Weathered Love

CHRISTMAS

I had finally completed my final exams. And I was at a healthier weight. I was still angry with my body, and I was worried that, by being away from my support group for a month, I might try to hurt myself again. I might try to starve myself. I might try to punish myself for being so fat and ugly. And I had not yet gotten to a weight where I could afford to lose a few pounds.

"You're doing it again," Ivan sighed. We were on a train to the airport so that we could fly home together.

"What?" I asked, whipping my head around to look at him. I really was trying not to let my face give away my emotion.

"You're freaking out," Ivan pointed out. I sometimes hated how well he could read me.

"Sorry," I finally breathed out, hanging my head in shame. I didn't want him to worry about me. I really was trying hard to be more self-reliant so that Ivan could have a life that didn't consist of being my constant guardian. He deserved that freedom.

"Sometimes it's easier to just tell me rather than trying to hide it from me." I looked over at Ivan, and he had a kind smile on his face. He wasn't scolding me. He was encouraging me. He was too perfect sometimes.

"I'm just wondering how I'll cope without the group," I quickly admitted. He knew what group I was referring to. This wasn't a revelation. He knew I'd grown more and more anxious about being away from my support group for a month and possibly undoing all the progress the group had helped me accomplish. I still had a long and tough road ahead of me, and I didn't want to undo all the good work I'd done so far. I just wanted to be better already.

"You'll cope," Ivan assured. "You'll have me, Mackenzie, Samantha, your family... you'll be back in an environment that once made you happy and kept you from going to that part of your mind. You might even thrive there."

"We'll see," I murmured. I knew that I'd have to get the initial awkwardness out of the way. The worried glances at my changed physique. The censored conversation, built to ensure I don't suddenly take something the wrong way and decide to starve myself again. The constant urging to move back home. That last part was going to be the hardest. I heaved another sigh, not bothering to hide it anymore.

"They won't make you stay," Ivan assured. "They'll see you're getting better, so no matter how hard they try, they won't force you to stay. They'll just try really hard to convince you," Ivan tried to assure me. I appreciated his help. I really did. But the more he helped, the more he assured me that everything was going to be alright, the more he took the reins... the more helpless and weak and pathetic I felt.

I didn't respond to his comment. Instead, I pulled out my notebook and just began scribbling furiously. I needed to vent my frustrations without feeling pathetic... without feeling pitiful. I didn't want pity. I didn't want advice or suggestions. I just wanted to be listened to and know that I wasn't being judged.

Even when I did vent to the people close to me, they would bring up my issues later, trying to understand, and sometimes even trying to help. And that's why I didn't like opening up to people. I liked things to be open and shut: I wanted to voice my issue, let it out, feel better, and let that be the end of the story. No follow-up consultation needed. No sequel to the story. I just wanted it to end when the venting ended. And that's what my journal gave me.

I didn't mean to shut anyone out. I just couldn't get from anyone the same comfort I received from my journal. Even Ivan, in his infinite wisdom and his ability to always know what I was thinking and feeling, couldn't offer the perfect listening ear that my journal could. I didn't resent him for it. I didn't hold it against him. But it's why there were still pieces of me he didn't know about. Pieces of me he'd never know anything about. Because he couldn't be there for me the way I needed him to be. He did know, however, to let me write when I needed to.