Dying Before My Dream

by Selene Ashewood

I’m not fully comfortable yet with the proper term “anorexia” so I will use the euphemism ¨being stupid.” In being stupid, I prepared like hell for the future without comprehending how fast it was approaching or that I was at risk of not having one.

As if I have not already shouted it from the rooftops, I’m going to France for university and then many other places abroad, but I almost lost this opportunity. The degree of strain it would have put me under to move to other countries in my unhealthy state was explained very bluntly to me hours after opening my acceptance email. All my excitement deflated at a clinic appointment scheduled for the same day where my vitals and weight were taken. It happens at every doctor’s appointment, but the difference was I couldn’t manipulate the results due to their procedures. Upon going through vitals and weight checks, doctors looked at me with intense concern as I looked back with indifference, unable to feign concern for myself or hide my pride from the earlier news. That lingering feeling left once a room of people discussed hospitalization for malnutrition and listed deficiencies at each other as if I was not sitting right in front of them. When I reminded them all that I was very much alive and could hear everything they said, eyes full of pity fell on me. I had not known it was possible to tell somebody their heart would stop without even scanning it. The first emotions these doctors stirred up in me were obviously the desire to leave but also an anxious need to get back to school. With my college plans threatened by concerned parents, I reverted to the mindset that I could secure my attendance by doing more schoolwork, still refusing to acknowledge the new monumental obstacle ahead.

But do not expect to travel the world if you weigh less than your suitcase. I was sternly reminded that there would be no ticket if recovery wasn’t tangible by my move-in date. I initially found this requirement to be invasive and unnecessary, but then I saw the hard truth in my reflection, in a sense staring my own death in the face. I now feel an immense pride that before I could recognize my impending mortality, I started to put in the work to get better. It is continuously difficult to improve for myself and not just for France. Yet it gets easier everyday, despite the process leaving me in more physical pain than I have ever known.

At first, the obligation resembled a trade-off, losing my “health” in exchange for a dream future, but now I can see it is clearly a gain in both aspects: achieving health to later achieve a dream. So it doesn’t matter that much if I’m loudly crinkling a snack bag in class or spilling some smoothie on a desk because I don’t have that much time left … in this country, that is.