The Exorcism

December 8, 2016

You guys might remember a few months ago, I wrote about a friend of mine who had died as a result of a long battle with anorexia.  Well, maybe about a year before she died, this friend mentioned in an email to me that she had once been at a long-term Christian treatment program where the other patients attempted to exorcise her.  I became interested in researching this place, and, thinking I might write about it, interviewed my friend about her experience there.  I eventually abandoned the project because I heard another journalist was quite far along in writing an expose of this treatment program (which will go unnamed but probably wouldn’t be difficult for the intrepid Googler to find) although to my knowledge that journalist’s piece has never been released.  I guess the motivation now is because in the wake of my friend’s death, I want people to know about her and her life and what she went through, not for any “awareness” or “stigma” reasons, just because she was a goodhearted person and the ordinary folk of the world don’t get New York Times obits (although sometimes I fantasize about a column that highlights the stories of the non-famous, which can be just as moving).

Describe your religious background, and your personal beliefs, as of then and now.

I was raised Catholic and attended Catholic grammar school as well as high school.   My family and I went to church every Sunday and my faith was part of my up bringing. Everything from holidays to school gatherings to CYO (Catholic youth organization) basketball and Girl Scouts was centered around my Catholic faith.

Did you ever feel personally doubtful of your faith?  Or did you just always accept it?  

I used to always accept it but since being sick I have become doubtful and angry. “Why do I have to have this?” “Why can’t I seem to get better like everyone else” “why can’t I be normal and function” etc…. I still struggle with that.  But as I’ve gotten older (and hopefully wiser) and have had new experiences and met more people, I realize God didn’t do this to me!! I just have to use what I have today and do the best I can.  And even though these past 12 years have been hell, I would’ve never met some great people, traveled to God knows how many states for treatment, and have had some interesting experiences that other people my age and from my background would have ever had or will ever have!

How old were you when you first developed anorexia?

I developed anorexia when I was 12 years old. My parents split when I was very young but we all remained in the same house for financial reasons. Although I don’t think I caused my eating disorder, it definitely contributed to my needing to feel in control in my chaotic head! So my eating disorder started at the beginning of 8th grade while lots of change was taking place. My mom had gone back to work full time. It would be my last year at the grammar school I had grown up in as I would soon be graduating and going into high school. I had hit puberty, got my period, and was starting to develop. I was never overweight but I always felt bigger than my friends who literally had the figures of 8-year-old boys and who didn’t get their periods until high school. I was never teased but was always overly conscientious and uncomfortable in my body. My mom was a big exercise fanatic (tae bo, aerobic, and step classes 4 -5 times a week) and I always felt like if she was exercising, I should, too. Enmeshment much?!   It started as a diet (no soda, fruit instead of baked goods and desserts, more exercise) and spiraled from there.

What kind of treatment did you go through before [this place]?

I had a great deal of treatment prior to the Christian facility (6-7 hospitalizations, and various out patients therapists/nutritionists) but all of which were hospital based inpatient eating disorder programs in the tri-state area. Basically I would spend 30 days inpatient, gain what felt like an exorbitant amount of weight, then sent on my merry way with very little support set up! And as soon as I returned home, not knowing how to cope with weight gain and life outside the hospital bubble, I would spiral downwards again, each times lower and lower.

Who made the decision to send you to this place?

My mom found out about the Christian facility from a family member. At this point my family was desperate and at the end of their rope . They had exhausted their finances on treatment for me and fancy shmancy big name doctors who, while they had their heart in the right place, just enabled me to preserve my eating disorder.

How do you figure “enable?”

At that time I was seeing Dr. Ira Sacker, author of Dying to be Thin. He would promise me that if I gained weight I could join him on TV appearances like Entertainment Tonight and Oprah. He never addressed the issues. I was eventually admitted to Princeton University Hospital, where the doctor demanded to know who was following me as I was in imminent danger of having a heart attack or dropping dead. Well we found out the Christian facility was long term, free!!!! treatment program in [Southern city], that [it] was Christian based. They say that the girls who come there have to come on their own accord.

