This is a true story of my personal experience with having a best friend suffer from anorexia. The story will include my observations, my internal thoughts, and also my emotions and longing for the old friend I used to know so well. It is structured in a non- traditional, diary format so the reader can see exactly how and what I am thinking constantly. I choose this witting to post because it is my favorite writing this trimester and I feel that it has a special purpose. Here it is..
Trapped
April
20,
Dear Diary,
I saw her today for the
first time in what seems like forever; and it scared me. I didn’t know what to
say, but neither did she. She was like a stem of a flower, a flimsy frail image
of who she used to be. Her hand felt like ice on the back of my shoulder, and
sent chills through each inter-vertebrae of my spine. I was no longer wrapped
up by her warm-spirited energy that used to grasp me when I was around her, but
rather something darker…
January
6
Today
was my first day of high school gymnastics. I really am looking forward to the
season, but still, I am extremely nervous. I was the only one on the team that
didn’t know a single person, so I sat alone during our “introduce yourself”
hour. I’m sure the girls could sense of my nervous behavior; they were all just
so different then myself. They are beautiful girls; each had their hair in a
flawless gymnastics bun, and wore a dazzling GK leotard. I personally have to
start working out more, because every girl is so inordinately slender, tall,
poised and carry the slightest bit of definition in each muscle. There was only
one girl that was exception to the trend. She was quieter than the others, and
chuckled to herself when the others shared their jokes. Her hair was in a long
ponytail, rather than a bun. She was shorter and broader than the other gymnasts,
but she was just as gorgeous, if even more. Her smile radiated across the room,
and made me want to smile with her. There was something about her that made me
feel closer to her than the others. She was the first to greet me. “Aw, you’re
the new freshman; what’s your name, you want me to show you around the gym?”
she questioned enthusiastically, already tugging at my arm.
“Oh, my name’s Nina, or Nins, or Niners,
whatever you guys want to call me,” I replied anxiously, noticing everyone here
had a nickname. It’s too bad I never even got a chance to ask for her name.
January
10
I found out what her name is, the girl that I
was talking about before! Her name is Catalina, like the Spanish orchid; most
people who know her called her Lina for short. She is still quiet and never
talks much, but when she does, she has the funniest things to say. Lina is a beautiful
gymnast, and one of the best on the team. I watch her in practice and usually
find myself trying to imitate her movements—her dance, her high-kneed run, her
stretched lines. Lina can push into a handstand on the bar, stretch her body
ever so tall and lean, the tips of her toes pointed in the air and arch her
body ever so slightly, just enough to miss her feet on the low bar. Lina was one of the rare that could do it—
she was my idol.
January
12
Today
was one of the worst practices ever. It was cardio day, which I have never done
before. The assignment: twenty beam runs. Out of the corner of my eye, I could
see every girl jump past me, then pass me again. When they finished, I still
had ten runs left. Everyone stared as they waited for me to finish, pointing
their fingers in my direction, whispering, and smirking. “Wow, this is
annoying. I don’t understand why we have to sit here and waste our practice
times watching her,” a sarcastic voice blurted from the side.
A
subtle voice filled with vitality spoke up, “Come on, Nina, you got it, finish
strong!” I stopped to see who it was cheering me on. All eyes turned towards
Lina, but she didn’t seem to mind. I stood there for a while glancing at Lina,
and she smiled back and gave me a thumbs up. I somewhat smiled back, scanned
the grown, and turned to complete my conditioning.
January
14
I
found out that I have a lot more in common with Lina than I knew about. Lina is
a typical teenager too. She brings magazines to practice for us to look at, and
we gawk at the girls in Prada and Pink. She adores them, and wants to be like
them in every way. She sometimes dresses up for school,
and occasionally wears heals. Her hair, bleach blond, flows behind her and
touches her waist. However, she spoke so
highly of those around her, and never herself. She thought everyone was
beautiful except for her.
