A short story about the gripping effects of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder and Eating Disorders.

While many stories chose to complicate it with romance and bullying, many times these disorders occur without the romanticization. This story tries to show these disorders realistically. If you're struggling please get help!

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~ Isis Roberts ~

Are the walls caving in on me? Maybe that's just my chest. Is there an earthquake going on? No, no, that's me. I'm shaking. Oh gosh, I can't breathe. Maybe I should sit... I think I'm going to faint. Why am I crying? I can't calm down!

I slide to the floor in the bathroom stall and try to take deep breaths. This was the sixth panic attack this week and it was only Tuesday. After each episode, I was left feeling the same way; tired, gloomy, and embarrassed. It is kind of hard to hide tear stains and sniffles. There is actually a lot more to hide that does not work very well.

I have to hide my shaky hands, which are raw from washing them so often. I have to wash them, or germs will creep onto my skin and get me sick. I have to wash my hands until it feels right... Speaking of which, I'm sitting on a bathroom floor – oh gosh, bathrooms are filthy... especially school bathrooms! I have to wash my hands before I get sick and die... sick and die... sick and die... The words repeat in my head until I quickly jump up from the floor. The thought makes my heart beat faster than it already is.

I leave the stall and run to the sink, ignoring the stares of the two other girls standing in the bathroom. I take three pumps of soap on my left hand, lather for fifteen seconds (counting Mississippi seconds, of course) and then rinse. Then I take three more pumps of soap and scrub each finger, one by one. ... Going to get sick and die... And it still is not good enough. I have to repeat the cycle five times before I feel it will suffice.

The entire time, the girls are staring at me and I feel uncomfortable. They're staring because I'm a freak, I know it. No one washes their hands that often, I know it. I'm such a freak... I wish they'd stop staring. I'm such a freak... such a freak... I start to twirl my hair nervously as I leave the bathroom. I try to focus on twirling my hair, and not on the stares I'm getting. I'm such a freak...

I make it back to class in time to take a few notes. My note taking is always precise – highlighted titles, underlined subtitles, and traced arrows – but then if it was a little too messy, I would rewrite it, and throw out the first copy. It used to be a manageable thing – I was just a really neat person. But now, it takes too much time and consumes hours of my time when I study at home. It all has to be perfect or I will fail... failure is not an option... failure is not an option...

The bell rings and I quickly pack my things in the same order that I do every day; black binder, blue binder, pink binder, and my pencil case on top. It cannot be any other way... ever.

I sling my backpack over my shoulder, and head to my locker to grab my lunch and meet up with my friends. I take my lunch out of my locker and did the same thing every day when I close it. Spin three times; tug twice – for good luck. It didn't feel right any other way. When I meet my friends, Lindsay and Carly, we walk down to the cafeteria, and find a place to sit.

We sit at a table, closest to the wall, and I choose to sit with my back to the wall. I can't have my back to the cafeteria; everyone will stare at me... everyone will stare at me...I can't have people staring at me. They would stare because I'm a freak... I pull out my lunch feeling extremely self-conscious and shaky. I hate eating around people – even my friends – because they never fully understand why I eat the way I do. I'm such a freak...

I'm eating carrot sticks, celery sticks, cucumber sticks and fish sticks – that's because it is Tuesday. A baby carrot is four calories, a stalk of celery is three, and half a cup of cucumber is eight, and there are eighty-one calories per fish stick... Five baby carrots, a stalk of celery, a half cup of cucumber and 5 fish sticks – 436 calories. The same as every Tuesday.

While it started off with my mom making my lunch every day, my eating habits became too much for her, as they got more and more specific. I have to make my own lunch and breakfast now, because I have carefully constructed an eating plan that makes me feel better about myself. Dinner is tricky, but I calculate everything I eat. I never eat more than 1200 calories. This way, I won't gain weight... won't gain weight... don't gain weight, I can't gain weight.

I bounce my leg nervously as the thought resonates through my mind. I pick up a carrot stick and chew 10 times before swallowing.

"Isis, you're shaking the table." Lindsay says quietly. 5 Mississippi, 4 Mississippi, 3 Mississippi, 2 Mississippi, 1 Mississippi... and I stop.

"Sorry." I respond not meeting her eyes.

"Have you been crying again Isis?" Carly asks, and I can feel her curious eyes on me. I cringe and little and shrug. "What happened? You never talk about it, and we worry about you."

"I'm okay, don't worry." I reply picking up another carrot stick. Another rule of mine is to eat one thing at a time. It is something I do every day, at every meal.

~ A Month Later ~

My parents have started forcing me to eat more food, that doesn't follow my plan. I hate eating dinner... especially with them. They give me the portions they want me to eat, not what I want – what I need. They really don't understand. Every time I try to explain my thoughts, it never comes out right. I can't really tell them what I am feeling. It is terrifying; I have no control. No control... no control... I need control... need control.

