy opens the front door and ushers me inside. After you.
A blast of air-conditioning slips under my clothes, leaving a million tiny goose bumps in its wake. It’s colder in here than it was on the plane. I can feel my body kicking into overdrive.
Good.
You can think of the villa as your home base. You’ll eat your meals here and spend time between group and other activities. The cottages are for sleeping only. Staff locks them during the day,
she explains in a hushed voice as she leads me down a long Spanish-tiled hallway.
We come to a giant room divided by a nurses’ station. One side is a dining room with five round tables in light-colored wood. The other side looks like the rec room at Summer Camp for the Criminally Insane and Hopelessly Screwed: mismatched couches facing a television, tables scattered with crayons and construction paper.
Along the back wall, glass-paned double doors look over a patio and a small yard. Beyond that are the riding ring and the pasture, then the emptiness of the desert. I’ve reached the very end of the earth.
The other girls are in group right now. You’ll meet them at afternoon snack.
Her voice echoes a little and the hall starts to sway. I screw my eyes shut and brace for the fall.
Careful, dear,
she says, steadying me. She’s got surprisingly quick reflexes.
I’m fine,
I say hastily, jerking away. When I open my eyes, the hall is straight again. I’m fine.
She presses her lips together until they vanish. The nurses will get your vitals, take some blood, and do an EKG before your evening meal. But Anna wanted to meet you first, say hello.
Anna?
Do I know an Anna?
Anna. Your therapist.
Slowly, she leads me to an office door on the left side of the hall. You’re lucky. Anna’s one of the best we’ve got here.
Lucky? She’s twisted, I’ll give her that.
We’re standing in front of the door now, and my chaperone raps on the wood three times, fast. AnnaAnnaAnna.
Come in.
Cotton Candy nods at me, then at the doorknob. Go on in.
I reach for the knob with a shaky hand. Only it isn’t really me. I’m detached, a spectator in a cold, dark theater watching an unsuspecting victim approach her end.
Don’t do it! I want to yell. It’s a trap! But the girl on the screen doesn’t hear me. Just twists the knob and steps over the threshold. They always do.
day one
Friday, July 4, 2:01 P.M.
IT’S Stevie,
I say, after Cotton Candy has made her exit but before the shrink can get it wrong. I stay pressed against the door for support—and the promise of a quick escape.
Stevie. I’m Anna. I’ll be your individual therapist during your stay here.
Shrink smiles warmly but stays put in her red armchair. She is folding a glossy yellow paper square with rapid, sure movements until it starts to take shape. She doesn’t try to shake my hand or—maybe there is a higher power—hug me. Officially, we won’t start until tomorrow, but I heard you were getting in and wanted to say hi.
She places the half-folded paper sculpture on the side table next to her.
I nod. Her reward for Not Touching.
Why don’t you take a seat?
She gestures toward the turquoise love seat facing her chair. On it are two round saffron pillows stitched with tiny brown beads.
I consider not moving. It wouldn’t be fair to dangle obedience, then yank it away. But I’m so unbearably tired, so heavy, that I shrug and collapse on the soft cushions. At the moment of impact, I imagine I’m just like any other girl, crashing on the couch after school. I even let my fantasy self have a snack. Ice cream. No. Sugary cereal, the kind my mother always said would give me cancer.
The first week can feel a bit overwhelming as you become oriented to treatment and the schedule here,
Shrink says. She wears loose, ripped blue jeans and a white tank top. A moss-colored cardigan obscures an enviably carved collarbone, but her thighs and ass are soft. Her feet are bare save for a turquoise toe ring. Strawberry waves are piled in a chaotic bun on top of her head. There is a peace sign tattooed on the inside of her right wrist, so we all know she does hot yoga and donates to Planned Parenthood. Every morning with breakfast, you’ll receive a printed schedule that tells you where to be, when. We build some time to relax and reflect into each day. Free time, essentially, though you’ll need to stay in the villa or on the lawn.
So, not free, then.
I regret opening my mouth. I can’t let her get to me.
During the first week, you’ll meet with everyone on your treatment team: me, your physician, your psychiatrist, and your dietician,
she continues unfazed, tucking her feet beneath her. There will be a lot of paperwork, and some computer testing, as well as some medical tests. This is all to give us a better understanding of your needs while you’re here.
Not that I’ll be here long. The Anniversary is twenty-seven days from now, exactly. If I make it that long. With any luck, I’ll be gone by then. Disappeared, just like my mother before me.
Once all that is taken care of,
Shrink continues, we’ll get you into a more regular routine. You and I will have sessions three times a week, and you’ll have group therapy twice each week.
It seems like it is time for me to shrug again.
It’s a lot to take in, I know.
When she smiles, I notice that her two front teeth overlap slightly at the bottom. You can always ask if you have questions. Any questions right now?
I shake my head.
Okay.
She tilts her head slightly and nods. So, you must be exhausted.