Let me tell you the admission process was ridiculous!!! It took about six to eight months of filling out papers and interviews to finally get a “date” to go. All of these interviews were basically them trying to get me to say I was so desperate and needed the Christian facility and would do whatever it took. There were many over the phone and there was also about a twenty-page application. I remember crying several times on the phone with them saying, “I’ll do whatever it takes.” But now that I think about it my tears were out of shear frustration!! I was waiting months and months to get help and they had me begging them!!! I was sick and needed help and yet they made me wait and beg.

Did they claim they had no beds?

[No.] They said this was the process. Once I was accepted into the program I still had to wait about 1.5 months for a bed.

[But] I needed help and fast! They did have me go to my GP to get his okay that he felt I was safe in a program with no medical monitoring. He knew I had no insurance benefits left and was like, ” What’s the alternative?”

Can you tell me, in as much detail as possible, what happened during your stay?

I was there in 2007 for a few days. Early October.

My dad took me down to the city. The house is gorgeous and clean. Nothing that would indicate it was a treatment facility. Meals were cooked by the girls and were all healthy and organic. I was able to pick what I wanted to eat but had to have a counselor look it over to make sure I took what looked like enough. And at the end of a meal I was to show them I had finished.

Girls there have a whole variety of issues (depression, teen moms, drug abuse, cutting, etc… ) . I was one of 3 other girls with an eating disorder. Although I hate pass judgment, the other two girls were severely emaciated as well and looked like they belonged in a hospital bed…but again who was I to judge. From the first day I was cast aside from the rest of the girls. Although I have no history of purging I was forced to sit in a common area after meals.  I couldn’t participate in 95% of the groups because of my low weight.

Meaning, participating in groups was a privilege based on your progress, or they figured you were too mentally compromised?

Both. But also things like outdoor time I was too medically compromised. I basically sat on the couch with “readings” they gave me. I felt like I had done something wrong and that is the way they treated those with eating disorders. On more that one occasion I was told the “devil had its grips on me” and I needed to release it. That basically I was choosing the devil over Christ and would never obtain salvation having anorexia. At one point they “prayed” over me (I use that term loosely because I had never seen praying like that in my years of Catholic school!) They were trying to get the devil out and were repeating prayers in a language unknown to me. More like chanting.

Can you remember how this began?

First they started talking and praying. And as I got more certain and adamant that I was leaving they started with the tongues. At this point I was bawling. They thought I was crying because their exorcism was working; meanwhile, I was crying because I was so scared and freaked out and vulnerable and confused.

I would also like to note that we were not allowed to discuss our issues with the other girls. This I found to be just as upsetting as the whole exorcism technique. Here I am in an unfamiliar place, not allowed to see or call my family for months, no television or media, basically stripped of all my comforts, AND I’m not allowed to talk to the other girls about my struggles? I understand they didn’t want us to commiserate with each other and feed each others illnesses but I couldn’t even express my fear of being away from home or ask how they dealt with the initial introductory period. Instead, the girls who had been there for a few month talked a little too happily about Bible passages. I complied for a few days but when I started to question things

What did you question? Do you remember any of their verbal responses?

Why I wasn’t allowed to talk to other girls, why there was no real therapy, why was I sitting on a couch all day, alone and homesick and anxious as hell. Why the other emaciated girls were shoving rolls down their pants but yet were able to do yoga and go out on outings (I was told it was because they had been there longer). Like why I couldn’t go on outings meanwhile I had gotten the ok to come here and I was never told I wouldn’t be able to participate in certain things. They were very indignant with me. They always knew better. I was anorexic and therefore untruthful and conniving.

The no communication with family was by far the hardest thing for me. With nothing to do but read bible verses and being isolated I was going out of my mind. This was not what I had signed up for.

I was shut down right away. I was “tainted” by outside influences.

