by Leanne Davis
Nate couldn’t believe that would be the end of it all. Not because of food.
But first, she had to answer his calls. Nate tried. After dropping off Julia that night, he called and texted Ally. She answered the texts with simple, generic answers and outright ignored all the phone calls. Slowly, his hope and optimism started to wither in his chest. The only solutions to the question of what to do about their relationship seemed to be to give them both time and that scared Nate more than anything. Time meant things fading off into nothing. Or one of them moving on, forgetting about the other or finding someone else. Time was riddled with so much that could go wrong, Nate wasn’t sure how to give over their relationship to something that felt so ambiguous.
****
Ally learned many things after her bulimia was finally exposed to the light of day. First off, she actually had to admit she was bulimic. That was half the battle, admitting the truth. She denied it to herself, and tried to justify it by saying she didn’t do it that much, and only stress-ate. It was very hard for Ally to confess that she was really bulimic. She saw it as a fault, a disease, a compulsion that was beyond her control, which was very difficult for Ally. Admitting she had no control over it. Especially during the last few months. She reverted back to old habits and lost what little control she had when she and Nate first started dating. So after admitting it, she had to make a decision: either do nothing and continue on as she had been, or try to stop. If she chose the latter, it meant she had to change. And grow. But, worst of all, she had to finally deal with it.
She chose to deal with it.
It was hard.
It terrified her daily. She nearly suffocated with panic every day upon waking up. What if she couldn’t withstand the urge today? What if she succumbed today? What if the food won today? The fear of failure in this was far worse than Ally’s worry of failing school or getting average grades or disappointing her friends and parents.
Ally soon discovered there were tools. Lots of tools. But she had to ask for help first. It was a painful statement for Ally to make; confessing her weakness and asking for help. Which she couldn’t find the will to do gratefully. Ally was grumpy as hell, and downright bitchy sometimes. Regularly apologizing to her mom or Donny, since she now lived with them, she was constantly asking them to excuse her snarky attitude or terse instructions and demands.
Somehow, Ally learned. She grew. And she failed.
The first failure was the hardest. It happened just after she saw Nate at her house. She cried and shrieked, blaming herself mercilessly. Surprisingly, Vickie was the one who came to her rescue.
Vickie leaned against her door jamb and peeked at her lying on the floor. Ally was flat on her back, staring listlessly at the ceiling and calling herself every bad name she could think of. Mentally beating herself, Ally kept wishing she suffered badly enough to hit or pinch herself, just to make her hurt as much as she deserved. But Ally’s affliction didn’t include self-harm. Not like that anyway.
“So you did it, huh?”
Ally didn’t even turn her head towards Vickie. She didn’t care what her loser, fake, flighty, screwed-up old aunt thought. The aunt her boyfriend had sex with. She glared harder at the ceiling, bending her arms and crossing them over her chest as though that were her answer.
“You know, you’re just like me.”
At hearing that, Ally sat up as quickly as if Vickie just stuck a cattle prod up her ass. “I am nothing like you.”
“Oh, really? You don’t suffer from compulsive behavior? From little triggers that send you off into a sheer panic? Feeling unable to stop even though that inner little voice keeps telling you No! Don’t do it. Stop! But do you listen? No. You eventually surrender to it. And once you surrender, that little voice says, Fine! You screwed this up, all your hard work, and you failed this, so you might as well just do it. If you’ve messed up already you might as well do it up right. And that’s when the real binging begins, isn’t it? Of course, that was if I was lucky… meaning, I had a good reason for drinking. Like I was stressed or upset or something just happened to set me off. But the worst part? Was when there was no trigger. There was no real reason. I just did it. There were times, many times, in fact, when I broke my sobriety for no real good reason at all. And Donny, my parents, and your mother got so disappointed in me. Why, Vickie? They’d always ask me. Always with the why?”
Ally slowly spun around, and her belligerent expression started to fade. Her gaze was still focused on Vickie, but the glowering stare was gone. She was listening to her. Lulled perhaps, but still listening to Vickie describe what her alcoholism felt like. Strangely enough, it was almost exactly how Ally felt now.