I quickly eat my dinner and even have dessert, but that does not mean I enjoy it. The thought of it breaking all the rules, and sitting there like bricks in my stomach, disgusts me. I excuse myself from the table and walk to my room.

When I am inside I glare at myself in the mirror and stop. My stomach looks like it's gotten fatter between the time of when I came home and now. It is all the food my parents are forcing down my throat... I have no control. I need control... need control...

I pivot and walk brusquely to my bathroom and close the door. I stare at the white porcelain object in front of me. I question if I am really going to do what I want to, but then my thoughts attack me. I need control... need control... I can't gain weight. This way, I won't gain weight. This way, I have control. I need control... I can't gain weight...

I step towards the toilet, but hesitate again, not sure if I really want to do this. I wonder if this is what it has come to. I need control... need control... I can't gain weight. This way, I won't gain weight. This way, I have control. I need control... I can't gain weight... I take another few steps, landing me right in front of the toilet, and I get down to my knees.

I'm breathing heavily at this point, and I raise a trembling hand to my mouth. Need control... don't gain weight... I open my mouth and make the decision. I purge. Everything that I had eaten today has left the bitter taste of thin behind in my mouth. Everything I had eaten today is sitting in front of me. I stand up emotionlessly. This way, I won't gain weight. This way, I have control. I flush, then wash my hands five times, and brush my teeth twice.

Finally, my thoughts are silent... for now.

~ Two Months Later ~

I sit down at the lunch table with Carly and Lindsay. It is Wednesday, and I had reduced my caloric intake by 400, because I looked as if I had gained weight. I was eating a total of 800 calories a day. Today's lunch was the "A-B-C" day; apple juice, bread and cream cheese – a total of 350 calories. This way, I won't gain weight... won't gain weight... don't gain weight, I can't gain weight.

I begin to spread my cream cheese in a clockwise motion, when Lindsay speaks up. "Isis?" She begins. I glance up cautiously, to acknowledge her. "I've noticed something, but I don't want to offend you."

I reply nervously, looking back down at my food. "You won't."

I feel her shift uncomfortably, and Carly remains silent. "Well, I've noticed that you've lost a lot of weight in a short amount of time, and it is kind of worrying."

I frown down at my food. "I haven't lost anything. I'm fine." I state, trying not to sound angry. Is she making fun of me? I haven't lost any weight... Well, maybe I have, but I don't look any skinnier.

"No, you're not fine." Carly finally speaks up. I place my bread down on the table, and fold my legs. I don't know what to say, so I blow on my hands, making sure each and every finger gets air on it. "Please don't be upset, but –"

I can't hear her at this point. I can only hear the sound of my heart beating in my ears, and the sound my breath getting more shallow with every gulp of air. She's making fun of me... I'm a freak... I'm a freak... I stand up and quickly leave the cafeteria.

I can't breathe properly by the time I step into the bathroom. I glance in the mirror wondering what on earth friends are talking about. I see that my face looks a little paler, and my hair is thinning, but that is all. I turn sideways in the mirror and study at my body. I haven't lost any weight. I'm still the same anywhere else, if anything, I've gained weight. Fat...fat... fat... I feel a little dizzy, as if not enough oxygen is reaching my lungs.

I glare down at my hands again, starting my fourth cycle of washing them raw. Two girls, who were in the bathroom, stared curiously at me and then start leaving. As they exit I glance at their perfect thigh gaps and I frown. I wish I looked like that.

"She looks sick..." I hear one of them say as they walk away. "Her face looks so hollow and tired."

"I know. It was freaking me out the way she washed her hands too." The other girl replies.

"She needs help." The first agrees. They continue talking but I don't hear the rest. I quickly dry my burning hands and head towards a bathroom stall.

What are they saying? They're making fun of me. Oh, gosh I'm such a freak... such a freak. I hate myself... Oh now I'm crying. Hey, is the floor sliding or is it just me?

"Maybe she's in here." Lindsay's voice echoes through the bathroom. I hear two sets of footsteps and I know that Carly is with her as well. I frown. Oh I can't deal with them right now. I touch the stall door in an attempt to open it, but everything before me seems to spin, and I find the ground rising to meet me.

***

Beep. Beep. Beep.

It isn't like those movies where you wake up in the hospital really confused. I know why I am here. I drifted in and out of consciousness in the ambulance. If I remember correctly, I collapsed in the bathroom when Carly and Lindsay walked in. I regained consciousness when a teacher was beside me. She kept talking to me, trying to keep me awake, but I'd close my eyes every few minutes and drift off.

I felt so exhausted from staying up all night with the stupid thoughts swirling around my mind like a storm of worry. Doubting, checking, cleaning, and oh I can't take it anymore! It consumes my life. I don't even have control over the things I do – or even my thoughts. I have no control...

I shift uncomfortably in the hospital bed as I hear the heart monitor beep faster and faster. I slowly open my eyes and see my mom and dad sitting across from me. My mom rushes up to me when she sees I'm awake.