How was the decision made to leave? Did anyone––your parents, fellow patients, staff members––try to dissuade you?

I demanded I wanted to speak to my parents after the “exorcism” event They said that I was not allowed to make phone calls until the third month I was there and had signed the paper saying I agreed. They tried for the entire day to dissuade me by telling me about the contract I had singed. [But] by this time I was ready to bolt. And it wasn’t “they are feeding me I’m going to gain weight” fear. This was a kind of “this is some kind of cult” get me out of here” type of fear. Long story short I said I was leaving the program and that was that and I needed I make flight arrangements and legally they could not hold me there. They reluctantly gave me a five-minute call to my dad. In that time I not only had to explain what this place was like and that I wasn’t just crying to come home because I was scared of eating and homesick, I also needed make arrangements for a flight home ASAP.

How did your dad react?

He was the only one who listened. He was also the one who dropped me off and had met the staff so I don’t think he got a good feeling to begin with. It took time for my mom to get that I hadn’t come home just because I wanted to remain sick.

I came home for about a week. My mom didn’t believe me when I told her about [what had happened] and cut me out of her life and went to my Grandma’s house for the time being.

I don’t blame her. After almost 8 months of hyping this up and preparing and packing and talking about how this was going to be “it!” And I was finally going to get better, I had come home after three days. She was devastated that this last option was gone. She had lost hope and was so angry. She said she unless I called them to go back I was not going to be a part of her life. I had no idea what to do. For a quick second, out of pure desperation, I called them back up telling them what was going on. They said, “This door is closed.” I had gotten my chance and wasted it. [I was told] there are so many other girls who were dying to come and willing to do whatever it took. Goodbye. Don’t contact us again.

I basically threw the phone yelled some profanities and thought, “How Christian of them.” I still get email and mailings in the mail from them monthly asking for donations.

 

Never Gonna Get It

December 5, 2016

To think that a mere month ago I was ogling this very expensive but utterly adorable leopard print bunny clutch:1067196_1_large

And now I can’t even FANTASIZE about it without feeling guilty imagining those hundreds of pounds that could go toward a down payment on that off-the-grid goat farm we might need to buy as the apocalypse looms.  DONALD TRUMP IS WHY WE CAN’T HAVE NICE THINGS.

Home Alone Drinking Game

November 29, 2016

My husband’s law school classmate MB, who is OBVIOUSLY a genius, shared his incredible Home Alone  drinking game, which I am now sharing with you.  As much as I hate to mark anything a rival to Intervention Drinking Game (or WKCDS Drinking Game, for that matter!), I’m forced to admit that this one, adapted for both Home Alone and Home Alone 2: Lost in New York, is a real standout in the field.  True props to you, MB.  Everyone who can (sigh) enjoy some eggnog and a little group fun this holiday season, but play responsibly!  (I am a liquor company rep in my spare time, after all, so I’m required to say that.)

