(I meant what I said. Not during. In between.)
I didn't intend for yesterday to be a happy day. In fact, I expected it to suck, because I intended not to do anything to celebrate my 21st, stay in, suffer through rehearsal, work on homework, and go to bed. And I intended to hate myself for letting my eating disorder ruin a phenomenal rite of passage.
I also intended for no one else to do anything to celebrate my 21st, because I hadn't exactly been vocal about it. I thought the nice facebook wall posts were about as happy a birthday I was going to experience.
Initially, it seemed as though this would be true. I woke up to a rare rainy sky, sneered at my reflection in the mirror (it's been the legs lately, worse than ever -- they always give me trouble but now it's just awful), and went through my usual morning routine. I did eat my "breakfast" in bed, however, for the sake of tradition, and decided that if I wasn't too tired when I got home from class, I would give myself a fresh manicure with my favourite green nail polish.
When I got to voice class, I was immediately greeted with sophomoric "happy birthday" wishes and several big hugs, and everyone was just so damn nice to me that I started to feel a little bit better about myself. People were really treating me like I was special, which touched me. A lot. I was somewhat livelier during class and horsed around in between scenes. I felt slightly more cheerful.
Then, after an hour break, it was time for movement. One of the sophomores came up to me right before class was about to start, and presented me with a batch of several small homemade cookies (still hot -- he had baked them in between classes!), on which he had iced (one letter per cookie) HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I thanked him, and then he produced a ziploc baggie of fresh carrots and strawberries with a grin.
"The cookies are for you and our class to share," he said, "but I got you these 'cause I figured you might not want a cookie."
I could have chosen to be offended. Instead, I was incredibly touched. Not only did this kid go out of his way to make cookies and go out of his way to decorate them, he also somehow realized (and I'm not really sure how, since I haven't really interacted with food much around him) that I might be uncomfortable eating them and went out of his way to assemble something that was safer for me. The rest of the class enjoyed the cookies.
When I got home, there was a package waiting for me. My parents (who had both sent me sweet "happy birthday" texts that morning) had sent me a huge bouquet of my favourite flowers -- daffodils. Many of them were still in bud form. I watered and fed them and this morning all of them have bloomed.
Dillies!
I'm typically not one for flowers, but there's something about daffodils that just makes me love them.
A plus of living in one tiny room: Now my entire life smells like daffodils.
I was called for rehearsal at 7:30, though others had been there since 6:30 working other scenes. When I got there, it was about 7:15, so people were in the middle of a break. A few minutes later, three of the sophomores emerged, carrying a case of Diet Sunkist (my favourite soda), a card, and a small cheesecake with lighted candles. Everyone sang "happy birthday" and once again I got the fuzzies inside.
The other actors shared the cheesecake, while I opened my card. It was pretty awesome. It had a dinosaur on it.
Another point on the Diet Sunkist: yes, it's my favourite soda, but the class has only seen me drinking it maybe once or twice. And I only expressly mentioned it was my favourite soda to one of them when giving him a ride home. So... these kids do their homework. I was really shocked that they cared so much. I've never been particularly nice to them. I mean, if they ask me for a favour, I'll do it, and one time I made them a study guide for a class none of them had attended more than 4 times so that they'd all do well on the midterm, but that's kind of the extent of it. I don't hang out with them. I don't usually volunteer myself to help out with things. I'm just... over here if anyone needs me. Way way waaaaaaaaaay over here.
I don't know why they like me. And I didn't expect them to like me. It was all so strangely heartwarming. Sweet kids. Big hearts. I don't get it, but it felt really nice. I felt wanted. I felt enjoyed.
Finally, that night I had been invited to a surprise party for another friend whose birthday is today. These are all friends I really like but haven't seen a whole lot recently -- the same people I partied with at the very beginning of the year. Two junior BFAs, their awesome housemates (some of whom I've worked with in student films), and mutual friends that I've met through them. All guys -- just the way I like it -- except for one equally amazing girl.
The party was great (it ended up being a joint birthday celebration for both myself and the other guy), and though I said I wasn't going to drink (even though I'd saved enough calories to have one), I got tough-loved into a birthday shot. Rum. Yum. "I don't need to chase," I said after I'd downed the amber deliciousness. Everyone hooted.
Then there was the cake -- cookies and cream ice cream cake. Austin's (the girl's) boyfriend started passing pieces around, and I tried to slide out of the alcohol-and-food circle before anyone noticed that I was a freak. I failed. "I bought this cake and if you don't eat it I'll threaten you," joked the boyfriend. I would have pretended to be lactose intolerant if there weren't so many people there who knew I wasn't. The boyfriend handed me a piece, and a fork, and said, "I'm giving this to you." "We'll share it," said Austin. Several of us migrated into another room, where it was slightly more intimate, and after establishing house rules for a round of King's Cup, Austin said gently, "it's your birthday and you're going to have a bite of this cake. It's going to be a small bite and it'll just be ice cream." She cut an admittedly small piece with her fork. "And I'll even feed it to you."
I let her. Happy birthday to meeeee.
The rest of the night was spent smoking, conversing, and hearing Austin and the guys talk about all the awesome bars and restaurants they'd been to and "oh, AJ, you HAVE to come" and "you'll love this one drink they make" and "next weekend we're all free we should..."
"Are you around over the summer?" asked the boyfriend.
"Yeah," I said.
"Sweet; we can all go bar-hopping together."
"And beach days!"
"And beach days."
"Epic weekends."
"When do you move into your new place, AJ?" I'd boasted about my sweet-ass future apartment earlier.
"August," I said, "and it's too small for big parties but perfect for intimate intellectual salons."
"Cocktail parties and conversation."
"Yes."
"I'm excited."
I began to realize that there were people in this world for whom I wasn't a third wheel, who would love to have me along. And they weren't just my parents. They were people near me, and they were people I really liked. I liked the same people who liked me, as much as, and no more or less than they liked me. (Did you follow that?) I began to see myself being able to go out with them, laugh with them, and let loose with them more and more. I pictured AJ's Life Without An Eating Disorder and suddenly it wasn't empty, but full of beach days and double majoring and cocktail parties and cafes and bars. And dorky TV shows and fun parties and movie shoots. And auditions and naps and coffee and nights out.
It was full of life. I suddenly had this new sense of hope and optimism where I'd previously dreaded a life sans anorexia as being even blanker and more purposeless than life consumed by anorexia.
None of this has affected my behaviour or allegiance to my eating disorder -- yet. But it's slowly beginning to chip away at old fears and lies.
Someday, maybe.
No comments:
Post a Comment