When the show was over, I was melancholy. Even a few hours later, as Karen's voice lingered in my mind it carried a pensive sensitivity. I was feeling oppressed but I'm not sure if it was my own pain or hers.
Although my affliction wasn't anorexia, I know what it's like to put on a smile and play the "normal" game. Despite creaking bones, lack of oxygen and another me that screamed no, I donned my affable costume, complete with a perma-smile mask and, I did the social thing. But I was a terrible player and had to budget my time wisely so I could get back home and remove the shackles before they rendered me a heap of dry bones. Looking into Karen's eyes, I could see pain. I think she was doing the same thing--playing the social game for the public, wearing a painted smile while colossal agony festered behind the amiable wall. A visceral torment that had no foreseeable end or remedy. Unless you've experience it, you can't fathom its enormity and the crushing, suffocating grip it has on you.
I wonder if Karen had anyone to confide in. Someone to listen to her anguish and her deep, unrequited need. I wish she would have survived her anorexia nervosa. I wish science would have known then what it knows now about eating disorders.
It's good for me to have a reminder every now and then of yesterday and its assorted difficulties. It provides a clarity that boosts my gratitude.
