You want to cry in relief that she has discovered your problem. This feels like a big win. It still doesn’t make you want to try to eat new things, but at least it’s an explanation of why you’re the way you are.
Your mom asks a bunch of questions about treatment and Shayna tells her that she’s helped others with ARFID, and that she feels confident she can help you too.
“I can’t believe we finally have a diagnosis,” your mom says. “For so long, we’ve been going to nutritionists and different doctors, trying to find out what was wrong. When they look at her they think she’s fine.”
“That’s the thing about ARFID,” Shayna says. “Most people with ARFID look perfectly okay, and since it’s a newly named disorder, not many professionals are familiar with it, or even know the best way to treat patients.”
When your hour with Shayna is up, your mom hugs you and thanks Shayna. To you, she says, “I’ll come back to get you. Good luck with your next session.”
You felt that your session with Shayna went well but when you walk into group therapy, your heart starts racing because the room is filled with a bunch of girls and they’re all staring at you, the new kid. You feel completely out of place as you take a seat on one of the couches.
Immediately you think you don’t belong here with the anorexics and bulimics. Shayna said your disorder isn’t like theirs—and you want nothing to do with these girls.
Suddenly, you’re mad at your parents for sending you here. You’re mad at Shayna, who said she was going to help you. You feel as if she’s got it all wrong now. You know these girls are looking at you and coming to their own conclusions about you. It feels like a clusterfuck.
And then, just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, it does.
Shayna introduces you to the group and tells them you are there not for anorexia or bulimia, like the rest of them, but for this newly named eating disorder called ARFID.
“Basically, it means she only eats a few foods,” Shayna explains.
“So she’s just like a picky eater?” a very thin girl says.
You knew it. It’s that picky-eater thing you’ve heard a hundred times before, and so you stare down the girl. You fucking hate it in that room. You are not going to speak during the whole freaking time you’re here.
You hate the whole fucking world at that moment.
But then Shayna sticks up for you.
“No, it’s more than that. ARFID is extremely serious. It can evolve into purging and bingeing and even become a serious medical problem. Many ARFID patients can become anorexic or bulimic. Psychologically, it can cause extreme anxiety and depression and other social or mental disorders as well. It’s lucky that she got here when she did.”
“How come no one’s ever heard of it before?” someone else asks. You’re not looking at anyone because you’re so over it.
“Well, the disorder has been around forever. But it’s just been named, so in that way it’s fairly new. It’s a disorder that’s affected by trauma, like with you all, and ARFID can be triggered at very young ages. So, as always, with new members, I want to remind you that this is a judgment-free zone and I ask you to be kind.”
This is when you look up and see eight sets of eyes on you. Some of the girls smile lightly, some look beaten down, some look exhausted—they look like how you feel. You wonder if they have monsters, and how bad their monsters have been to them. You wonder if they hate eating. You wonder if they feel happiness, or sadness, or pain and anger. You wonder if they like how food tastes, or if they have cravings, or if they feel hunger. You’re sure they feel some of these things. You wonder what they’re like, if they sit in their rooms listening to sad music in the afternoons, trying to figure out what went wrong. You wonder if they wonder, like you do, what they did to deserve this life. You wonder if they cry at night when the lights go out because that’s the only way to quiet the monster inside them.
You pull your stare back down to your lap, quieting the wonder in your body, quieting the questions in your mind. You guess you’ll have to wonder some more, at least until they figure out how to help you kill this monster.
11
Ben asked you what you wanted to do, and you really didn’t care, as long as you got to be with him, but you didn’t want to say you didn’t care because that would make you sound boring and that had been one of the problems with Alex, so you suggest putt-putt golf. He comes to get you and he opens the car door for you again, and you’re hit with Abercrombie & Fitch and clean soap all over again.
You breathe.
You can’t believe this perfect boy likes you.
The two of you have texted every night, you’ve been on FaceTime, and Ben’s been over to your house too, but this is your official second date. One night he came over and you ended up watching one of the Scream movies on Netflix. You held hands, but nothing more than that happened. You were nervous most of the night, partly because you were jumpy from the movie and partly because you were afraid he might kiss you. Of course, you want him to kiss you, but your parents were home and that wouldn’t have been cool—to have your mom or dad walk in on a make-out session.
Another time, Ben “stopped by” because he was in the neighborhood. Surprisingly, you didn’t freak out when you answered your door in Victoria’s Secret PINK sweats and no makeup. You figured you met on a day when you had no makeup on, and your hair was as raggedy as it would ever be—you had river-rat hair that day—so if he likes you after seeing you like that, then he really must like you for you. Which gives you a boost of confidence and you want to make sure to hold on to that. Because you think that for once someone, this someone, Ben, likes you for who you are. Even though you’ve got the monster inside you.
You’re going to tell Ben about the monster tonight. You’re scared he might not like you after you tell him there’s something wrong with you. And that things might turn out like they did with Alex, not that you ever told Alex—things just got out of control with him. But now you’re trying to get help, your parents are getting you help, and Shayna is trying to help you too. You need to tell Ben something, and soon, if you’re going to be together. You’re just not sure what to say: So I have this monster? or, I don’t eat much? Either way, sharing this big part of yourself with him is a scary idea.
At Majestic Mini-Golf, Ben pays for the eighteen-hole course, then grabs two putters. He chooses an orange ball and you choose a green one.
“I thought you would have picked a pink or yellow ball,” he says.
“Why?” you ask.
“I don’t know. Maybe that’s what I expect girls to do, pick girlie colors, but you’re different. I should have known better. That you’d pick the unexpected color.”
“Well, green is my favorite color, so I wanted the green one,” you say.
“Aren’t you feisty tonight,” Ben says, laughing.
You feel good around him. Ben makes you want to be yourself.