Faded Denim: Color Me Trapped (24 page)

“I don’t know for sure. I mean she kind of waffles around. Like sometimes she says how she never wants to go back to that, and then she totally flip-flops and acts like it’s no big deal, and that she can keep on bingeing and throwing up and everything will be just fine. Did I tell you that her teeth are messed up?”

“Yeah. That’s so sad.”

“I’m so glad you agreed to come with me today, Emily.” We’re out of the car now, walking toward the building. “Maybe you can tell her how you got over it.”

And so we sit in Becca’s room and I do my best to tell her about what happened to me at camp and about the special-needs kids and how their acceptance of hard challenges really got to me. Finally I tell her how I could never have gotten better without God’s help and how even now I have to pray and read the Bible just to get through it sometimes. And, although she listens, I’m not sure she really gets it.

“So have you gained any weight since you quit?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I admit. “But only about a pound, I think.”

She frowns. “So far . . .”

I cringe inside, knowing she’s right, and I haven’t weighed for several days, and it’s possible that I’ve put on more, and suddenly I feel like I’m obsessing again. So I shoot up a silent prayer, asking God for his strength to replace my weakness.

“Look, Becca,” I finally say. “All I know is that I’m thankful that God gave me the body that he did. And that it’s wrong to treat my body the way I’d been doing. Putting your health at serious risk just to lose weight isn’t just stupid, it’s sinful. It’s like slapping God in the face. And I don’t want to live like that. Never again.”

She kind of nods without looking up. “Yeah, Emily, I know you’re right, but I’m just not there yet. You know what I mean?”

I reach over and put my hand on her arm—her very thin arm. “I understand, Becca. And that’s why you’re getting treatment. And I think that, in time, you’re going to get past this. And both Leah and I are going to be praying for you. Because I really believe you’re going to need God’s help to kick this.”

We stay and talk to Becca for about an hour, and sometimes it seems like she’s really getting it, but then, as Leah already said, Becca seems to be waffling a lot too. By the time we leave the clinic, I’m not really sure whether our visit was helpful. At least not to her anyway.

But after I get home and really think about it, I decide that this afternoon was helpful to me. Just seeing Becca being so flaky and so unsure about everything, seeing how she’s so freaked about putting on weight and, most of all, seeing how she’s so completely unhappy about her life in general . . . well, it just really drove this thing home for me. And with God’s help, I think I am done with it for good.

Just the same, I’ve decided that I might need some professional help too. And for that reason, I called up an eating-disorder clinic to get more information about the support group that meets there on Thursday nights. And I signed myself up. My first meeting is scheduled during the first week of school.

Mom not only understands why I need to go but she’s also really supportive, not to mention greatly relieved. Of course, my dad doesn’t quite get it.

“An eating disorder?” he says after I tell him that I’m going to the meeting tonight.

Bracing myself, I briefly tell him about my recent battle with anorexia.

“Anorexia?” he repeats, a confused expression on his face, almost as if he doesn’t believe me. “I thought you were just dieting, Emily.”

“It was a pretty
extreme
diet,” I tell him.

“But at least you lost the weight,” he says with a victorious smile, like all that matters is looking good—no matter the cost.

I look hopefully at Mom. “Maybe you can explain this whole thing to him.”

She nods with a sad expression. “Yes. You go along to your meeting and I’ll try to help him understand.”

Poor Mom,
I think as I drive to the treatment center. But maybe this will be good for her. I have noticed how she’s been trying to eat more sensibly since I got home from camp. Lots more fresh fruits and vegetables around, and no more sneaking Krispy Kreme donuts into the house, at least none that I’ve seen. Even so, I think she and Dad need to talk about some of this stuff, get it out into the open and face it head-on.

Not that I blame my parents for the stupid choices I made. Oh,
I realize they played a part in this, but when it came right down to it, I was the one who totally blew it. I thought I was getting control of my life, but I was actually spinning out of control. And, on the same token, I’m the only one who can fix my life now—and keep it fixed. Well, with the help of God, that is. I’m fully aware that I can’t do this alone. Thank God I don’t have to!

  1. Which character do you most relate to? Why?

  2. Emily grew desperate to change her appearance. Have you ever felt desperate to change something about yourself? What?

  3. What do you think caused Emily’s distorted body image? Why did she still see “thunder thighs” after she lost weight?

  4. How did you feel when Leah decided to get breast-reduction surgery? What advice would you have given her?

  5. Leah was highly influenced by the fashion industry. Do you think our American culture is partially to blame for the way women perceive themselves? Explain.

  6. How much influence did Emily’s parents have on her in regard to her weight and eating disorder? What could they have done differently? How could Emily have asked for these things (if at all)?

  7. Why do you think that Emily’s bout with anorexia built a wall between her and God?

  8. How do you think God wants you to treat your body?

  9. Do you think you spend more time focused on your exterior person (looks, weight, . . . ) or on your interior person (heart, soul, mind, . . . )? How can you stay balanced?

