When the morning sun rises, I wake up and thank God for everything. I should be thankful I am alive every day and every morning, and I am. I am thankful, I kept myself alive and God pushed me to grow stronger. I am happy God stopped the fighting at home, stopped the bullies at school, and shoved me into this clinic where I made friends, keeping my health stabilized, and stopping my cutting. If I didn’t thank God for the smaller things that have kept me sane, I might still be at school cutting and pushing myself closer to suicide. Therefore, my escape from the nightmares and the reality of my health here at the clinic, is praying and believing that God will take care of me.
When Brian and I approach the kitchen, my happiness halts, and my nightmares begin. I see a young boy sitting at the booth in front of me, eating away at his breakfast, whilst staring at me with eyes of burning hatred. Mrs. Sarah sits calmly at her stool, watching as those who are eating get congratulations, but for those who aren’t eating to be monitored. She takes my iPod and earphones away from me, like always, but point me to the direction of the red kitchen.
"Why don’t you sit in the red kitchen, just for this morning’s breakfast?" She whispers in my ear, still pointing to the older kids’ kitchen. I head in there, but peeking back to see a worried and pissed off Brian standing next to Mrs. Sarah.
The red kitchen is proved to be where the older kids eat, the ones that can hold responsibility for eating on their own without being monitored. Usually, the anorexic kids in there also know to behave because although no one is monitoring them, they need to eat. If they do not eat their meal, then the blue kitchen is there, other option. For me the red kitchen is the upgrade, even though I do not belong in here and Mrs. Sarah’s assistant is monitoring, I like it. I am not just the new girl, here, I am responsible and trustworthy to be able to eat without a problem, yet I know I won’t.
Mrs. Sarah’s assistant is named James and he is okay, not the nicest teacher alive but it works for the period of time. James is literally staring at me, his eyes watching every move I make, which is literally making me uncomfortable and losing interest in all food options. His hands sit perfectly in his lap, his legs crossed and only a stern line is placed across his lips. He shaved his head awhile back, and wears rectangular, black glasses. His face is shaved, so no loose hair are on it. Today, he is wearing a red polo, and khaki pants with brown loafers. If anyone knows James, they know him as the strict Honor’s History teacher, the one who makes up rules to make the class stricter. All I know, is I cannot sit here with him staring into the depth of my mind just to make me eat, which isn’t working at all.
After about 45 minutes of just sitting there and staring at the cold food that sits in front of me, Mrs. Sarah walks in and James leaves. She looks at me with an unimpressed facial expression, and crosses her arm which signals as she is disappointed or angry. Yet, at this moment, I believe she is more disappointed than angry for my lack of eating.
"What happened?" She asks me, uncrossing her arms and pulling out a chair to sit on, next to me.
"What do you mean?" I ask, shifting my body to attempt of making myself comfortable.
"You know what I mean, Kasey. I am inferring to the untouched food in front of you, your foot tapping uncontrollably and the fact that 45 minutes have passed. Brian and Charlie completed their meal 30 minutes ago, and you are still sitting here without a full stomach. I am far from disappointed and past just being angry. You need to eat this, finish, clean up and meet me in your room. All I can say is you will never get better if you don’t eat. Your parents sent you here to get better and eat, to gain weight and stable your health; today you haven’t done any of that. I am punishing you for today through tomorrow morning until after breakfast. Now eat." Mrs. Sarah sternly tells me, her eyes shifting to my hands fidgeting in my lap and my foot tapping underneath the table.
She taps my knee to politely scold me for tapping my foot and guides my hands to the glass of orange juice (112 calories), and to the spoon of frosted mini-wheats (203 calories). I finish the bowl of warm cereal and soggy mini-wheats, I finish the glass of orange juice and just stare at the bagel and butter (390 calories). Mrs. Sarah cleans the dishes, and shoves the plate of the bagel and butter closer to me, shifting my thoughts to the calorie calculator in my head. Total calories for breakfast: 705.
Finishing my meal, I felt as though I was going to throw up everything, I had just recently eaten. Mrs. Sarah kindly cleans the table and places my dishes in the dishwasher, waiting to start the walk towards my room. I follow her to my room; she opens the door and closes it, locking it from the outside with her key. Then begins the awkward, punishment talk between us, yet again this month.
"Why can’t you eat without being monitored by me?" Mrs. Sarah asks me, as she pulls a chair next to my bed, acting like a therapist.
"I can, but Mr. James was staring at me and awkwardly making me uncomfortable. If you want to know you can ask him and not be talking to me." I say, irritation dripping from each word.
"Kasey, do not impute the blame onto someone else, you are old enough to be able to eat. I never told Mr. James to talk to you like I do, I just told him to make sure you eat. Make sure when you start talking to be again, that your voice is composed and not irritated and that your grammar is correct. I do not want to start grammar homework with you on a Saturday." She stops and stares at me before continuing on with her stupid little rant.
"Your punishment for the rest of today and tomorrow morning until after breakfast room is lock down. You are to sit in this room all of today, I will only let you outside for recess but even then you are to stay out of trouble. At dinner tonight, I expect you to sit at another table, alone, and I will personally sit and watch you eat. Until you can eat on your own, like the teenager you are, punishments will be daily." She says to me, her lips straight as a line in a math textbook, and her arms recrossing themselves to look more aggravated than before.
"I don’t care if my ‘voice is compose and my grammar is correct’, what stupid person would care about that but you?! Being punished for not eating is bullshit, especially being monitored when in the RED kitchen. Lock down is the stupidest thing I have ever heard of and if you want me to frickin' eat then stop punishing me! Maybe I would eat if I didn’t get into trouble all the time! I act like a teen all the time, not eating doesn’t always incur that I act like a child; it just means that I have problems! Problems that I am always judged about, even by stupid control freaks like you!!" By then, my eyes were pouring tears, and my face began to get blotchy.
"All I can say is that you’re grounded to your room for an entire week. Have a nice day, Kasey." With that she leaves, locking the door from the outside on her way out.
Depression occurs when the mind describes a certain situation the wrong way or when a dramatic even occurs and scares the brain of the memories. Depressed people usually would sit in their dark room and are silent for days on end without ever leaving the house. They might express their emotions with fake smiles or fake laughs to show other people that they are okay. Depression is common for people who have scarred memories of nightmares that have happened in the past. I am depressed, and I don’t care what I do to take care of the sad mood. I want my life to have a complete puzzle with no cracks or broken pieces, but just happiness with the past forgotten.
I stared out the window the rest of the afternoon, my room torn apart after looking for something sharp to cut myself with. All I found was a pencil with a dull tip; I broke apart the metal that holds the eraser. Then I pushed the metal in half to create a sharp edge, which I then dug into my skin on my wrist creating a small blood flow. The camera in my room, I covered with a blanket from my bed then shoved the dresser against my door. I locked all windows, and sat on my bed cutting my arm over and over again, until a puddle of blood sat on my bed, creating a red stain. Mrs. Sarah called the police hours ago but hasn’t arrived yet, I have even pushed out all sounds from the outside world. Now the only thing I hear is silence.
After about six hours of depressing memories and about twelve cuts leave scars along my arm, I threw away the metal. I opened the windows, pushed the dresser back to the normal spot in the room and uncovered the cameras to show security how I handle with problems.
I walked out of my room and into the bathroom, locking the door and washing my cuts. The pain went away awhile ago, now it’s replaced with more nightmares to look forward to tonight. As I walk out of the bathroom I see all the security and police officers staring at me, pen and paper in hand, and my mother’s car parked outside. Today couldn’t have gone any worse.