My Best Friends    by Kyffin Webb

It was Friday the thirteenth, and a chilly October night, which should
have told us something from the start. Me and my best friend Stacy had
everything planned out ahead of time. We had plans to go to a party, drink a
little, and stay the night there. We told our parents we were spending the
night at each other’s houses. No one but us knew the truth so they had no way
of knowing where we really were. We thought we were so sneaky, but now we
would, in a heartbeat, have rather us been caught that night than a month
later.
It was 9 p.m. when we walked through the old, screen door, and entered
the small room. People covered the couch, and the chairs were occupied as
well. I introduced myself quickly, then headed into the kitchen with Stacy.
The round, wooden coffee table held numerous glass bottles, most of them
filled with alcohol. The usually empty refrigerator, was now filled with
cases of Down Home Punch. It was my and Stacy’s personal favorite. I reached
for a case, and quickly pronounced it mine. Stacy did the same, and the
drinking began. The cool, smooth drink streamed down my throat rather
quickly, one bottle after another.
Two hours later people were still everywhere, in the house and out of the
house. I stumbled out onto the porch in search of more to drink and a spot to
cool off. As I plowed my way through people, I saw Stacy’s very recent ex,
Ben, and his new girlfriend, Beth, cuddling together. Even though it was
quite dark, Stacy was watching them closely, and didn’t miss a move. The ill
look on her face let me know she was love sick, not stomach sick. I comforted
her the best a drunk friend can, and urged her to come inside, but Stacy
didn’t want to. I left her sitting on the porch with her hands wrapped around
her knees, and her head laying softly atop them.
Around twelve o‘clock the party started to wind down. Thirty minutes
later there were only three girls left, two of them being me and Stacy. Too
drunk to know what I was doing, I told some of the people at the party, who I
had just met, that I would go home with them. I left Stacy at the party and
headed off to another house.
"Bye Stacy," I slurred. "But are you sure you don’t want to come? It will
be fuuunnnn." My head was pounding and I couldn’t concentrate. My thoughts
were racing. "Where am I going. Why am I going, and what about Stac?" I
leaned my head into the padded head rest and closed my eyes, wishing Stacy
was coming with me. At the time I had no idea I was leaving her alone in a
house with two rapists.
The next morning I was dropped back off at the house where the party was
the night before. I opened the door and was greeted by an eerie, disturbing
feeling. Since it was only six a.m. I expected to walk into a sleeping house.
That wasn’t the case. Stacy‘s car was missing, her shoes were on the couch,
and her cell phone lay on the floor. Something was definitely wrong.
Questioning the two guys who I left her there with did me no good. They
claimed they didn’t know why or where Stacy and the other girl went. Finding
this very odd, and unbelievable, I frantically dialed every number I could
think of to reach Stacy. Just as I was about to completely lose it, Stacy‘s
car slowly came creeping up the gravel drive way. I rushed out the screen
door to meet her, letting it slam behind me. I began scolding her the minute
I walked outside, but suddenly became quiet when I saw the look of horror and
disbelief on her face.
"Stacy, where have you been?!" I demanded as I walked towards her car.
"I don’t want to talk about it right now." she replied.
"What do you mean? Talk about what?!" I persisted.
In a hushed voice she made it extremely clear to me she didn’t want to talk
about it. "I said I don’t want to talk about it, okay??!"
She didn’t have to say anything else to let me know something awful had
happened. Soon enough I found out what.


"Positive? What’s wrong with this thing?" I nervously wondered as I shook
the pale pink pregnancy test Stacy had just handed me, hoping it would reveal
different results. "Well, you will have to do another one. This one is
obviously broken!" I stammered.
After the fourth pregnancy test, we started to face reality. Stacy was
pregnant. What did this mean? It meant I had to believe and feel emotions I
never ever want to feel again. Stacy was not only pregnant, but she had been
raped. No more pretending, no more excuses. My best friend was raped, and I
could have prevented it. I was there with her at the party, but then
stupidly, and very regretfully, I left. I didn’t just leave a party, I also
left my best friend. I abandoned her. I left her to be violated,
embarrassed, ashamed, scarred, and changed for the rest of her life. I left
her with two rapists. "What kind of best friend am I?," I thought over and
over. The next few months were the worst we had ever known.
