The first thing you notice about The Anna Westin House in rural Minnesota, named for one of the saddest stories in eating disorder lore, is that you don’t notice it at all. Two light brick townhouses joined at the kitchen, it blends seamlessly in with the surrounding upper middle class neighborhood. From the green and white porch chairs to the single car in the driveway, nothing sets it apart. There is nothing to tell you that this is where girls who are actively courting death come to live. For many it is their last grab at life.
Passing the unobtrusive shrubbery, I step through the door to find myself standing in an open great room. This is how it must be for the girls who live here, I think. No transition. One moment you are in your own life and then you walk through a door and everything’s changed. This is a house of rules, you see.
Rule number one: You cannot come and go as you please. Nor can your friends and family. A soft-spoken older woman, the house matron, smiles and asks me to sign in. I do so, the only person on the fresh sheet. My friend Emily, whom I have come to see, stands awkwardly in front of me, hugging a thick sweatshirt around her despite the moderate 74 degrees the thermostat is set to.
Rule number two: There is a time for everything. And I have come at the end of Seminar Time, just before Visiting Time. As the guest speaker for the evening talks about being “recovered” – a word that causes almost unanimous eye rolling; one girl tells me that her highest hope is to be “recovering” for the rest of her life – I glance around the homey living room. The walls are painted in Model Home colors accented with tasteful furnishings and wall hangings. Flowing uninterrupted from the living room, the kitchen carries on the same post-modern Pottery Barn feeling. The most prominent decoration in the kitchen however is a wall-size antique looking chalkboard. White lines split it into a calendar of sorts. I squint and realize I’m looking at a menu complete with chore assignments. Tonight’s dinner was apparently seafood salad with lemon bars for dessert although it smells like spaghetti.
Nobody seems to think it strange that the dominant feature of the first room you see in a house for eating disordered girls is a wall-sized menu. Weekly Special: Anxiety on a plate.
“I didn’t know how much food they were going to make me eat,” Emily says plaintively, her knees tucked up under her chin. We’re now sitting outside, on the porch, to let Emily warm up. As she readjusts, I notice how much thinner she is even though I just saw her 2 days ago. Her eyes narrow as she notices the gum in my mouth. “If you have gum, you have to give me a piece.”
I hem and haw. Rule number three: Caffeine and gum are specifically banned at the beginning of the program and thereafter meted out on an earned basis only. It makes sense as anorexics typically abuse both. (How does one abuse gum? When you use it to occupy your mouth so you don’t eat.) I look down at Emily’s cute shoes. “Don’t you think your first day is a little early to be breaking the rules? I mean, if you’re going to be here you should try and be committed…”
“Oh, I’m committed all right,” she says wryly and after a pause we both giggle.
We move on to discuss other things, mostly light-hearted gossipy banter, and my hour passes quickly. The flash in her eyes returns as I sigh and stand. Don’t go. She doesn’t say it but I can see it in her eyes. She is scared. And alone. And so so tiny. Her fragility overwhelms me. I am loathe to leave her like this.
“Here,” I whisper, holding out the pack of gum. “You can have one piece.” She takes two, pocketing one and chewing the other. I silently curse myself for not remembering to spit out my gum before coming. For not being strong enough to resist her anorexia-fueled manipulations.
We join the rest of the girls out in front of the house. They are watching a midwestern thunder storm roll in with all its fury – a row of upturned faces searching for funnel clouds. I notice they are all wearing sweatshirts and pants to ward off the chill of a perfect summer night. I feel fat. A small swell of panic rises in my throat as I look down at my adult-sized jeans completing the row of childish denim. I am not immune. Rule number four: Do not talk about body size. Not yours. Not theirs. Not Angelina Jolie’s. I swallow my fear.
An attractive young man sans shirt jogs by. I smile and comment, “Well you guys certainly have nice scenery!” The girls glance briefly at him, confusion playing across their faces.
“What I wouldn’t give to run,” Emily sighs.
“No cardio until you earn it back,” a brunette says curtly and then adds, “You’d better hide that gum too.” Emily nods, the shirtless man remembered only in the context of lost exercise.
I don’t know how to end this. It seems too abrupt to just toss a casual wave over my shoulder as I head down the driveway, as I would at another friend’s house. I know it will get easier after future visits but for now it is awkward. Stepping lightly, I hug Emily – so careful, she is so breakable – but she doesn’t hug me back.
