The Lies We Told On Thursday Nights

Epilogue: Better (Emery)

Hi! Happy holidays!

(*notices the irony since the official final chapter of TLWTTN 48. Thursday Final Meeting: Humanity started with the same words)

I know it has been forever and I am so so sorry. I was talking to a new friend is a lot like Levi, so I was inspired to look back at this book. Then I suddenly I had an idea for an epilogue-type one-shot chapter for Emery {treat this chapter and the last like one-shots.}

I will maybe make one or two more one shots of reunions and stuff

I am making Chapter 48 the last chapter since it's a good ending and I feel no matter how I end it now, a year later, it can't have the same impact {because if you've read your other books, I love a good last scene for impact.}

Emery

Monday 11:05 am

"You seem to be doing a lot better than when we first met" Dr. Sylvie commented with a sincere smile.

Better. Believe it or not, better was the perfect word. I've always strived for "best," "better" was never a word I'd use. But it felt right sitting here infant of the British social worker who was the last barrier before being released.

Socially, I was better, I actually made friends. Emotionally better, I wasn't crying every day. Body-wise, I was better. By that I mean, when I first arrived here I pictured being fat, but their standards for me were better. Weight restored in a healthy manner, I felt better and more confident about which foods to eat, I felt a bit better about body image, and I actually felt like I could finally breathe without my body fighting back.

Better. Not best. I did not feel at my best, but for once that was okay.

"Yes," I reply with an embarrassing amount of relief.

Dr.Sylvie grinned again, she smiles often. "You've met all your goals, maintained independent self-aware eating, and generally expressed a positive attitude. Do you agree?"

"Yes."

"I do definitely agree with your doctor's release date, but I'd like to take this time to review what you wrote during your intake" she shuffled through her paper. I tried to think back, but everything was a blur. "Ah, here. You wrote 3 reasons why you want to recover. Do you remember them?"

My breath caught as images surfaced, replacing my recent memories of Scottish greenery and girl laughter. I saw textbooks written over with numbers, my sister lit up like a cristhmis tree with monitors, his half hearted smile and my late-night day dreams of feeling loved. This time I didn't speak, I just nodded.

She waited a moment to see if I would recite them, which I couldn't find the power to do.

Once again she smiled, but this was subtle and reassuring. She began to speak: "Your first one was school."

School. School here had been different, less fulfilling, less educational. But it was also better. Slowly school began to become. A place to learn, not a place to fear.

"Yes. Now since I've received my GED, I'm ready to go to college." I chuckled slightly before continuing, "And start over."

Starting over sounded incredible, perfect even. But I knew not to get too caught up in my dreams that college would be this grand journey.

"Indeed. It says here you've been accepted to quite a few schools."

I did in fact get accepted to around a dozen schools, but my therapy team suggested I stay closer to home to help manage any anxiety. So, I'm going into the Honors College at the University of Alabama.

"And your second reason is family. We've noticed you've been talking to your mom daily and seem to have successful family sessions. Do you feel now like your family is a resource if you're struggling?"

Of course, the answer wasn't an astounding yes, my mom still didn't understand my eating disorder, but I feel like she will listen without judgment. And that was good enough. I heard my sister is doing good as well, even talking more.

"I do."

"And the third is-"

Third. Third. Third. I tried to recall what the third was hoping to answer before her. And I knew it, sort of, in complex mazes like the shorthand the therapists use. Something confusing yet intriguing and important in my life. A person who is not words at all. He's not a stereotypical jock. Not a bad-boy. Not dead. Not a friend. Not an enemy. I didn't answer because I couldn't quite put my finger on what I wrote.

"Friends" she concluded. "I'm glad you have people back home, do your friends know? Friends can be the best support."

"Friend," I said sharply, emphasizing the 'd.'

"Pardon?"

"Not friends, friend. At least when I wrote that, it was someone specific. Levi."

"That name.." She mumbled, instantly shuffling through the dozens of papers to find some reference of the name. Obviously not able to find whatever she was looking the doctor looked up. "Is he a friend of yours?"

Friend. I remembered the last time we talked, it was stupid and heartfelt. We concluded we were friends. "Yes."

"Were you two more than that?" She inquired.

Boyfriend. I remembered once again the last time we talked when we sorted out our climatic "love you." How we talked about hope and our roles in each others lives. I remember kissing him. I remember telling him about humanity and how to live is to love.

{Here is the line:

Wait, I don't think I used the word love. But I meant to, that's was thinking anyways. About loving him. And him loving me. Maybe not romantically, but in a human way.

Why did I write him as a reason?

I guess after such a long time of being focused on weight and perfection, our relationship became a somewhat grandiose and flawed alternative reality.

I know when I arrived was high on anti depressants, food supplements, and exhaustion. I was wallowing in my memories.

"Not really sure," I admitted.

Now, of course at the outake, I realized I did have to come to some conclusion.

But, I wasn't going back to Alabama for him.

He wasn't really a reason anymore, just an idea of a fulfilled life that maybe was possible.

"So, Ms. Nates, do you believe you ready to go home?"

"Yes."

I love you guys so much, you have helped me through a lot of stuff and given me a place to express myself.

Be Brave and Be Kind