This was the first major situation in my life where I had to learn to
cope with all my feelings. At first I did the normal coping skills. I cried,
I supported, I reassured, I talked, and I worried about Stacy. But that was
not enough. I still felt like my life was out of control, and I felt that
somehow I needed to gain back that control. So I turned to the one thing at
this hectic time I could control, my food intake.
I started out just skipping breakfast, but I soon began skipping
breakfast and lunch. Before I knew it, I was skipping all meals. I would go
to school each day, and only chew gum. But even the gum I chewed was counted
as food, because, after all, each stick had 5 calories. After school I
would go to work until 8 p.m. When I finally got home in the evenings I would
have a plate full of vegetables, and then go to bed. I was constantly
thinking of food, and how many calories were in everything I ate, from gum to
toothpaste. I allowed myself to have 300 calories a day. Needless to say, my
weight began to severely drop and my health began to fade. "But," I thought,
"at least I am in control."
At lunch the other kids would tease me, and try to feed me, like I didn’t
know how.
"C’mon Kyff. One potato chip won’t kill you. My God!"
Even my teachers were commenting.
"Well, maybe if you ate you wouldn’t be so cold."
The Friday before Spring Break my science teacher asked me to stay after
class.
"Kyffin, are you anorexic?" she asked casually, as if she had rehearsed
what she had said to me.
"No," I snapped, "I eat. I just eat healthily." I thought that would be
the end of it.
I was planning on my spring break to be fun. I was going to Florida with
my mom and dad, and we were going to relax and enjoy the bright, southern
sunrays for a week. Instead of a 8 day trip, it turned into a 4 day trip. It
was a beautiful spring night. The weather was perfect. We were eating dinner
at an outdoor restaurant over looking the ocean. I was focusing on the pink
and purple sunset waves crashing in on the white sand when I was interrupted
by my mother.
"Kyffin, if you don’t eat we are going home tomorrow!" she firmly stated.
My father then chipped in, "If you don’t eat, when we get home, I am taking
your car away."
I looked down at my plate of cold and pathetic looking chicken. I started
to cry. I buried my face in my napkin, and sobbed. I didn’t care if the
people around us saw. In frustration I blurted out, "I just can’t eat! I have
rules about eating, okay?!" The warm ocean breeze now felt icy. I could feel
it running through my veins, and I left the table. I walked back to the hotel
alone, feeling as though my life was ending, and no one, not even my own
parents, cared. My parents kept their promises, and the next morning we
headed back home. The instant we arrived home, they took me to the doctor,
and it was then that I was diagnosed with Anorexia Nervosa.
During the next month, I lost five pounds a week. My weight became so low
that I had to be home schooled near the end of my Junior year. My body had to
eat something in order to survive, so it ate away at my muscle until I had
none left. After my muscle, it ate away at whatever it could inside my body,
causing me to urinate out my own bodily fluids. I couldn’t get up in the
morning without every bone in my body aching. I felt dizzy constantly, and
could barely walk up stairs. My memory began to fade, and I couldn’t
concentrate on anything, due to my body’s constant hunger. One morning, as I
was brushing my teeth, I felt exceptionally dizzy. I waited for the feeling
to pass, but it never did. As I turned the corner of the hall, and walked
toward the living room, everything suddenly went black. When I regained
conscious I was laying face up on the floor with my mother standing over me.
When I heard my mother scream, "Call 911!", I knew I had fainted. Moments
later an ambulance arrived at my house, and I was taken to the UK Hospital.
An I.V. was inserted into my forearm vein, and for two gruesome hours I was
intravenously fed fluids.
