Jolie comes to me from the other side.
It isn’t something that I can freely express to a lot of people, however I am sure that I’ve shared these experiences with more than have cared to know them.
Jolie come to me from the other side in the form of Florence & The Machine songs.
It would seem like an obscure thing, except you would have had to know what Jolie was to me.
In an unconventional treatment center, she was the leader of the house that I was living in. Tough as nails, and as straight-forward and honest as they come. To me, she was beautiful not only because of her appearance, but because of her brazen strength and no bull shit attitude.
To those who desired to remain disordered, she was their worst enemy. To those who felt like we had a fighting chance – she was a goddess.
“One day there will be a light switch,” she said once, “and it will flip suddenly. It will all of a sudden make sense and you will recover.”
She told me this as I was lying on the floor, moments awake from fainting for the millionth time, and crying because I felt like it would never end. She seemed so sure. So undoubtedly confident that if I wanted it bad enough – I would have it.
I WANT IT – I’ve screamed, for years.
That was 5 years ago this month.
Whenever I left this treatment stay – I left because they asked me to. My life experiences were too traumatic for the group as a whole, but only according to one therapist. The treatment team told me that they had voted on whether I needed to leave or not, and the majority had voted me gone. However, as Jolie drove me to airport, she told me the truth. Only the one therapist voted me gone. But she had threatened “Her Or Me” … and it was a situation I could only cringe to understand.
I never saw Jolie again, as she died of pancreatic cancer a few years ago. I always dreamed I would go back and thank her for her kindness towards me. For telling me the truth, so I didn’t feel rejected as I had before and would again after this experience.
This morning I spent hours lamenting my life, and I was only into my first pot of coffee.
Silent sentence after sentence of what an honorary fuck I am for being anorexic and not being able to stop being anorexic. And not just anorexic, but disordered – in more senses than ever before. For being so anorexic AND disordered that my body will not take it any longer.
As I turned on my car…and began to back out…a faint familiar voice came through the radio.
And She whispered to me, “Did I build this ship to wreck?”