For the sake of convenience, I have adapted for both “Home Alone” and “Home Alone 2: Lost in New York” (with substitute rules for the latter in brackets).
In order to play, please write each number of the list below on a separate notecard. Before the game, have each player select a predetermined number of cards. The suggested number of cards is 4-6 per player, but really, who can say what is appropriate? Anything over 10 cards per person and you’re getting into “Drunk Uncle on Mulled Wine” territory though. When playing in large groups, it may be advisable to create multiples of the list below, as that will encourage a more social holiday drinking experience, with more than one person drinking per specified event.
As a refresher, until the start of the “Home Invasion Round” (at which point all players drink together), if the event described on a card occurs, the player who has drawn that card is required to drink. The world famous “Home Invasion Round” begins when the Trans-Siberian Orchestra kicks in, and we get a montage of Kevin McCallister preparing to horribly maim, murder, and dismember Harry and Marv. From that point onward, ALL players drink every time that they believe that the Wet Bandits should have conceivably succumbed to their injuries. For instance, when Kevin hits Marv with a brick directly in the temple from a six story building, all players would drink, as Marv would likely suffer from severe traumatic brain damage and would likely die from internal bleeding.
The game ends when the final credits roll. All players are winners.
Here is the 2016 list:
1. Drink every time Uncle Frank is an asshole
2. Drink every time an on screen character speaks French
3. Scary Shovel Man Sighting! [Creepy Bird Lady sighting!]
4. Drink every time Kevin uses a TalkBoy
5. Drink every time Kevin commits credit card fraud
6. Tarantula sighting! [Future President of the United States sighting!]
7. Drink for every transparent 1990s product placement (Pepsi, American Airlines, the Plaza Hotel, TalkBoy, etc.)
8. Drink every time Kevin eats or orders pizza
9. Drink every time “Angels with Filthy Souls” [or “Angels with Filthy Souls 2”] is played. ***BONUS: Communal Drink when Kevin uses the audio to fool another character***
10. Drink every time the Home Alone theme song plays (masterfully crafted by John Williams)!
11. Drink for bad parenting from Kevin’s mom
12. Drink for all other instances of bad parenting – also includes references to previous debacles (i.e John Candy recalling leaving his child at a funeral parlor)
13. Drink for bad police work
14. Drink for every scene Kevin is in his terrifying basement. [Drink for every scene Kevin is in terrifying 1990s Central Park.]
15. MAKE A RULE! Whoever draws this card gets to make a rule that applies to every other player during the game.
16. Drink every time John Candy’s character plays or references polka. [Drink every time Rob Schneider’s character asks for or references a tip.]
17. Drink every time someone knocks over the McCallister’s porch statue. [Drink for Duncan’s Toy Chest sighting!]
18. Drink when Kevin evades apprehension for theft.
19. “Buzz, your girlfriend – woof!” [“Grown men come into the park and don’t make it out alive.”]
20. Drink every time someone screams “KEVIN!”

 

PS: Don’t be a dick and pretend you made this up!  All credit to the drunk wizard that is MB!

A Dark Fairytale (Or the Start of One)

November 22, 2016

So the husband and I were shopping one day in Budapest, and we stopped at a flea market.  Husband saw these children’s shoes, and was like, “We can get these vintage leather shoes for our future kid and then our baby will be super hip.”  So we were talking to the lady, who told us the price, and as we’re taking the bag after we’ve given her the money, she says, “They are really amazing, from before World War II.”  And then we’re walking out and my husband goes pale and says, “Oh fuck, these are definitely some little dead Jewish kid’s shoes…”  And now we have Holocaust booties and can’t figure out what to do with them.  They’re just sitting being creepy on our front hallway table.  HAPPY TUESDAY EVERYONE.

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Sent in a Email Subject Line “This Is Real Life”

November 17, 2016

The text of a Facebook post written by redacted, for OBVIOUS REASONS:

Anyone know what to do when there’s a ghost in the house? I’m not afraid, but I want to know like in terms of Torah, do I have a need to be, or all is good?

Bedlam

November 15, 2016

Today I went to see the Bedlam exhibit at the Wellcome Collection, and there was a lot to chew on (notables include: the record Symposium in Blues, commissioned by Merck to promote psychiatric medication, paintings of “morphinomania, and a psychiatric patient’s artwork depicting his perfect day in the asylum, which ends with a visit to feed the resident polar bears).  A few choice quotes on the wall alluding to the old adage that the insane in charge lock up the less insane to keep them pacified, which feels really fucking resonant right now.  But anyway!  Here’s one of my favorite things from the exhibit: the artwork commissioned by Wallace Laboratories, makers of Miltown, to depict the glorious transformation undergone by those who take the drug.  And who did they decide to have paint said transformation?  Salvador Dali, naturally.  From Sotheby’s:

Given the artist’s reputation for phantasmagoric images, it may come as no surprise to learn that in 1958, he was commissioned by Wallace Laboratories to design an artwork to promote their psychotropic drug Miltown. A sedative that was popular in Hollywood circles, Miltown was at the time considered to be a miracle cure for anxiety. The resulting project, Crisalida*, was an art installation Dalí built in the shape of a chrysalis. Visitors walked through it to see glass panels illustrating a user’s three stages of healing: from an ominous, hollowed figure, to a feminine form in mid-metamorphosis, and finally, to a healed, whole woman with a head of blooming flowers.