January
20
You won’t believe what I found out
today: we get varsity letters for gymnastics—I mean if you’re good enough. I
think I’ll get one. So I asked Lina, “You think I’m good enough to get a
varsity letter?”
“Of
course you will; you just have to keep working at it,” she replied bright eyed.
She said yes! She said yes! Do you know what that means? I mean few people
really get varsity letters as a freshman, and that could be me. Oh I really
hope so. Just imagine—me up there on the stage, holding my varsity letter, in front of all my peers. My parents would be so
proud, my coach would be so proud, Lina-an upperclassman would be so
proud. Wow, a varsity letter.
January
25
Today, I sat with Lina
on the way to the state district meet. We shared stories that made us laugh, and
stuffed our faces with handfulls of Cheez-its and a bag of apples. Lina cheered
me on when I landed a new skill, or placed on an event, and reassured me when I
fell. We are going to be lasting teammates and forever friends.
Just like I, Lina doesn’t always win every
meet. There are smaller, younger girls that beat her. These are the girls she
envies, not just their skill, but their size, their bodies. She says to me in a
dreary voice, “I need to go on a diet.”
I just reply, “You do
not, you are perfect the way you are.” She only dismisses my comment, and goes
back to glaring at the marionette-looking girls. I wander sometimes what goes
on in her mind?
January
31
It was Lina’s sixteenth
birthday yesterday, and I gave her a Sterling Silver bracelet with the word” beautiful”
engraved in the front. She wears it every day now, with every outfit; and only
takes it off for practice. Lina says being sixteen doesn’t feel any different;
but parts of her do seem to change. She is more petite, a bit shorter,
unsteady, and anemic even.
February
10,
Lina
rarely comes to practice anymore. She shows up once a week, but never makes
everyone laugh. She only stands by the
chalk bucket in a paralyzed stance, waiting for practice to end, glaring at the
beam— as if it were mocking her. On the way to meets, she doesn’t even touch
the box of Cheez-its. She comes to team
dinners, but doesn’t once touch her plate; Lina is usually the first to be
finished and up for seconds. Tonight, she only stared at the plate, as if she
was disgusted by it— but also craving it.
I watched her from across the table as she runs her fingers through her
hair, and strands of it begin to fall—lots of strands.
February
15,
Practice
today was utterly chilling. Our shoulders slumped over, and postures
disappeared after a tiresome day of work. Fatigue hit like a concrete boulder thrusting
against a falling wall. We kept going
through routines though, because that is what a gymnast does. “Come on, ladies,
let’s go, we have a meet this weekend, and right now you don’t look like
winners!” I hear Coach shouting from end of the beams. She stops right in front
of me, and I know I have to nail this next skill if I want to make the lineup.
Drops of sweat slide down my face, and splatter onto the beam; my breathing
escalates and my foot slips, but I catch myself. I get ready for the back
handspring back layout, my hands in the air. I close my eyes, then open them,
then close them again, and open them again. I swung my arms backwards— hands,
feet, lift, foot, foot, arms up. I stuck it. A smile stretched across my face,
and my eyes gazed towards the ceiling of the gym. I glanced over to see if my
coach was watching, and my excitement faded as I notice her attention going
somewhere else—to another girl motionless on the floor. It was Lina on the
floor, passed out, stagnant under the beam. I jumped off from my beam and
sprinted over to her. “Lina, Lina, wake up Lina, wake up!” I yell, as I fall to
the floor besides her. The rest of the team stood motionless around us.
February
28,
I
haven’t seen Lina in the gym since she was carried out by the ambulance. I
remember seeing her in school today, but she inexplicably disappeared around
the corner, with her head down, so no one would notice her.
February
29,
I have not stopped
crying since today’s practice. Today must have been gossip day because everyone
on the team was whispering, gasping, wide-eyed, and stunned. I wanted so badly
to know what they were talking about. “What’s going on, what is the whispering
about, can I know?” I questioned with curiosity. I didn’t know what to think.
