You don't know me.. Not yet.

These are 4 fictional letters I had to write for my english class earlier this year.

Dear Brigit,

 

            Hey there, how have you been; how’s life and everything going for you? I’m someone you don’t know, except I have seen you and I know you. More than you know me at least. Except, don’t jump to conclusions here. I’m not some stalker that spies on you while you’re asleep. Actually, I’m a girl who attends the high school you graduated from. Believe it or not, we’re far more alike than you will ever know.

            Okay, I know this is probably a very spontaneous letter for you, though, I do advise you to keep reading. There is no need to write back to me, Brigit. I’m just in some serious need to talk to someone about my troubles. No one else understands. They say they do, but I know that every single person I have close relations to, lies. But you, you’re different. I haven’t ever talked to you face to face, but I can tell. You know every little detail of what I’m going through.

            I’ve watched you Brigit, for a long period of time. Thinking back, it probably all began when I first noticed you in tenth grade. You were the new kid in school, (your senior year to be more specific). You were different, from all the students attending our school. Everything about you grasped my attention. I became the girl who silently worshipped you. Seeing you walk down those halls so slender and thin, like a model working her personal runway. No one paid much attention to you, but you still held your head high and acted careless to people’s opinions. Brigit, you’re my hero.

            Over the course of my tenth grade year, I watched you disappear. With passing months, you got thinner and thinner until only a piece of skin was left between your bones and the outside world. I remember even in gym class one time, while changing, I counted your ribs as you silently got dressed. That was the moment I realized I wanted to be just like you. I wanted to be beautiful.

            I starved myself day after day, meal after meal. My lies became indecipherable and I felt my esteem shoot through the roof. The numbers on my scale dropped from my original 115lbs to 107….102... I was conquering the fat; beating every little piece of crap found within me and tossing it like the true garbage it was.

            Of course my family worried, especially when Easter came around the corner and I refused to sit at the table. Though, I never knew they would betray me the way they did. It makes me so angry to know that all these years they were pretending to care when in all fact they just wanted to get rid of me! That’s right. I’m worthless in their eyes. That’s exactly why they sent me here, The Renfrew Center. My mother swears to me I’m only here to treat the anorexia/bulimia, but I know things go far deeper than that…

Sincerely,

Stranger

Dear Brigit,

 

            I feel lost and alone. I know that it’s been three months since my last letter, but the psychiatrists and all other nutritionist have me so depressed. All I can think about is getting out and leaving this dump. I don’t understand how anyone’s parents could ever just leave their child here without any knowledge of the torture that occurs within these walls.

            Do you have any idea how much they’re trying to make me eat here? How many calories are hiding within all the foods they are trying to shove down my throat! You would hate it here. I hate it here. Anyplace is better than this place right now. Come to think of it, I’d rather be homeless than live under this roof. Not a night has gone by that I haven’t cried myself to sleep.

            The doctors here are talking to my mother about possibly taking stricter measures when it comes to meals. I overheard my main physician speak about the possibility of having me discharged temporarily to live in a hospital for a few weeks. A HOSPITAL BRIGIT! There the staff would have permission to poke me with needles and shove a feeding tube up my nose into my stomach.

            When I heard that, I ran to my room and screamed for a long time. My insides flipped and flopped around to the point where I was going to vomit. That afternoon’s lunch turned into a solid rock just hanging out inside of me. I didn’t know what else to do, so I just ran to the bathrooms located down the hall.

            In there, I paced for a long time. Thoughts flashed in my head and my emotions ran wild, except, I knew what I had to do. Tiptoeing into the stall at the far end, I came in contact with the one thing that could always calm me down.

            That was the first time while in this stupid rehab center I actually vomited on the premise. I’d describe the feeling to you Brigit, but I’m well aware that you know all the emotions first hand. Entirely the equivalent to any drug; pure ecstasy in my eyes and I am addicted. The rush that filled me after the violence from all the splurging, I felt light and tiny again, as if I could fly. I think it was right after that feeling that I had collapsed. Hours later, I woke up in a hospital room with IV’s stuck in my arm.

            Pure torture I tell you. I plead that I get out soon.

                                    Sincerely,

         Stranger 

Dear Brigit,

 

            Nine months have gone by that I’ve been in this retched hellhole and things are actually getting better. With all my therapy sessions, I have been able to see the monster that was growing within me. The beauty I was once seeking in the past was actually a terribly ugly monster that was helping hide the real problems beneath. I know I have a lot to confront in future sessions with my psychiatrist, except I’ve realized for the first time since I first saw you two years ago, that we’re both unhealthy.

            Days went by that I followed your footsteps in silence and I got terribly sick. I would wake up some mornings, lacking the needed strength to get out of bed. I’d count calories like a madwoman and see it that I exercised daily even when I was running on empty. I tried my very best to be perfect in every sense possible. Except, no one can live like that, it’s impossible. I now know that.

            The journey from here doesn’t get any easier. I cry at my reflection still sometimes; I want to throw tantrums when I feel I’ve been forced to eat one too many meals, but I now know that I’m just starting the process of getting better. I’m finally allowing myself to heal.

 

         Sincerely,

         Stranger

Dear Brigit,

            An entire year, wow, those twelve months just seemed to have flown by now that I look back on them. I’m glad that my mother actually cared for me enough to shove me into this place. In all, this wasn’t as bad as I first saw it to be. The people here are nice and kind and only want me to be healthy. I’m well on my way there. I’m currently 113lbs; amazing if you think back to the 89lbs I was when I was first admitted.

            I remember months ago when my mother first told me where we were actually headed. It was when we were driving in the car and I was trapped; completely unable to flee from the situation. That’s when I blew up in rage.

            “I hate you Tessa! I hate you with all my heart and I hope that right now, so God help me, we get into some tragic car accident!” I screamed that day.

            My mother looked like she had tears in her eyes when I saw her reflection in the rearview mirror.

            “You don’t mean that sweetheart. God, baby, I’m only doing this because I love you,” my mother’s lower lip was quivering at this point. “I love you and I want to be able to see you grow up. You’re only seventeen now and already this is consuming your life more than you know!”

            “You will never know me you worthless piece of garbage. I will never love you. You hear that? Never,” I hissed at her through clenched teeth.

            Now more than anything, tonight, I’m going to call home and tell my mother how much I love her and thank her for all that she has ever done for me.

            Brigit, before I get out of here, I want to tell you that I’ll no longer be writing you letters. Maybe one day, but don’t count on it. I need to set you free from my life and thoughts until you get better. I really hope for you to get better. Right now I’m putting an arm out there for you to reach but it’s your choice. I just hope you choose correctly. I’d hate to see you perish and have to attend your funeral. Brigit, you’re far too young to let this disease eat away at you. Please open your eyes and see that you are worth it. Give yourself reason to live everyday and maintain a healthy lifestyle.

            I don’t really know what else to say to you Brigit. I really will be praying though, that when I am finally healthy enough to leave this place, I’ll see you on your daily walk in the park. Reassurance that you’re still alive is all. For now, this is goodbye.

 

         Sincerely,

         Your friend