Anna
by Theresa Keane, age 14

I was thirteen years old when I discovered Anna and learned something about hate.I can remember the exact moment when it first hit me, every last detail.I remember hearing my younger sister somewhere in the background, dancing to the latest Blue single and singing, badly.I could hear the usual hustle and clatter from my busy family downstairs. Me? I just stood there in my room, alone. In silence. Watching, staring, loathing.

It was about that time, standing in my room, staring at the mirror, that I first met Anna. My whole life was so out of control; my parents' divorce just sinking in, schoolwork that used to be so easy making no sense at all and the fact that I had no friends. Until I met Anna. She took control of my life and it was so much easier than doing it myself, that I just let her. She told me that if only I was thin, everything would be okay. And at that time I believed her. I began fixating on food and anything I could do to get out of eating it. Breakfast and lunch were fine because my family didn't eat together; it was supper that was hard. There was no way I could get out of it without arousing suspicion - which I didn't what to do. It made Anna really angry, I wanted to please her as I was terrified of what would happen if she left me alone, That's when she introduced me to the 'art' of making myself sick, and like the lamb to the slaughter I followed her.

Even as I became dangerously thin she pumped new images into my head, warping what I saw in the mirror. Our 'friendship' carried on for 6 months, until one night when my mum came back from work late and asked to have 'a chat'.

The words rang through my head. Over and over again.
"Clare? Did you hear me?"

I'd heard her all right. Mum said she'd just had a meeting with my Head of Year. They'd phoned her from work. Apparently they were concerned with my weight-loss, and I'd fainted a few times during P.E.
"Clare, darling? Speak to me. This is important. We have to get you some help, I've booked an emergency appointment with the GP. We need to leave in about an hour."

Suddenly something erupted inside of me. How dare they? They were going to take Anna away, I just knew it. I picked up the mug of tea mum had pushed towards me and threw it against the wall. I stood up shouting, my vision a blur of tears and anger. I was screaming, getting hysterical by now. Then, suddenly I collapsed in my mum's arms sobbing, shaking; the storm was over.

The 10-minute walk to the doctor's seemed like the longest trek of my life. I couldn't look mum in my eye; I knew she felt guilty for what had happened. Although it was mid-June, I was shivering.

The moment I approached the surgery is a time I will never forget. The cool glass doors seemed like the gates of hell, opening before my feet. We walked through the bright blue reception, seeming duller with every step I took. Past the waiting area of snivelling, runny-nosed children and into the doctor's room.

The rest seemed to go by in a blur. I remember the doctor weighing me and saying how under-weight I was, saying how if we'd left in much longer I'd need to be admitted to hospital. I remember at some point my mum crying, asking why I hadn't come to her sooner or why hadn't she noticed herself? All the while I sat in stony silence, nodding or shaking my head at the doctor's frequent questions. One thing I remember as clear as day is when she (the doctor) told me the truth about Anna. It turned out that Anna wasn't really my friend at all, in fact her name wasn't even Anna. 'She' was a mental illness; anorexia.

Two months on, after numerous blood tests and weight monitoring I was finally beginning to respond to the counselling. Of course the anorexia tried to come back, but I was stronger now. I had talked about all the 'out of control' things in my life with the counsellor, and I no longer needed food as a way of coping or gaining power. I had even made friends with another girl in my year; Meena who I discovered had suffered with an eating disorder.

So, eight months on after that occasion in my room, I was still thirteen. Still hearing my younger sister downstairs singing badly. Still hearing the hustle and clutter of my family downstairs. Still in my room but that time, not alone. I sat there in my room, with Meena. Not in silence. Watching, liking, respecting.