It seemed things with Stacy were just getting worse as well. Her rapists
were found not guilty, rumors were flying around, and her pregnancy was
starting to show. I was losing Stacy as my best friend, but Anorexia
volunteered to take her place. I had to keep my control, and Anorexia let me
do just that. By June 2001 I weighed 90 pounds. I was immediately put into a
hospital, and was forced to stay there until my weight was up by 10 pounds.
I was in the hospital when Stacy gave birth to a beautiful baby girl,
named MaKenzie. I spent the entire month of June in the hospital, and when I
was finally released I headed straight to another hospital. This time it was
to visit. I saw Stacy and MaKenzie two days after she was born. It was then I
realized just how much that one night of partying had changed us and our
lives. As a result we both were in and out of hospitals, both our bodies were
going through some pretty rough stuff, and we both lost a part of our
cherished teenage freedom. No more slumber parties, eating out, cruising
town, or spending the night out. We were losing our friendship.
Stacy was very busy with her newborn over the summer, and we hardly saw
each other. I continued to count on Anorexia to be there with me at all
times. Anorexia never told me to eat. She never applauded me when I gained a
pound, or cried when I lost five. Anorexia encouraged me to lose weight. She
made me feel good when I did, and shameful when I didn’t. With Anorexia’s
help, I showed no signs of improvement all summer long. My hair began to fall
out in clumps, my skin was yellow, my nails turned brittle and cracked, and I
was consistently fainting. I lost my hearing in one ear and my monthly
periods. My doctor informed me that I would lose all my hair within the next
6 months, and if I didn’t get my period back, I would lose the ability to
have kids. She also warned me that I was at high risk for a heart attack, and
I most likely already had permanent damage. Slowly I was dying, but I
couldn’t lose the only control I had.
I went to school for two days of my senior year, and my weight fell. I
was taken out of school, and placed into another hospital. After two months
in this hospital, my weight was still the same. Something major had to be
done, and the next step was taken. In the beginning of September I was taken
12 hours away from my home, and placed in an eating disorder hospital in
Pennsylvania, called Renfrew. I was so scared and afraid. My control and my
best friend, were being taken away.
My first thoughts of the hospital were, "What is the quickest way to get
out of here." As I walked into the main building, and sat on the stained,
pink bench, I noticed the hall smelled like pills and medicine. There was a
definite cloud of uncertainty hovering over me. As I sat and waited for the
head nurse to introduce herself, I carefully scanned the hallway. The carpet
was an ugly rose color. The white walls were covered with artwork, that at
the time, I found very cheesy. "Love yourself now", "Everyone is unique",
"Celebrate your differences."
"What a joke," I thought. The longer I sat and waited, the more girls
came up to me smiling and introducing themselves. I wondered how everyone
there could seem so worry free in a hospital! They all looked genuinely
happy, something I hadn’t felt in a long time.
I spent my first three days at Renfrew crying. I missed my home, my
friends, and my old eating ways. But, unlike at home, I received an enormous
amount of support from girls who were going through the exact same thing as
me. I could finally relate to someone! I began to feel better. I spent the
next month in a large house with 40 other women and girls who all shared
eating disorders.
Meal times were the most difficult times, and there were five meals a
day. We all sat in a small dining room and were served our meals. We had
counselors watching over our shoulders the entire meal. We were expected to
eat every last drop on our plate. If we left one carrot stick or half of an
olive laying on our plate, we were punished in the worst way an Anorexic can
think of. We were forced to drink a tall, thick glass of Ensure, a weight
gain drink.
Every day I would wake up at 5:45 a.m. and change into a thin, plastic
gown. I would head to the nurses station to be weighed and have my vital
signs taken, along with all the other girls. The line was always long, and
I’d have to stand in the cold, dark hallway for at least 30 minutes. Once I
was weighed and checked over I would return to my room and try to fall back
to sleep. Yet, my dreaded alarm never failed to go off once again, this time
at 7:30 a.m. All 40 of us would then head to the dining room for breakfast.