“But the thing you have to learn is this: there is no good answer. There is no good reason. It wasn’t always because I had to deal with stress or tragedy. Like those dramatic moments in the movies when the character gets all depressed over a fight with a loved one or a tragedy occurs in their life and they take to the bottle because of it. Most times when I screwed up, it wasn’t because of any drama. I just did it. I just gave in to the urges, the need for it, the constant desire. That’s what nobody understood, I still wanted it. I still want it even now. I still think about it. Every single day.”
Ally tucked her feet under her, sitting cross-legged. “But you failed to become a very productive person. Even after becoming sober.”
Vickie’s wide, red lips slipped into a smile. She wasn’t the least bit offended, and Ally marveled at that. “You think your shit don’t stink, don’t you, Ally? I am a whole lot better person sober than I was drunk. Ask your mom or Gretchen… or even Julia.”
“I’m not like you. After being off school for almost two months, I’m going stir crazy around this house. There is nothing productive for me to do. Nothing that furthers my life, or society. I’m not using my brain. Or my intellect. God, how can you stand yourself? Rotting away, with not even a job or a daily newspaper to distract you from your lame, boring, pointless life?”
Vickie stepped inside the room and lowered herself until she was right in Ally’s face, her skirt climbing up her thighs. “You know, Ally, I’m not Tracy or Gretchen or Kylie, and you can’t hurt my feelings, no matter how vicious you get or how cruel. Why you choose to do it though, is the reason I’m here. I scare you, don’t I? You identified with my description, didn’t you? The helplessness and lack of control. The need. The impulse. Even when there’s no real reason. You recognize yourself in me and that’s what scares the piss out of you.”
Ally dropped her gaze from the eye lock she and Vickie shared for a long, drawn-out moment. “I never liked you. I couldn’t understand, even after all the stuff with Donny. Yeah, Mom was in the wrong a little bit there, I don’t know why she put up with you and your antics. She always defended you no matter what. Oh, that’s just Vickie. That has always been her attitude about you. As if it’s okay for anyone to be an epic puddle of selfishness and failure. As if it’s okay to ask your sister to raise your own daughter.”
“That’s okay, Ally. I always liked your sister a whole lot better than you. Sweet, messed up Kylie would have given anyone, even me, the shirt off her back if she thought it could help. She honestly embraced her sexuality and her partying and being young; she wanted to experience all of it. I liked that about her. You? You were like a little college professor even while still in elementary school, with all your perfect grades and extra credit and shit.”
Ally looked up. “I’m suffering here, you know, bulimia and all? I did it again. I snuck in some food. Lots of it. I ate it in the middle of the night, while everyone slept. Then I puked it up. Sticking my hand down my throat as far as I could. And I liked it. I was so happy to do it again. I nearly wept for how right it felt. You don’t say things like that to a person who is suffering, Vickie. God, didn’t you ever learn anything? Kylie? You want me to be like Kylie? I was always liked by every adult who admired my work ethic, my good grades and my desire to do my best. What is wrong with you? I d
idn’t party enough to meet your standard?”
Vickie didn’t rise up, and her facial expression didn’t change. “But I always loved you, Ally. From the day you were born all red and squishy looking. You weren’t the cutest baby, but you improved daily. You grew into your looks, smarts, beauty, and perfection. You look a lot like your mother. You should be glad about that. I might not have liked you always, but I loved you. And I was there the day your dad left. One of the few, Ally, who really witnessed it. Wasn’t I? You were his favorite. You were his little clone. You were the apple of his eye, the twinkle of his pupil, or whatever; you were a tiny, perfect girl version of Micah. I watched what it did to you. The anger and the resentment. You treated Tracy and Donny like hell. I was in and out of it with my own problems drinking, but I remember. Then all of a sudden, you weren’t. You stopped being angry or mad or resentful or awful, and I missed it. I thought, hell, that girl needs to feel at least one of those emotions some of the time. No one can live like that. What a pressure cooker she must be.”
