by Mallory Jones
“Just eat your damn dinner, you’re killing yourself!” I yelled at my daughter. I immediately felt a rush of guilt after those words ran out of my mouth. I stood there, motionless, as she sat in the corner of the couch. She was curled up in a ball, shaking, with tears rolling down her face. I’ve never seen my daughter like this, and frankly, I don’t know what to do. She’s always been outgoing and high-achieving. She had a laugh that would light up the room and a smile that would stop you in your tracks. I haven’t heard that laugh in a while, and her smile looks forced now. You can tell by her eyes that she is suffering. They don’t sparkle anymore. They’re cloudy now, and she has dark circles under her eyes that never seem to go away. Over the past few months, she has lost over 20 pounds. She’s always been small, but now she’s fragile. Her skin is as pale as a ghost, and her dark, shiny hair looks thin and dull. No one prepares you for things like this as a parent. They don’t tell you how to deal with it, or tell you what’s right and what’s wrong. It’s hard to sit here and watch her throw her life away. She was heading down a great path, making all A’s and on the varsity volleyball team as a freshman. Now, her grades have deteriorated and she quit the team. I don’t know why she’s acting like this, and I wish I knew. I watched as she stood up from the couch, and slowly moped into the kitchen. I’ve been secretly buying meats higher in fat and adding oils when I cook so she gets more calories. I watch as she examines her food before hesitantly taking a bite. Another tear rolls down her face. She takes a few more bites, and then pushes the plate away.
“Thank you, Dad, that was really good.”
She gets up to leave. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to eat? You need help,” I say in frustration. Another tear rolls down her face. Her voice is shaking when she murmurs, “I know, Dad.”
I want to help her even though she may not see that. Sometimes I come off as frustrated but I just don’t understand why she doesn’t see she’s already perfect and beautiful the way she is.
“Just eat your damn dinner, you’re killing yourself!” My dad yelled. I could see the immediate look of regret in his eyes. I wonder if he knows he’s part of the reason I’m like this. A few months ago he started ‘getting back in shape’. All he talked about, 24/7, was his calorie intake, how many pounds he had lost, blah, blah, blah. I know he was excited and just wanted to share his progress with us, but he didn’t see the effects it started to have on me. When you’re young, your brain soaks up everything. I was listening to everything he said about what he was eating and how much he was eating. I had been wanting to lose some weight so I could look good in my tight-fitting volleyball uniform, so I started tracking my calories like he was. I started watching as the scale slowly started to creep down. One thing led to the next, and my only focus was how little could I eat and how small could I get. My brain turned it into a game. It’s a toxic and harmful game. I chose not to realize I was sick and in a bad spot. I gaslighted myself into thinking I was healthy, when truly, I was dying on the inside. I knew deep down that I had developed an eating disorder but I wouldn’t let myself accept it. No one talks about the depression and anxiety that comes with an eating disorder. My whole world was consumed by it. I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. My grades dropped because I was in a permanent daze, and I quit the volleyball team because I had no energy to even touch a volleyball. I knew I needed to give my dad some peace of mind, so I slowly stood up and walked into the kitchen. I was so malnourished that my feet felt like cement blocks when I walked. I took a bite of the dinner that he cooked but only ate about a fourth of it. Sometimes, I feel bad barely eating when he takes time to cook for me, but I physically and mentally can’t. As I got up to leave the room, he let out a huge breath and said, “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to eat? You need help.” Everything that had been building up inside me broke after hearing that. I could feel the pain, frustration, and fear in his words. Everything in me wanted to tell him how I wanted to die, how I didn’t see a light at the end of the tunnel, and how I just needed someone to help pull me out of all this mess. I wanted to tell him that I see that he’s doing the best he can, and that it’s okay if he feels lost, because I do too. I wanted to say I was sorry, but all that broke through my trembling lips was, “I know, Dad.”