After breakfast we had numerous groups such as Coping Skills, Yoga,
Expression Art, or Recognizing and Handling Feelings. I learned new ways to
cope with the tough stuff in my life, rather than restricting food.
After group I returned to the dining room for lunch. Then I had more
groups until Snack time which was at 3p.m. After snack I had free
time/visiting time for an hour and a half. Since my parents were 12 hours
away and could never visit, I would usually sleep. It was a very depressing
time of my day. After my cat nap I would head once again to the dining room
for supper. After supper I had individual and family therapy. Then I would
end my day with another snack in the dining hall at 9p.m. Lights went out at
10 p.m. each night. The days were long, slow and difficult. I missed my home
more and more, each passing day.
One day, half way through my stay at Renfrew, the doctor called me into
her office. I thought she just wanted to check in with me and make sure
everything was alright, but it was just the opposite.
"Come on in Kyffin. Have a seat. I am afraid I have some bad news,"
Dorris warned as she filed through my records. I sat in the overstuffed chair
wondering what was wrong. My first thoughts were that something happened to
my parents. It never occurred to me, the bad news had to do with me. She
explained to me that I had osteoporosis. "You have the bones of a 70 year old
Kyffin. This means absolutely no more caffeine, no playing contact sports,
and no more forgetting to take your calcium supplements. Ever. For the rest
of your life. Are you listening to me?" I was listening alright, and so was
my mom when she was phoned minutes later. This was the worst news yet.
On October 10th, I was released from Renfrew, and was on my way home to
Kentucky. The first weeks back at home were hard. My grandmother was dying,
and since I had been away so long, I really didn’t have a social life. My
life consisted of numerous doctor visits, which I dreaded terribly. It seemed
every doctor wanted to know my weight. That was, and still is, a very
sensitive subject for me. I was on my own now. My parents were instructed to
let me be in charge of my own recovery. This meant I had to feed myself, and
plan my meals by myself. There were no people looking over my shoulder,
making sure I ate everything, and making sure I was getting enough calories.
My weight stopped rising, as my grandmother’s health started falling. I
started to restrict again, and lost the weight I had gained once out of the
hospital. I fell five pounds less of what I weighed when I was discharged
from Renfrew. This was scary for everyone.
I am still struggling to stabilize and get my weight up to, at least,
what it was when I left Renfrew. Every day is a battle. I wish I could tell
you that I have totally recovered, but the truth is that I‘m only at the very
beginning of a long road to recovery. I still count every calorie I eat, hide
from all mirrors, and refuse to be weighed unless necessary. Everyday I
struggle to eat enough just to maintain my weight. I feel fat after eating
anything, whether it be an apple or a salad. Anorexia almost took my life,
and now as I fight to take life back into my own hands, I realize I am going
to have to do something very scary. I am going to have to forever let go of
my best friend, Anorexia. She can never be a part of my life and I will never
be able to rely on her for help again, but I know I’m going to be okay.
Anorexia never was a good at being a best friend anyway. She never stood
tall beside me through my rough times and convinced me I’d be okay. She never
listened when I tried to talk, and she never told me all the great things I
was missing out on. I know Anorexia will be available to me whenever I‘m
having a tough time, but I also know other people who care deeply for me,
like Stacy did, will be available too. Unlike Anorexia, these people will
help me start a new life instead of end it. Sometimes I wonder how people
become best friends. I never would have chose Anorexia, who was nothing but
trouble, yet she was shoved at me. Stacy on the other hand, was nothing but
great, yet it seemed something was constantly trying to tear us apart. This
past year I have learned friendships are challenges. Although remaining best
friends with Stacy proved to be very challenging, the biggest challenge I’ve
had to face is learning to develop a friendship with myself. Maybe one day
Stacy and I will regain our best friendship back, but right now I have to
focus on learning to love, care for, and respect myself before I can truly do
the same for another.
 
           Email the author / back to top / back to Opinion

main / photos / jokes / stories / health / books / opinion / submissions / links / awards / e-mail to editor