“What are you saying? That I chose puking as my relief?”
Vickie shrugged. “It’s probably not as clear-cut as that. Gretchen would have a long, drawn-out, elegant explanation for you, I’m sure. Tracy would offer a loving supportive shoulder to help you. But I’m the only one who gives you the blunt, simple truth, at least as far as I see it.”
“Oh? And you’re such a bastion of excellent mental and emotional health that I should listen to you?”
Vickie shook her head, letting her blond hair swing. “No. Because I know how it feels to fail. And be out of control. To abuse a substance that other people can enjoy, dapple in, have fun with and nothing detrimental happens. That used to drive me nuts. Why was it so hard for me to stop once I started? I tried so hard not to start at all. That’s why I became a binge drinker. I tried my hardest not to put any alcohol near my mouth, but once I did—”
“You couldn’t stop.”
“No, Ally, I couldn’t stop.”
“How did you finally?”
“After many starts and stops.”
“What finally worked?”
“Gretchen had me move in with them for a while, back when they lived in D.C. There’s something about being away, but Gretchen and I have always had a good rapport too. I wanted to please her most of all. But even in that, I had to do it. She put me on a strict schedule, and signed me up with a mental health counselor who dealt in addictions. I tried the rehab route several times and went to Alcoholics Anonymous and attempted to quit on my own, for Julia and Donny. I tried for everyone else, but not for myself. The last time, it was finally my own instigation and it worked for me. It’s been nine years now. My sobriety is something I value almost as much as my own life. You think I’ve done nothing to be proud of in my life? Maybe. You’re right about some of it. The job and school I was shitty about. I never stuck it out anywhere. With men either. But I love Julia, and I try to be the best version of me that I can for her, and that includes maintaining my sobriety. I stuck to that and consider it my greatest accomplishment, something that not all people can achieve.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Your mom called Gretchen. She was crying, worried, and the news traveled to me. I came. She probably won’t approve of what I said. But I have the right, and I have the history and the understanding. You and I have always been honest with each other, even if we’re not always nice. I kind of like that. It makes us kind of special, huh?”
Ally dropped her head. “I remember you. The day Mom told us Dad left. You held me while I cried.”
“I did. I held you.”
“I loved him. I wanted to please him, more than everyone else, even Mom.”
“Yes, and when he left, you seemed to insist on proving him wrong. You tried to be the best, most shining person around. I just think you forgot to take care of yourself in the meantime.”
“I don’t know if I can beat this,” Ally whispered it nearly speaking to her fingers. Her chin dropped onto her chest, and her breathing became almost nonexistent. Squeezing her eyes shut, she voiced her greatest fear, the worst thing that plagued her, and clung to her like a snake tied to her heels, always there and waiting to strike her down. The one thing she could not force herself to admit to anyone; not even her mom or her sisters or Donny or even Nate.
“Of course, you don’t know if you can. That’s normal right now, Ally. You’re not strong, sure or successful. Which must be doubly hard for someone like you. But it’s okay; you’re supposed to be unsure and scared. This is unpredictable and daunting. But it isn’t undoable. Okay? That’s what I’m here to tell you. Is it a perfect process? No. Nope. No way. That’s what you have to come to terms with. You will mess it up. You will fail. You will binge. You will slip up and regress. But that isn’t the end of it. It isn’t over until you release it. You’re just learning to live in spite of it. You might have to find a new way to adjust your life. And you might not get it right the first time, the second, or even the tenth. But it doesn’t mean you can’t do it. It’s a journey. It has to become a daily part of your life. And believe me, lots of people live through it and live with it. Including me.”
“It shames me.”