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As my companion said, “I really cannot tell the before and after here.”  Which is to say we both might quibble with the Sotheby’s writer who claims the whole thing is “no surprise.”

*Get it?

The Only Thing

November 10, 2016

The only comfort I’ve found since the horrible news of yesterday morning is the artistically absurd; in other words, any thing that resembles reality, I want no part of it.  I’ve scrolled endlessly through this website, watched the amazingly odd Canadian horror cult film Pin, and attempted, despite my limited ability to focus, to finish The Master and Margarita.  (My two-book-a-week average has dropped considerably as of late.)   If the absurd is saving you, too, here’s a little rec: this short story called “Let’s Do This Once More, But This Time With Feeling” by Sabrina Orah Mark, published in the Bennington Review.  It’s about what Louis CK would be like as a husband, and also seahorses.  Herewith, the first half:

LOUIS CK, MY HUSBAND, PILES all my seahorses in the middle of our king-sized bed and starts shouting. I see moon and stars seahorse, and green seahorse and the one with no eyes, and pink seahorse, and says-things seahorse, and pregnant seahorse, and I see the sad one, but I don’t see black seahorse. “Where is black seahorse, Louis?” This makes Louis CK, my husband, even angrier. In a fake little girl voice, all singsong, he goes “WheRe is BlAcK SeAhoRSe, LoUIs!?” My husband, Louis CK, is not being very nice. So I say, “No, not black seahorse Louis, just black seahorse,” which makes Louis roar. So I say, “What’s the matter, Louis? Why so boiled?”

“What does your anger, Louis, have to do with my seahorses?”

We go through this every night.

In the morning everything is fine.

Louis CK and I hold hands. We go to the meadow and make love. We do not bring up the seahorses. Louis pulls my head all the way back. He kisses my throat. His lips are rough like rope. I call out, Sweet, Sweet Nothing. “Who?” asks Louis. He looks around. “Who,” he asks, “is Sweet, Sweet Nothing?” “You,” I say, though it’s impossible to be sure.

I cannot explain it, but ever since the seahorses Louis and I have become less and less human. Our ability to speak had gone from stratospheric to cloudy. “Tell me about eternity, Louis.” And Louis tells me all about eternity using mostly the wildflowers from the meadow. For hours and hours, with the petals and stems he builds boats and whole entire cities and nations of people with terrible long flowing hair, but nothing really comes of it. He speaks for a long time, but the words are few and far between and half-finished. Like somewhere in the middle of being words they closed their eyes and fell asleep and dreamed they were seahorses.

When we get home, Louis CK, my husband, piles all my seahorses in the middle of our queen-sized bed and starts shouting. “I thought, Louis, we had a king-sized bed.” Our bed now is unquestionably queen, giving the seahorses the illusion of looking larger than they had the night before. Black seahorse is still missing. Louis doesn’t answer or look at me. He just keeps piling and shouting and piling and shouting. I see super seahorse and old seahorse and nowhere seahorse and sorry seahorse and the one the other seahorses call the Saint and the one they call the Fool.

We go through this every night.

In the morning everything is fine.