“What?” I say urgently. “Are you going to be okay?” What a stupid question.
She shrugs and chews at her nails. “Just something you said…”
“What??” I demand. “What did I say?”
“It’s nothing,” she turns away, trying to draw me back in.
I won’t be played this time. “You’ll be fine. Really. I’m proud of you for doing this. I know you can do this.”
My resolution affects her. She stands straighter. “Can I?”
“Yes. You are a survivor. Even of this.”
“Thank you.”
I walk away to my car and drive into the night, keenly aware of my freedom. Grateful.
Wow.
Everything I want to say seems trite so I’ll leave it at that.
Powerful. Stuff.
Thank you for posting this Char!! Education doesn’t always come from a book!! This experience proves that.
Flawless writing Charlotte, that was so moving.
I know these places save so many lives, but being thrown into a place where you’ll be forced to do everything your disease tells you not to must be the most horrible, terrifying experience. I was days off a place like this, my heart breaks for these girls. I’m so glad I got my act together and had a therapist who trusted me enough to let me show everybody I could do it for myself.
For freedom, as you say. I will be thankful for freedom today.
Thankyou for this.
TA x
Im with Gem.
and Im confident they’d ring hollow when Id mean them sincerely.
M.
Very powerful, Charlotte. Thank you for sharing this with us.
I’m sorry to break the silence here, although I have to agree with everyone else – that post was beautiful!
I had that exact picture hanging in my room for years…where did you find it? I no longer have the picture, but seeing it brought back so many memories.
Beautiful post Charlotte.
We have such a long way to go in understanding and treating EDs. I am really distraught (again, and again, again) by the Health insurances unwillingness to do their job. A family I know, just threw $150,000 to send their bulimic daughter to a full board institution for 3 months. Of course no contribution from their insurance.
That, makes me very angry.
That was really moving, Charlotte. Thanks
You’re a wonderful writer. Seldom do we get to experience the talent along with the introspection. Gosh, these words just sound bland…
thanks
it seems like a bad idea to me to have all those girls together. I knoe from when I was sick that being around other girls that were “stronger” than me and “thinnner” than me, would just make me more defiant and less motivated to get better.
It helped me to be aroujd people that ate normally and werent concerned with their bodies. It helped to see a model of what I should(would) one day become.
http://www.groundedfitness.com
I too find myself at a loss for words; very powerful writing, and a valuable introduction to a world I really know little about.
Thanks for this!
Thats… thank you.
That was amazing and moving. Thank you.
Having only been on the other side of the therapeutic environment, I am deeply touched by your, as always, sensitive viewpoint on this.
Your post reminds me of the HBO Show “Thin”. Very moving and sad.
Thank you for posting this. It was really insightful and best wishes to your friend.
The insurance thing infuriates me. I feel like if it was men who primarily suffered from eating disorders that everything would be covered, it wouldn’t be an issue of treatment being “not medically necessary,” and not the attitude of, why doesn’t that silly girl just EAT something?
I’m sorry, I’m so silly, I forgot this was a Norman Rockwell picture/painting. I was talking to my Momma about it and she reminded me. Just brought back so many memories. I remember looking at that picture wondering what that girl was thinking…it seemed so melancholy. Perfect for this post, but it holds nothing but fond memories for me.
Wow. Thank you, Charlotte!
Insurance companies will sometimes kick in a few thousand for plastic surgery but for this? Nah.
When they say treatment like this is not medically necessary, they are basically telling us that girls’ and womens’ lives are not worth saving.
Char – this is beautiful writing! I have tears in my eyes just reading this. My heart goes out to you, your friend and everyone with an addiction, myself included. Thank you.
God, that was heartbreaking.
Like Kelly, though…I wonder how positive an influence such an environment is…couldn’t it be like prison where felons end up being schooled in criminal behaviour from fellow inmates??
Cara
I’m thankful for your freedom, so you can write and move us….
wow – this is much different that the only ED facilities I’ve been in, which were hospital based. What scares me is the picture you painted sounds a bit like my old sorority house, complete with giant menu board. The gum thing blows my mind – in drug rehab, all they have are cigarettes, it seems…isn’t gum kinda like the equivalent here? Not the greatest thing but helps you pass the time and deal with the struggle? Or is gum used by women with EDs in some way I don’t know about? Anyway, here’s to your friend getting better and thanks for sharing this powerful account, Charlotte.
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