Vickie sat down on her butt. “You don’t think I felt the same way? I didn’t tell my family for years. Donny finally figured it out and told them. I hated him the most too, not for making me get help, but for telling them. I know what shame feels like. But so what? It’s a wasted emotion. You’re not guilty of anything. You’re just bulimic. I’m an alcoholic. Neither one is the sum total of who we are as people. It’s just a small part. A slice. A piece. It is something we have to admit in order to deal with it, and we have to work on it, sure. It’s very important. But we are so much more than just a disorder. We are daughters, sisters, lovers, women… and, in your case, a talented young woman whose entire future is beckoning you.”
“A future I might taint permanently by continuing to do this.”
“A future that might include continually struggling against this. But the Ally I know? She wouldn’t just throw her hands up in defeat and say, Oh well. The Ally I know, and admire, and who often drives me crazy will slap this bulimia in the face, and spit on it, kick it, curse it until you beat it. That Ally could be an inspiration, for those who suffer from it and seek recovery.”
A small smile finally broke through Ally’s anger. Her previous disgust and self-pity vanished along with her annoyance at Vickie. “You say some pretty stupid things.”
Vickie tugged at her foot. “That kind of disgust I so know and love.”
Ally made a face at her aunt but then let out a long sigh. “But not this time. Do you really think so?” Ally asked after a second, only this time, her tone was more serious.
Vickie’s eyes were serious too. She nodded. “Yes, honey, I think you will be a clean survivor. And you’ll be the best damn spokesperson to survive bulimia we’ve ever seen.”
Vickie slowly rose to her feet as Ally stretched her legs out before her. Strangely, the knotted pain in her chest, which almost felt like heartburn, had subsided. Vickie distracted her. Her lectures, her inflammatory statements, and her odd way of acting like an adult had gotten through to Ally this time. She finally felt understood because Vickie, of all people, really did empathize as no one else could.
“Thank you,” Ally mumbled, surprised to be thanking Vickie, her former nemesis.
“You’re welcome, hon.”
Ally lifted her gaze. “I probably don’t deserve it. I’ve been mostly a stuck-up brat to you.”
Vickie shook her head. “Only because you were mad that I slept with Nate. It’s okay, I would have acted the same way too. I did it to your mother, even though I didn’t really want Donny then.”
Ally shuddered. “That’s gross. Please don’t refer to them and you and sex, or me and Nate and you and sex…”
Vickie patted Ally’s leg. “Ah, the little prude is back. Yes, I had sex with you
r boyfriend before you did. Shocking, huh? He is hot, so you can’t blame me, now can you? A woman my age? Well, he’s—”
“Stop. He’s my boyfriend.”
“He was mine first, and you can’t accept that.”
“He’s your stepson now. How can you still talk about him like that?”
Vickie shook her head. “Because he’s still my friend. He’s not really my son or my stepson or my ex-lover or my boyfriend. He’s simply my friend, Ally. You should make your peace with that. As Dane did. I know Nate’s hurting over you.”
“I just hate knowing you slept with him.”
Vickie smirked. “You’re still in there, my stormy niece. You’ll be back on your own game soon. Graduating with nearly perfect grades, off to take the law profession by storm. You’re just having a hard time right now. We all go through it. And I’m glad to hear you call him your boyfriend still. Now call him back. He’s at our house constantly, hanging around all sad and mopey, chilling with his dad. I’d like to get some of that attention focused back my way, but Dane’s all worried about Nate… so come on, Ally, get over it. Just call him.”
“You’re so horrible,” Ally replied with no real heat in her voice. Her ears pricked up at the sound of Nate’s name. Moping over at his dad’s? Because of her?
Vickie took something out from her jacket pocket. “This is my ticket to his graduation. He’s earned a 4.0 with honors, and getting the same degree his mom got. Of course, she won’t be there to see him because she’s dead. But you’re not dead, Ally. You’re just sick. There’s a huge difference. Be there for him. Okay? You need to deal with your bulimia, but he also needs you now. You have to maintain the other parts of your life, not just the part you spend recovering. Don’t punish Nate by pushing him away. He has no idea what to do. Maybe give him a break that nobody knew how to react to this. Not even your mother.”