Louis CK and I go to the diner. We sit in our favorite booth. “I love you,” says Louis. “I love you more,” I say. We hold hands. We are very alive. The waitress takes our order. Louis orders two soft boiled eggs, coffee, and toast with strawberry jam. I order the same. We do not bring up the seahorses. The waitress’s name is Poppy. She is wearing a t-shirt with a blue and red rocket ship. Poppy serves us our breakfast. “Where is the rocket ship going?” asks Louis. Poppy looks at me. I shrug. I have no idea. Poppy looks at Louis. She looks down at the rocket ship. “Isn’t it always going to the moon?” asks Poppy. “I guess so,” says Louis. There is a little bit of jam on Louis’s cheek. Poppy dips a napkin into my water glass and wipes it off. She kisses Louis on the mouth. He kisses her back. They kiss for a long, long time. “Don’t be wounded,” she whispers. “Don’t be wounded more,” he whispers back. While they kiss I build a tower out of all the jams and pats of butter and honeys. I collect them from all the booths. The tower is so high I have to stand on the table to keep building. At the very top, I imagine perching hold-me seahorse and never-let-me-go seahorse but, seconds before Louis and Poppy finally stop kissing, the whole tower comes toppling down.

“Is that all there is?” asks Louis. We look around. It seems it is. The diner is empty. Jams and butters and honeys are everywhere. Poppy has disappeared into the kitchen. Possibly forever. We look out the window. Out on the street are a few orange and red and green bouncing balls neither Louis nor I have even seen before, but otherwise not much else. Our friend Ferguson runs past us. I knock hard on the glass and call out, “Hey, Ferguson is that all there is?” But he doesn’t hear me. “Go on without us,” calls out Louis. But Ferguson has already gone on.

“Look,” says Louis. “Something fell out of Ferguson’s pocket.” Louis and I rush out of the empty diner to see what it is. Two identical black seahorses lie on their sides. Their heads are touching. I am careful not to get too close. There is something wrong with these seahorses. It is possible their heads are attached. It is possible neither one is my black seahorse. It is possible they are not alive.

“So is THAT all there is?” asks Louis. He waves his arms around, messily. He seems angry. I don’t know if by THAT he means the seahorses or my feelings about the seahorses or my still missing black seahorse or the flash of Ferguson or the broken tower forever ruined or the orange and red and green bouncing balls which are all still bouncing or life in general or eternity or his undying love for me which might be dying a little on account of the seahorses and on account of kissing Poppy.

An Amazon Review Is My New Characterization

November 9, 2016

Re-reading bad Amazon reviews of a wildly successful memoir (that I have zero intention of buying/reading), I find one that basically sums up my experience with most things.  If I had a Twitter account, my sub-header would be, “I couldn’t get into it but everyone else I know loves it.”  Maybe that only applies to books though.

You’re welcome for the only thing you’ll read today that isn’t about the election.

Stationery

November 7, 2016

Back a few years ago, I had an awesome idea for stationery that was designed like Google except it was called Pmail (Paper Mail) instead of Gmail.  Seriously, genius!  I’ve seen things kind of like it but nothing so on-the-nose as this.  Here’s the prototype:

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Thanks to LB for input and her bro CR for design.

Contract for Potential Correspondent

November 6, 2016

I, ____, heretofore referred to as CORRESPONDENT, have agreed to enter into a written correspondent with Itinerant Daughter, heretofore known as ID.  Upon signing this contract, CORRESPONDENT agrees to the following stipulations:

  1. CORRESPONDENT will feel emotionally invested in the quality of the prose
  2. CORRESPONDENT will feel at least a twinge of guilt when not responding to a note (email or letter) in a timely manner
  3. Despite point number two, CORRESPONDENT will not be under any obligation to respond to any piece of communication in a timely manner, provided that:

3A. CORRESPONDENT agrees not to communicate displeasure with ID via silence or     refusal to engage to written correspondence.  CORRESPONDENT can only opt out of relationship and written engagement via a clear message (medium is the choice of CORRESPONDENT) indicating such.

In turn, ID agrees:

  1. To never assume that CORRESPONDENT’s delay in response is indicative of anything other than CORRESPONDENT’s very busy life.
  2. To never guilt CORRESPONDENT into sending response
  3. To also only communicate termination of correspondence via clear written message (although knowing ID, this will not happen, as she has never met an epistolary relationship she couldn’t carry on.)

Signed and dated:

_______________                   _________________

CORRESPONDENT                        ID