I met Ana when we were in the 8th grade. I was a little on the heavy side back then and the other girls would sit across the lunchroom and make fun of me as I ate my two trays of food. Ana would sit and laugh with them, but she never spoke the harsh words they did. Later, when the lunchroom was void of kids, she would come up and apologize to me.
One day, she graced her way to my table before lunch was over. Like a fallen angel, she abandoned her group of perfect friends. She instead sat amongst the misfits. Ana slid one of the trays away from me. I didn’t stop her because I figured she just wanted to have some of my food. Instead, she got up and dumped the contents of the tray into the trash.
“This isn’t good for you,” she had said. And from that day on Ana and I had just been close. She spent most days with me then. Usually she’d come over after school and stay until late in the night. If her parents were in a particularly good mood, she’d stay the night.
It was about the third or fourth time Ana spent the night that she began telling me her secrets.
“You know Em, that food you eat isn’t very good for you.” She had said.
“What do you mean?”
“Well. They put stuff in it.”
“What do you mean, Ana? What kind of stuff?”
“Bad stuff Em. They put stuff in it and then it slowly kills you from the inside out.”
“Who’s they?”
“The people in charge of course.”
I had asked who the people in charge were but Ana ended the conversation, saying that she was “just looking out for me.”

By senior year Ana and I were close as ever. She had told me more secrets about how “the people in charge” try to control us. She told me about the carcinogens and chemicals in food that are used to weaken us so we’ll be more susceptible to their rule. I’d cut back immensely. Mainly so that I’d stay healthy, but partly because Ana was so proud of me whenever I rejected a meal in favor of simple snacks that wouldn’t cause nearly as much harm. It was hard at first, refusing food, but with Ana’s help, it had gotten easier over the years.
I remember the first time I had succumbed to a dinner that had been laid out in front of me. I ate the dinner happily, willingly. But after I was done I felt awful. I was curled up in the deepest corner of my room crying that I had been contaminated when Ana came over and comforted me.
“You’re ok, Em.”
“No, I’m not,” I sobbed, “their poison is inside me.”
“Come here,” Ana said assuringly as she grabbed my hand and lead me to the bathroom, “it won’t affect you if we get it out of your system.
Ana handed me my toothbrush and I hesitantly stuck the end of it down my throat. I sobbed as I regurgitated the tainted meal and through it all Ana rubbed my back and whispered to me encouragingly.
The first few times I fell weak to the temptations of food, Ana was understanding. But after about a month or so, her patience began to wear thin. I remember when she had found me in my room, disgustingly stuffing my face with lasagna my mother had made. She took me by my hair, I could feel her balled fists connect with my stomach again and again. She kept going until I was laying on the ground, throwing up. I sobbed, but Ana took my hand and led me to the mirror. She moved my hair from my face and said in the soothing voice I adore, “Look sweetheart. You look healthier now. They can’t get to you.” Ana had apologized, saying she had only been so cruel because she didn’t want the people in charge to be able to hurt me.
My mother hated my relationship with Ana. She would often tell me that my relationship with her was like looking in a fun house mirror, it distorted my vision of myself. She referred to it on more than one occasion as “toxic.” She claimed that Ana was hurting me, but she was the one that constantly forced me to consume the poison. And anytime she did, it was Ana that helped me to regain my health.
At one point, my mother started bringing me pills, insisting that I take them if I wouldn't eat the poison directly. Ana told me that the pills were even worse. That the pills were just like the poison, but in its purest form. She warned me that I was to never take the pills. Time and time again my mother would bring the pills to me. And time and time again I would discard them anywhere that wasn’t my mouth. There were times when my mother would cry, saying that my relationship with Ana was killing me, but she was a physical embodiment of any confidence and self esteem I had. When I was with Ana, that was the only time I truly felt desirable.
There was a time when my mother told me to choose between my relationship with Ana, and my residence in her house. She had told me that I could either join them actively for family meals, or I could leave the house. Ana told me it was ok. That I could eat the poison and then eliminate it from my system. I had told her that the toothbrush tactic wasn’t very appealing to me. And Ana, being the supportive friend she is, assured me that I wouldn’t have to use that trick anymore, that there was another way. That evening I ate dinner with my family.They watched me like an audience anticipating a performer’s next move. The approval that painted their faces was almost insulting. But afterwards I went out with Ana. She took us to the track field behind my house. I’m not a fan of exercise, but Ana insisted that I could sweat the poison out. We ran for over an hour that day. And every day after that. I would eat the poison, then immediately go with Ana to cleanse my body of it.
This worked for almost two months before my mother got involved again. She insisted that what I was doing wasn’t healthy, that the poison was necessary. But Ana disagreed and when it comes to who I would rather listen to, there was no competition. My mother eventually gave up. She no longer gave me suggestions. She no longer brought the poison up to my room every hour. The most acknowledgment I got from her was the shudder that ran through her body anytime she looked at me.
The last time I saw Ana was the night before my mother came into my room and told me to pack. I didn’t know what I was packing for but I didn’t have the energy to fight her that day. I packed as she had said and we sat in the car while we drove on highways I wasn’t familiar with. I longed to get out of the car and go back. To the comfort of Ana, but my mother watched me constantly out of her peripheral.
We pulled up to a building I was very familiar with. My mother had me tested here many times. For what, I’m still unsure. Once we were inside, I searched frantically for Ana. She had a way of always showing up where I was. My mind reeled with memories of my time with her while my mother spoke to some man behind a desk. The inside of the building was as eerie as I remembered it. The hallways were empty though there were many cars parked outside. The lights were bright, blinding almost, but the room still felt mysterious. I took a seat in one of the hard, cold chairs and tried to take in more of the room. All the while still picking up bits of my mom’s conversation with the man.
“So Mrs. Dyson, your daughter is being admitted for...” he paused to flip through his clipboard, looking for my diagnosis, “... anorexia?”