Disney Got It Wrong

Chapter 8

I stared at the tablet screen as the letters and numbers began to blur. Another yawn escaped me, and I scrubbed a hand over my face, trying to rub the sandy prickle from my eyes. The only thing I really accomplished was shifting a dry contact lens so that it stuck to my eyelid uncomfortably. I abandoned the food order I was working on, retrieved my glasses, contacts case, and solution from my purse, and retreated to the bathroom in the back of the bakery.

As I washed my hands of any potential germs before sticking my fingers in my eyes, I squinted at my reflection with one eye. I looked as tired as I felt with drooping eyelids and dark circles under my eyes. I looked like the aftermath of a night out, but the truth was that puking my guts up again the night before had taken a lot out of me. I hadn't slept well on top of that, only managing a couple of hours before getting up way too early to clean up the aftermath of my latest binge before having to take the kids to school. Not a good look for Monday morning.

As I had thrown away the turkey I had left out on the counter all night and swept up chip and cookie crumbs, the self loathing set in again. I had been at the binging and purging thing for a couple of weeks, and though I was getting definite results, I wasn't exactly proud of myself for it. Relieved that the number on the scale was going down, but not proud.

I didn't feel like anybody I wanted to be. My throat and chest were always sore, I was always tired, my eyes were always puffy, and I was frequently getting a little light headed when I stood too quickly.  I was no example of the person I wanted my kids to grow up to be. I was ashamed of myself and the weakness I had succumbed to. I had to do better.

After cleaning up, I had gone to take a shower and took a moment to really look at myself in the mirror. I tried to see myself with clear, non judgmental eyes, and I was able to see that through the combined efforts of restricting, exercise, and the most recent relapse into binging and purging, I had shed a few pounds, knowing I had done it too quickly. Though my face was puffy, my collar bones stuck out a little more as did my hip bones. I didn't look too thin, but the difference was noticeable. If the visual evidence hadn't been enough, the fact that I was wearing a loose fitting jeans size smaller than my normal comfortable size was more than enough to back the mirror's claim. But still. It was time to get my shit back together.

My first step to reformation was to put away the scale again. I resisted the urge to step on it just to see the difference the night before had made and shoved the damn thing to the back corner of the cabinet under the sink. From there I went into the kitchen and made myself a half of a cinnamon raisin bagel with blueberry cream cheese that was extremely satisfying and a cup of coffee with sugar and hazelnut creamer. All the while I ignored the little voice trying to count the calories and embraced the feeling of fullness.

Hours later, staring in the mirror with one bleary eye through some serious fatigue and an oncoming headache, I came to terms with the fact that I looked like shit. I was holed up in the office of the bakery doing inventory and a food order by myself when I had no business being anywhere but at home in bed.

A knock on the bathroom door startled me as I was just managing to fish the rogue contact from my eye. I dropped it down the sink when I jumped and cursed as I blinked the sting away.

"Raegan, are you in there?" Karen, one of our weekday employees, asked from outside the door.

"Yeah, gimme a minute," I replied. I put my glasses on so I could properly see her when I addressed her—my vision really is shit—and opened the door to see what she needed. "What's up?"

Karen paused a second and frowned at my now watery and reddened eyes. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I said with a little sniffle. "Contact issues."