"Oh honey." She starts. I tap my fingers nervously, knowing that a speech is coming on. "I'm so sorry." She says. This takes me by surprise. "I feel like I've failed you as a mother. I should have been watching the warning signs, taken you to see someone about this. I thought you were being picky, but never would I have guessed you were starving yourself." She rests her hands on my dancing fingers.

A doctor comes into the room at that point, with a woman behind him. "Hello Mr. and Mrs. Roberts." The doctor says. "It's good to see you're awake Isis." He nods towards me. "This is Ms. Jackson, she's a psychologist here at Reed Wood Hospital. Is it okay if she speaks with Isis on her own now?" My parents nod and leave me alone with her.

I stare down at my hands (as hideous as they are to me, I have nowhere else to look without feeling uncomfortable). I see the IV stuck into one of my wrists and cringe. I can hear Ms. Jackson bringing a chair close to my bed. "How are you Isis?" She asks. I glance up at her wondering if that question was serious or not.

"I'm alive." I say. It was meant to come out sarcastically, but it sounds timid and weak instead. She gives me a small smile.

"So from what your parents told me, it sounds like you have not been eating properly, is that correct?" She questions, holding a pad of paper and a pen. I stare blankly at her, not sure how to respond. "Isis, what is your daily caloric intake?"

"800." I whisper, tapping my fingers in the same pattern I had before. I watch as her facial features twist into a look of concern.

"Do you know that you should be consuming at least 1500 a day?" She asks. I lift my hand, the one that is not attached to an IV, and start blowing on my fingers, making sure each and everyone of them gets air on it. "Okay... why are you restricting your eating habits Isis? Please tell me your thought process. I'm only here to help you."

"Um... I restrict so that I can control my weight." I start hesitantly, but from there everything pours out as if someone turned the tap on in my brain. "I just needed order in my life at first, but then my parents kept forcing food on me. I felt all the control I had was slipping through my fingers. I just can't gain weight. But it was so hard so I started throwing up. Some days I can barely see straight because I'm so tired from staying up all night cleaning my room, arranging my clothes, or rewriting my study notes to make sure they're perfect. I can't stop worrying about anything and everything, and I feel like a freak... such a freak – I mean look at me! I'm lying here in a hospital bed and almost panicking because I'm here talking to you right now about my weird thought process! I swear this is the most I've said to anyone in three months." My breath is ragged by the end of monologue and I'm shaking under the sheets of the bed. I do feel lighter though, when I am done.

Throughout my speech, Ms. Jackson scribbled away furiously. She looks up when I finish speaking and smiles at me. "That's a lot to deal with for one sixteen year old girl." She says quietly. "Do you have fears about germs contaminating you?" She asks. I nod. "I have noticed your hands – do you wash them very often?" I nod again and explain how I do it. Ms. Jackson's eyebrows furrow a little. I hope that is a sign of concern and not disgust. "Do you have panic attacks?" She questions and I nod again. "What do you feel during these attacks?"

"I cry uncontrollably, my heartbeat is fast and my body trembles. I feel cold, and dizzy – but I'm not quite sure if the dizziness is because of a lack of oxygen or what. I can't breathe properly – my chest feels compressed – and I have that dropping feeling in my stomach."

She writes everything down and continues questioning me. "Do you have thoughts that just won't go away?" I nod looking at my hands. "So you do things to try to control it all, and calm yourself down, right?"

"Right." I say. I can feel my cheeks turning red, as I feel embarrassed and pathetic. There is a pause as Ms. Jackson writes more down.

"Alright Isis, I'm going to tell you your diagnosis." She announces. I watch her, waiting for her to continue. "You have an anxiety disorder called OCD. It stands for obsessive-compulsive disorder. It means you have many obsessive and irrational thoughts, which urge you to do things and regain a sense of control in your life. This need to control has lead to you having an eating disorder – two actually; anorexia nervousa and bulimia nervousa. The first, means that you starve yourself because you see yourself as overweight. But you're not. You are extremely underweight Isis. Bulimia; your purging – especially when not eating that much to begin with – is extremely dangerous. It is damaging to your throat, stomach and even teeth. Now, because you have these disorders does not mean that you should be embarrassed or that you are weak. It means that you have something that you need to learn how to cope with."

I stare at her wordlessly, as she hands me her card and smiles. "Thank you?" It comes out like a question, as I am not sure exactly what I am supposed to do with it.

"This is in case of an emergency. I'm going to set up four appointments with you through your parents, and together we are going to help you cope with your OCD and beat your eating disorders." Ms. Jackson stands up with a smile and for the first time in months, I feel a little bit of hope bubbling inside of me.

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Author's Note: Hey everyone! I wrote this for an Antrhopology/Sociology/Psychology assignment in grade eleven, and I thought I'd put it on Wattpad! Haha, I hope I portrayed these disorders well, and I hope this helps people see they are not alone! If you, or a friend is struggling with something like this and are not already seeing someone, I please urge you to get the help you need and deserve! Have a great day and thanks for reading :)