Her face numb from cold and blank from bitterness, she sits cross-legged on the ground; solid concrete. She's been leaning stiffly against a brick wall for the past hour, not shifting her position once, watching the people walk by absorbed in their own ends. A small ginger cat watches her from a ledge on the wall of the multi-story car-park behind her as she reaches up a hand to brush the dark hair out of her dark eyes and looks up at the dark sky. It's dark grey; the colour so often observed on the streets of London and in the English skies. As she ponders the texture of the pregnant clouds, she reflects; the bringer of rain is, to one, a discomfort, but, to another, a cause for celebration. She remembers images of those in third world countries walking for miles to reach a water supply. Now that's put my problems into perspective.
She jumps as the phone in the pocket of her jeans vibrates for the sixteenth time since she left the clinic. The whole world is after her it seems. All she wanted was for them to leave her alone. That's why she ran away. Can't they take a hint?
The ginger cat approaches her, padding softly over the tangled grass and weaving carefully through filthy discarded food and drink wrappers. She holds out her hand for the cat to sniff and it rushes forwards expectantly but after realising she has no food it turns away, pausing for a scratch behind the ears before investigating a nearby MacDonald's wrapper.
“Sorry kitty, I don't really do food”
Her eyes follow the cat's movements but her mind is elsewhere; back in the clinic where she's been for the past four months, abandoned by her parents and forced to gain weight, dreaming of freedom, of starvation, of bones...
Was it worth it?
She shakes her head; she won't let herself think such things. She needs thin like she needs oxygen... doesn't she? Besides, eating makes her feel sick. It's become a daily routine of begging and pleading with her nurses to let her get away with less; less food, less effort... She's glad to escape. Recovery? Too difficult. Not happening. Stick me in a hospital and leave me to rot, I'm not gonna get any better!
A group of young teenagers turn the corner onto the street where she sits. They pass her by without a glance as though she's part of the concrete. But they smile and laugh and their faces reflect nought but pure youthful happiness. It takes her by surprise; it's been so long since she herself felt anything so beautiful. She'd forgotten it was possible to experience anything other than depression. She tries to remember being truly happy, searching through memories of starvation and tears, back through the months of therapy, through solitary school lunch times and dizzying, punishing exercise routines. She goes back to before the divorce, before her dad moved away, before the hours spent crying in her room listening to the sound of arguing, her world falling apart...
She was twelve years old. It was the last day of term before the summer holidays and they'd been let out of school early. The sun was shining for the first time in weeks and as she walked out of the school gates, arms linked with her best friends, tiny droplets of rain began to fall. Her friends complained. She just laughed. Nothing could spoil her mood, not that day. She breathed in the sweet, summer-rain scented air and knew in that moment that however hard it rained, however cold it became, nothing could alter the freedom she felt and the sheer joy in her heart. Surrounded by friends, free from the demands of school after so long, she was happy.
But the world is different now. She is different. She doesn't know how to feel happy again. As she'd discovered more and more about the world, it had only disappointed her, scared her and made her feel guilty. Wasn't it Aristotle who said that to perceive is to suffer?
She'd thought about ending her life before, feeling that life simply could not get any worse. She'd decided that if it ever came to it she would take her dad's gun and shoot herself in the head. That had to be the quickest, least painful way to do it. She'd even sneaked into her dad's bedroom once and just stared for hours at the wooden box containing his hunting gun. It had a large padlock keeping it shut but she happened to know where he kept the key. She'd thought at the time of Hamlet's soliloquy
To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them?
That's one thing she does enjoy about the world; Shakespeare. Shakespeare and Jane Austin and Tim Burton films and the music of Take That. She laughs inwardly at herself. See, it is possible to like something about life.
The ginger cat it creeping towards her again, eyes trained on a long twig she has been playing with absent-mindedly. She holds the twig still, watching as the cat draws slowly nearer. She marvels at the animal's beauty; such an aesthetically pleasing creature though essentially a ruthless hunter. She's always thought of cats as manipulative little things; enjoying the luxuries that result from staying with humans but coming and going as they please. Dogs are dependent like small children, and cats are independent like teenagers. She moves the stick suddenly and the ginger cat pounces, clinging on to it as she continues to wiggle it. A small smile spreads its way across her mouth as the cat stares intently at the moving twig, trying to hold it still with its velvet paws.
Her minds strays again, this time to the cat that used to live across the road from her when she was still in primary school. It was a timid little thing. She used to go looking for it outside with her little sister skipping along behind her. They'd almost always find it hiding in the big bushes round the corner, eyes wide and fearful, back arched. Her sister had tired of it fairly early on, realising it never came out to be stroked or cuddled. But she had sat by the bush for what felt like hours at a time just talking to the animal about... whatever children talk about. She liked to imagine it could understand her and was answering her back. She had been happy then too; aged six or seven, talking to a scared cat about the world as seen through a child's eyes. She had been happy.
A couple of months ago she met a boy who'd recovered from anorexia. He'd been brought into the hospital in an attempt to inspire us. He said that he used to think happiness wasn't possible any more; that It was something for children to enjoy and depression was just a part of getting older. Until he'd recovered of course. She remembers his words “The real battle was learning how to be happy. It's a skill. It's choosing to live life and experience everything it has to offer. That's the real way out of anorexia” She hadn't been willing to listen beck then, but now she's so sick and tired of feeling the way she does. Her body aches all over and she doesn't even have anywhere to go. Perhaps it's time to let go?
She is startled out of her day-dream by a drop of water landing on her nose. She looks up to see the few tiny droplets turn into a downpour within the space of a few seconds. In moments, her hair is soaked through but all she can do is smile at the twelve year old in her past; so optimistic, so in love with life. What's stopping me from embracing the rain like I did before? She stands up slowly, steadying herself on the wall behind. “Nothing”. She says the word out loud. She runs forwards and the cat follows her across the road, through an alley and out into a park filled with the sound of rustling leaves. The rain beats down on her head and she smiles, wishing she had the twelve year old in front of her now, needing to embrace her; to thank her. She sprints to the middle of the field, stumbling as she pulls off her trainers and socks. The grass beneath her feet is cool and forgiving and she stares up at the sky with wonder. This is what life is for. It's for the exhilaration of running barefoot in the pouring rain with a confused cat and a smile on your face.
The phone in her pocket vibrates again. She picks it up almost immediately
“Mum? I'm going back to the hospital.”
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