Love and a Lost Girl

    Love and a Lost Girl

            The door behind her shuts. She locks it carefully. The water from the shower she just turned on is getting hotter. The steam is rising, and the mirror is fogging up. She looks at her reflection in disgust. Disgust, a word -no a feeling- she knows all too well. She gazes at the sink, then at the toilet, and then returns her critical eyes to the mirror. She turns the knob on the sink, just enough to get more background noise before she slips into the familiar routine. The lid lifts to reveal a bowl awaiting her sickness. With the popsicle stick, which she stashed in her purse earlier, tightly gripped in her fingers, she begins the destructive process.

Round one: She quickly shoves the stick down her throat triggering the usual gag reflex. She’s releasing all the horrible thoughts about herself, the disgust. The pain, the worrying and fretting and the comparing and judging are all escaping her body. The feelings of inadequacy, failure, misplaced self-worth and beauty rush up her throat like an out-of-control river. This also includes all of the food she has consumed in the hours since her last so called “redemption.”

Chunks of her self-disgust bellow into the bowl aiding her addiction. The acidic bile stings her throat and she lets out an insecure cough. Her grip slightly weaker than before, she reaches for something to wipe her mouth. She rises like a wounded soldier and walks to the mirror. Carefully, she wipes away the fog with her hand, hoping maybe her opinion will change. Wrong. Shaking she nears the bowl again; the now bile covered stick in hand.

Round two: She forces the stick once more down her throat regurgitating any feeling she has left. Now she is in her element. This process has been repeated so many times, she loses count and stops when she is too weak to continue. The steam from the running shower has turned the room into a sauna. She leans back against the wall in a thin, self-inflicted daze. Not really focusing her attention on anything in particular, her eyelids grow heavy and ultimately close.

At first she sees only black. The black turns to grey, then to white. The white becomes blinding, like someone turned the saturation all the way up. The brightness of the white starts to recede; the picture becomes clearer, more focused. A girl, in what seems to be a meadow, is surrounded by colorful, sweet-smelling flowers.

The girl is leaned over, examining each wonderful flower. She is in a lovely white dress. The dress fits her perfectly, like it was designed just for the contours of her body. This girl in the meadow is the same girl whose eyes are closed right now. The girl, engrossed in the flowers, doesn’t seem to notice that in the distance someone is coming. She is humming to herself and enjoying the variety of flowers that are before her.

There is a gentle tap on her shoulder. As she turns around, her eyes meet those of a man. The overwhelming kindness in his eyes melts her down to the core. He smiles and reaches for her hand. She obliges. He is dressed in an all white tuxedo. Even his shoes are white. He takes her and pulls her close. She melts in his love; it seems to engulf every part of her.

“You’ve always been beautiful to me. I love you,” he kindly whispers.

These two simple sentences seem to wash over her with peace and reassurance. The tears she fought back at meeting his eyes are now trickling down her cheeks. He releases her from his warm embrace, but still has her hand in his. She looks into his eyes and cannot help but smile. His caring smile appears once more as he begins to twirl her. With her flowing gown and graceful movement, she is the most coveted ballerina. Peace and joy have overthrown the feelings she once had and she dances with the man in white.

After what seems like hours of carefree dancing with the man in white, other figures seem to be heading their way. A multitude of people dressed in white with bright, smiling faces are treading the lush, green grass of the meadow in the distance. They have a peaceful, loving glow, similar to that of the man’s. She can hear music in the distance coming closer and closer. It sounds beautiful and joyous in the same way. All together now, the people gather around. They sing and play their music. Some people are even dancing. What incredible sights and sounds! As they celebrate, they all look towards the man in white with love and adoration. She looks at the man, then at the people. The people all look at her and smile in confirmation. She then realizes who the man is.

She walks to the man and with love in her heart she says, “Thank you.”

She means this with every ounce of her being. She then walks over and joins the crowd in celebration. She sings and dances along with all of the people in white. She dances with children and adults alike. The smile on her face conveys the joy she feels deep inside.

After much celebration, the man picks up a tiara and walks towards the girl. The celebration pauses. The people watch as he places the jeweled tiara on her head. He kisses her forehead and wipes the tears of happiness from her cheek. She is smiling at him, and he is smiling at her. The crowd erupts with clapping and shouts of excitement. The joyous celebration begins again. 

          Still standing in front of the man, she humbly thanks him once again.  Voices and instruments alike all sound their praises. Drums and trumpets resonate throughout the meadow. Suddenly, her vision starts to blur, and she can only hear the drums. The vision that was so clear turns to the familiar white, then grey and finally black. The drums fade to a loud banging. The sound of someone banging on…a door… Her eyes flutter once or twice before finally staying open. She was jarred to reality by the knocking on the bathroom door.

“Hello? Are you okay in there? You’ve been in the shower for quite some time now,” asks a worried voice from outside the door.

“Yeah,” she clears her now dry, scratchy throat, “I’m fine; just enjoying the hot water warming me up. It’s been so cold lately,” she replies.

“Well, I doubt you’ll have much hot water left, as long as you’ve been in there. You better get out before it freezes you out,” says the worried voice.

“Okay, I’ll be right out,” replies the girl.

Getting up is much easier now. She flushes the toilet and turns the water off for both the shower and the sink. She brushes her teeth and cleans up her mess. The clean up routine is done with a different perspective this time; no more hiding or worrying. Bathroom clean, she looks in the mirror once more. This time, she’s not looking for self-approval or the once twisted sign of beauty (thinness). She has love, joy and peace in her heart. 

She walks out of the bathroom, a room that aided her self-destruction, now a confident young woman full of hope. She has not binged or purged since the bathroom experience. That was the day Love showed her true beauty and the hope she never thought she had.