One of the girls saw me sitting by myself, tears in my eyes, my heart torn. She
asked me what was wrong, telling me I looked pitiful. “It’s just that I don’t
know what anyone is talking about,” I replied.
She gasped, “Wow, you
haven’t heard; sweetie, Lina is in the hospital, you know, because she
supposedly is anorexic,” the lack of care in her voice makes me sick and irate,
“But, no one saw it coming though. Did you?” she asked me.
My mind went through
all the changes I saw Lina go through, all the changes I had overlooked, every
single one of them; and part of me felt I was to blame. “No, no I did not.” I
mutter under my breath in response. I left the gym shortly after.
April
10
I went to practice
today—after not going for the past week. I didn’t want to come, but my mom gave
me no choice today. “State finals are coming up.” The gym meant something
different to me now, not serenity and happiness, but a grotesque place that
idols perfection, which will fix little girls into gaunt Barbie dolls, at no
cost. It amazes me that they still whisper about her life. I hear glimpses of stories about the now
eighty- five -pound sixteen year old Lina. An official diagnostic came in from Lina’s
doctor, and Coach read it aloud: diagnosed with anorexia and bulimia. The words
rang in my ear twenty times, each growing more punctuate. Lina was the secret
of the team; no one was to know about the anorexic Lina, living off of just gum
and water.
April
11,
One
more day.
April
13,
Today was the last day
of practice.
April
15,
Today was the State
final meet. We got fourth; I didn’t compete.
April
17
Today
was the team banquet. I didn’t get a varsity letter after all.
April
20,
I have not yet seen
Lina, and it is already team picture day— a mark of the ending season. In every
picture I try to smile, but it is nearly impossible. Every flash, every pose
seems to bother me. In the middle of the last picture, the doors to the gym
open, and a woman and a young girl, who both looked in no way familiar, shuffled
in. The girl looked older than me, and she slouched behind her mom as if she
was afraid.
Her hair was as thin as a bed sheet, most of
it gone, her skin: pale and battered. Her cheeks sunk in and her eyes bulged
out, carrying dark spots underneath them. Her legs and arms were merely bones
covered with skin, like a stem of a flower, and her knees curved inward. The
whole team stared, not rudely, but in amazement. She sat behind me in the
picture, placing her hand on my shoulder.
It was Lina.
Her hand was cold, and
it makes me shiver. I glanced at her wrist and she didn’t seem to be wearing
the bracelet that I gave her any longer—the bracelet that was supposed to
remind her she was beautiful. I asked her why she didn’t wear it and she
quietly replied with, “Because…,” she thought for a moment, “Anna* tells me I am not what it reads.”
I wanted to jump out of the pose and hug her, tell her she is beautiful, tell
her that I love her, tell her to come back, blurt out her favorite song, tell
her how much I missed her, and tell her how miserable I was without her. But
instead, I didn’t say a single word back. All I could do was stare at her
rotted teeth as she spoke. This was not the Lina I knew, my closest friend and
teammate I grew to love. She looked
trapped, a rat in a maze, a tiger in a cage—she was trapped. Something else controlled her body, her
actions, her thought, not once letting her go, squeezing her, wrapping her in a
blanket of misery. She left the gym shortly after, back to a world of darkness.
After that, Catalina never came back.
-Based
off of a true, personal experience.-
*Anna- common name that
people suffering with anorexia will give the term anorexia, as if it is an actual
physical person
In this piece, I thought I did a great job of incorporating detail into my descriptions and characterization to make the main character appeal innocent, therefore, the reader relates and has sympathy for character. I also thought I did a good job of utilizing some post modern techniques such as a metanarrative feel, an intensely personal story, and a unique structure. I like the diary structure because it gives so much characterization and voice to the main character, myself. It allows the reader to dive into my world, imagine they are in the story, and see the character changing internally. I used a lot of inner thoughts to achieve this as well. Overall, I really enjoyed writing this piece and sharing my story and "Lina's" story again.