10. Emily finally reached the place where she was thankful for the way God designed her. Have you come to that place yet? Why or why not? What would it take to get you there?

National Eating Disorders Association
603 Stewart St., Suite 803, Seattle, WA 98101
Business Office: (206) 382-3587
Toll-free Information and Referral Helpline: (800) 931-2237
http://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org

Christian Answers Network
PO Box 200
Gilbert, AZ 85299

http://www.christiananswers.net/q-eden/eatingdisorders.html

http://kidshealth.org/teen/food_fitness/problems/eat_disorder.html

The story of a girl who has to tackle the tough questions about
homosexuality without losing her friends in the process.

One

M
Y BEST FRIEND JUST TOLD ME SHE’S A LESBIAN
.
A
LESBIAN
!

Just like that, as we’re sitting in the food court at Greenville Mall, Sam calmly makes this little announcement, then adds, “I just thought you should know.”

“Real funny.” I roll my eyes at her and attempt to turn my attention back to my half-eaten veggie burrito. Sam and I have been best friends since grade school, and she’s always had this really offbeat sense of humor. “Give me a break,” I tell her. “Can’t you see I’m trying to eat here?”

“I’m serious, Ramie.”

“Yeah, right.” But even as I try to brush her words away, my head begins to feel a little fuzzy and my upper lip actually starts feeling numb. And somewhere, deep down in the pit of my
stomach, I think maybe she really is serious.

“I decided to come out of the closet,” she continues. “And I need you to believe me, Ramie. Trust me, it’s not like it’s easy to say this to you.”

I force myself to look at her now. Her expression is dead serious, and I don’t think she’s joking. But at the same time, she doesn’t really look quite like herself either. Something is different, and I’m wondering if this really is the same Samantha LeCroix that I grew up with. The girl who moved in down the street when we were in fourth grade? The girl who taught me how to play soccer and basketball? Is this really the same girl I’ve shared secrets and sleepovers with? Oh, sure, she has the same short, curly brown hair, those same dark, penetrating eyes, but something is different. And it’s like I suddenly feel frightened of her. A shockwave of this reality shoots through me. “You really mean this,” I manage to say in a raspy voice. My upper lip is so numb that it feels like it’s been shot with Novocain, and I actually reach up to touch it, to see if it’s still there.

She just nods, her dark brows pulling together in a deep frown.

“Sam?”
I hear the strain in my voice as I stare at her, making this silent plea with my eyes, like,
tell me this isn’t really happening
. Or that it’s just a lame joke. Or wake me up and announce that I’ve been having a horrible nightmare.

She sighs, then presses her lips together as if she’s afraid to say another word. And that’s when I start to feel sick, like I’m going to hurl, like I better get out of here fast.

“I gotta go,” I say as I make a dash to the bathroom, barely in time to lose my lunch in the toilet. I stay in the stall for a while, trying to catch my breath as I lean my back against the cool metal of the door and blankly stare at the bright purple walls that surround the toilet. I am trying to process what I’ve just heard. Trying to
decide whether this is for real. It’s possible that Sam is just pulling a fast one on me. Maybe she’s trying to teach me a lesson, to get me off her back for trying to match her up with Joey Pinckney from youth group. Okay, I’ll admit the kid is kind of nerdy, but at least he’s a nice guy and a strong Christian too.

“You left your purse at the table,” she says from the other side of the door.

“Thanks,” I mutter, still unable to emerge from my temporary shelter.

“You okay, Ramie?”

“Must’ve been that stupid burrito,” I say as I flush the chunky remains down the toilet. “Guess those beans were bad or something.”

“Yeah, I’ve warned you about that restaurant. BJ still swears she got food poisoning from their fish tacos.” Her voice sounds a little lighter now, and as a result I experience this faint flicker of hope, like maybe this really is just a hoax. Maybe it’s like that
Tom Green Show
where people get scammed while the camera is running. Maybe Sam is wearing a minicamcorder right this minute.

“You were jerking me around out there, weren’t you?” I say as I tear off a big strip of toilet paper and wipe my mouth, then loudly blow my nose. “You didn’t really mean what you said, did you, Sam?”

No answer.

“Sam?”
I take in a deep breath, steadying myself to go out and face her now, to convince her that this joke is in really bad taste, but I won’t hold it against her—if we can simply forget the whole thing.

“I just wanted to be honest with you, Ramie. I thought it was about time I told you the truth about me.”

I lean my head against the door with a dull thud then tightly shut my eyes. How can this be? How can we be sitting there, happily eating our lunch, and Sam suddenly announces that she’s gay? Like who does that anyway? And how is it possible that I never even saw this coming? I mean, if your best friend can’t guess that you’re gay, how can you be sure that you really are? And what does that suggest about me? Does Sam think that maybe I’m gay too? That she and I can be lovers now? Ugh! Or is it possible that I actually am gay and don’t even know it? And what will our friends think when they find out about this? Or our families? Or the church for that matter? And how can Sam still be a Christian if she’s a lesbian?