A New Beginning - Part 2

Kasey Stewards, 13 years old, bullied, and anorexic, divorced parents, and the death of her sister. Now she must deal with the horror of eating for the first time in months at the clinic.
It was a cold afternoon, the wind whipping the trees. The white snowflakes gently, pouring out of the darkened, winter sky. My purple dress flowing with every take of the wind, and my boots crunching against the iced snowflakes. My hair swiftly blows around my head, causing my fingers to reach out and pull my hair back. The woods, looking so dark and mysterious come to me with a sense of hope for my helpless and depressing life. Only being 13 years old and having experiences that usually happen when someone is 25, but my mother always says that is the way of life and to deal with it.

My hazel eyes peering into the woods only to find it covered with white banks of snow, and birds flying from tree to tree with warmth. I walk into the woods slowly but calmly making sure my surroundings aren't harsh or dangerous in a way I might become injured. The gray and black squirrels attempt to savage for leftover nuts and acorns for a meal. The clouds in the sky move every time I look up. My ghostly white legs have become even colder now, forcing me to walk back home. Crossing the windy and sandy beach that allows my home to be in view again. The house painted in a brown color is noticed yet now covered with snow. The beach, the water feeling as cold as Alaskan sea waters and ice. It touches my fingers yet causes me to shiver and quickly back up onto the safe sidewalk, leading to the nearby streets. My paved sidewalk to my front door has been hidden by layers of white, barley being able to notice the flower beds to my right and left sides. The front door has a red color paint to it, with a bronze colored door handle.

My father before he left us painted the entire house, so now every time I walk up to the front door it reminds me of him painting the door with even strokes. Me holding the paint bucket up to him, and keeping a steady hand holding the ladder for a higher painting status. He used to always ask me to help him, while Sarah Marie would help my mother inside with chores, like washing dishes, or dusting. Sarah Marie loved to dust and wash with my mother, every Sunday after church. We would all come home and begin our daily chores, then having a family picnic on the beach, coming home and admiring our work. Every day I wish that my father had stayed with us even after Sarah Marie's death, he was part of the family, and still is in my heart.

I walk into the straight warm air, the house is lit up with all these beautiful lights. Smelling chocolate chip cookies, and watching my mother prepare dinner. I slip my boots off and place them next to my mother's boots. Take my light coat off my body to show my skinny, cold arms. I begin to walk into the kitchen when my mother catches an eye of me and points to the cookies. I carefully take one, and begin to walk away when my mother quietly says, "Sit down Kasey, you can eat it down here, with me." I nod slightly and walk quietly over to one of the wooden chairs, with a red cushion placed on it. I sit down and begin to bit small pieces of the cookie yet remembering how many calories it is. Before I even bite into it, the voice in my mind yells at me saying, "DON"T TOUCH THE COOKIE IT COULD MAKE YOU FAT!!". I look at the cookie again, with the chocolate melting onto my fingertips, I take a bite. The chocolate warms my mouth and spreads the sugar around, swallowing happily. I set the cookie down on the table and look at my mother. A tear falls off my cheek onto the clear table. The voice tells me, "You are so fat, look your already gaining 50 pounds, you'll regret what you just did!".

My mother peers her eyes over at me, looks down at the cookie and shakes her head. I quickly slide off my chair and begin to walk upstairs when she says, "Come over here Kasey, sit on the couch, we need to talk". My shivering body walks over to the brown, velvet couch and I take a seat, leaning against the warm pillows while another tear slips off my cheek. My mother brings a tray of hot coco and whipped cream over to me and asks me to take a mug, I do. I hold the mug with delight, the hot mug rubs off onto my cold body, making me warm again already. I glare at my mother wondering why she is acting so calmly this afternoon. Usually she is smiling and jumping up and down when I walk into the door from my daily walks. But, this afternoon she is sad, I can tell from her facial expressions.

She finally breaks the silence and says, "Kasey for the past few months I have been a very wonderful mother. Always caring for you, making you eat food, but somehow the food disappears from your stomach and turns to nothing. Just now when I watched you bite that cookie I felt so relieved you have started eating again, yet once you dropped the cookie and began to cry I knew that you are never going to eat. Just a few days ago I called your doctor for advice on why you weren't eating and he said that your anorexic.

Now Kasey I love you so much and if anything ever happened to you, I know that I don't think I could live with myself anymore. So I have decided to send you away to a treatment center for anorexic children, just like you. I have chosen a place in England called Rhodes Farm Clinic, where girls your age are treated with food and therapy. Now I know this is all about your sister but, I really don't like seeing you not eat any dinner, or good foods, or even desserts, I am sick of seeing you this way. This is the only way you and I will be able to get over the divorce and Sarah Marie's death. Now I don't want you to say anything because I know you will object so tomorrow I will help you pack. You will stay at the Clinic for one month, and when they think you are better you will be able to come home. This hurts me more than you so I am doing this for our own good. I love you Kasey and I just want your life to get better".
Should I keep writing this story?
Published: 4/12/2012
Bouquets and Brickbats