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Ready

If I was allowed to hug other patients and she looked like someone who would let me, I would envelop her.

I am dressed in jeans, a sign that I am leaving this world of unbalanced steps taken on spindly legs and supplemental shakes to chase down heavy meals. I am entering the real world, heavier and (thereby, somehow) better. Tomorrow, I will have to read my weight on scales facing the numbers instead of having them recorded for me.

I was afraid of gaining weight here, but I am suddenly more afraid of leaving.

I stare at this new admittance, who is broken like I was months before, and I feel the bitter shame of being healthy and yet still being sick.

If I was allowed to hug her, I would try to convince her things would get better, that I am better, that this place works.

But I am not. And she does not look like someone who appreciates desperate gestures.

Story by:

Laura Loveday

lloveday1@gmail.com

6 July 2012

Laura Loveday's web:

lauraloveday.tumblr.com