No way she’s a PhD with a line like that. I scan the wall to my right for any sign of a diploma, but there isn’t any, probably to make me feel like she’s just this girl I know and we’re hanging out in her room, flipping through magazines and chatting, like, Would bangs look good on me? Be honest.
And then, So . . . sometimes I lock myself in my bathroom and stick my toothbrush down my throat. Is that totally weird? Be honest.
I slide my right hand across my stomach and count the ribs on the left side. Once, twice, three times. They’re not as sharp as yesterday. I have to get out of here. This was such a mistake. I told Dad this was a mistake.
The shrink lifts a folder from the table next to her and scans its contents. From your intake paperwork, it looks like you didn’t have much time to prepare for . . . this. You had about a day to get ready?
The table is painted like a chessboard. On it is one of those Zen fountains. It’s loud and kind of erratic, like an elephant with prostate problems trying to pee.
Wrong.
Now the right side. Once, twice, three times. I can hardly feel them beneath the softness. Eight hours.
Wow.
She leans toward me. And can you tell me a little bit about how that went? What got you here?
My dad got worried, I guess. So he called. I can’t—I don’t know.
It’s not a lie. I really don’t know how I got here. I run my middle finger down the center of my right thigh. I can feel the scar through the fabric of my jeans, withered and hard.
Take me through what you can remember. From your point of view, not Dad’s.
Dad’s, she says. Like he’s our dad, both of ours. Like our histories are the same.
I never said I couldn’t remember.
But she fixes me with a look and I know she’s not giving up until I give her something. I got home last night . . . this morning . . . and he was waiting on the couch. This love seat. Watching TV.
And what time was this?
"I don’t know. Three, four. Whatever time they play reruns of Dick Van Dyke."
You’d been out?
With Eden. My . . . this girl Eden. She drove me home.
I dig my fingernails into one of the yellow pillows. Speaking Eden’s name fills my mouth with liquid rage. But she’s all I have left, so I gulp it down.
When I’d gotten home, Dad was smoking in his undershirt and jeans. His mouth was open, but no sound escaped. Maybe it was the booze, but suddenly Josh was in the room with us.
He’s scared,
Josh translated. He didn’t know where you were. He never knows where you are anymore.
Can he tell I’m drunk?
I giggled. Drunkity-drunk-drunk?
He’s not a moron, Stevie.
I could feel Josh’s exhaustion. You never give him enough credit. You never give anybody enough credit.
Ohhh, Rooobbbb!
Mary Tyler Moore whined on the screen.
Listen,
I said. Maybe you can hold the pep talk for another day? I’ve got a lot on my plate. There’s an anniversary coming up, you know.
No shit.
I’m preparing the sacrifice,
I explained solemnly. Then, suddenly racked with laughter, I took a step toward Dad and a wailing Mary Tyler Moore. And everything went dark.
When I don’t say any more, Shrink reaches for a plastic Dasani bottle at her feet. Dad mentioned you’d passed out soon after you got home. Hit your forehead on the edge of the coffee table.
She unscrews the cap and takes a sip.
I point to the purple Italy above my eye. Exhibit A, signorina.
Losing consciousness . . . Was that due to your anorexia? Being malnourished? Or had you been drinking as well?
Both.
I bite the inside of my cheek, but I don’t think it hides the smile. The urge to bolt has passed, and now I just want to close my eyes and slide into the word, soak in it until my skin’s all pruney. Anorexia. Yes. Yes. It’s like she’s seeing me for the very first time.
And does that happen a lot?
What?
I ask, wanting her to say it again. Call me by my name. The drinking, or the passing out?
Both. Either.
Her outline is getting blurry around the edges, dipping from side to side.
Sometimes.
And so . . . you get home, you pass out, and when you come to, what do you remember?
Um . . .
I close my eyes. Pretzels or peanuts?
This part I remember: a woman with spidery lashes and orange foundation leaning over my seat with a porcelain smile and a Southern drawl. Prayt-sels or peenuts, huun?
The next thing you remember is being on the plane from Atlanta.
I didn’t have any,
I say quickly.
Any . . .
Pretzels or peanuts. I didn’t have any.
The very thought makes my insides squirm. Again I count the ribs. This time, they are nearly indistinguishable.
I see.
Shrink leans forward a little. Mind if I ask what you’re thinking right now?
My eyes snap open, and suddenly I see the world with stunning clarity.
I’m thinking I don’t need to be here.
Deprivation has made me sharp, like a hawk. I know what needs to happen. I’ll call Eden tonight, get her to send me a plane ticket. She’ll be pissed after the text I sent before my plane took off this morning, but I’ll tell her I was still drunk. Didn’t mean it. Just one call, and she’ll save me. Cell phones aren’t allowed here, but I ducked into the bathroom when I got off the plane and stuffed my phone in my bra, along with a few twenties I swiped from Dad’s wallet.
You don’t believe you’re sick enough to be here,
she says. So if you had to put a number, one to ten, on your motivation to seek treatment, what do you think that number would be? Ten being fully motivated.