FIC- Fading Addiction Part Seventeen
Again, thank you for the reviews. Rockingful, that’s what you all are. And Kyry for beta-ing... you are a legend!
Fading Addiction Part Sixteen is here.
Fading Addiction Part Seventeen
For a while, a while being a few days, things continued the way they had been. I’m not going to lie and say that I started to eat and suddenly I was all better; that wasn’t the case. What I liked the most was that none of my control had been taken away and Cuddy hadn’t pushed me to eat or checked up on me. Really, my life was the same. All that was different was that I knew things might be changing, for the better, very soon.
It wasn’t a bed of roses; that much I will admit. Every morning when I woke up I dry retched. All day I kept swigging mouthwash to get rid of the rancid taste in my mouth. For that matter, the nights weren’t exactly peachy either. By the end of the day I was so tired I literally had to crawl into bed. Then I couldn’t sleep. Hungry. Always hungry. Throughout all this, I battled alone. I had my limits, and Cuddy seeing me like this was the last thing I wanted. There were times when I caught her looking at me, and I’m sure she knew that I wasn’t really there, but wasn’t in the position to do anything about it. She was still Dean, I still worked for House, and a sudden interest in each other would prove to be risky for the two of us. Furthermore, I wasn’t stupid; now that I’d admitted to anorexia, I realised the implications on my health. There was every chance that I could drop dead of a heart attack at any moment, but no way, no matter what, was I going into hospital. Hopefully, therapy would be enough. It had to be; I was banking on it.
This was half the reason why I was sitting, waiting for an appointment with a Dr. Rachel Stone, but the other half of the reason was because I cared so much for Cuddy that I couldn’t bear to lose her. I wasn’t stupid; I knew I couldn’t have anorexia and Cuddy. I had to make a choice. Therefore, I could only pray that being here was the right thing to do.
“Allison Cameron?”
I turned to see a blonde woman who looked to be roughly the same age as me, peering at me from behind the door I’d been staring at for the past ten minutes. For a few seconds I remained silent, unable to articulate any sound.
“Are you Allison Cameron?” she addressed me.
Regaining the use of my voice I answered, “Yes, I am.” It was strange not to hear myself called “Dr. Cameron” or just “Cameron” which was how people referred to me most of the time. In addition to this, being the patient instead of the doctor felt strange, somehow unnatural. I had an inkling that this was only going to become weirder once I entered the room, and suddenly, I was apprehensive.
It seemed Dr. Stone realised this, as she smiled at me warmly. “Allison, it’s ok to be nervous. Look, why don’t you come in and we can just have a chat?”
“Have a chat” sounded so informal, like we’d be discussing the weather. Only we wouldn’t; we’d be talking about my issues, my problems, my eating disorder. So, getting up from my seat, I followed Dr. Stone through the door and sat in the seat she gestured towards. I fidgeted with my hands, feeling uncomfortable with the silence that clouded the room. It was a well lit room painted with neutral colours and furnished well, probably in order to make patients feel more welcome. At that precise moment in time, I could honestly say it didn’t help at all, and no matter where I’d been, I was sure I’d feel just as nervous.
“Well Allison... it is ok if I call you Allison right?” She looked towards me from the seat opposite, waiting for my approval.
I was just on the verge of saying yes, when something within told me to shake my head. I did so, and at the frown I received from Doctor Stone, I realised she was looking for an explanation. “Most people call me Cameron,” I explained. Normally it wouldn’t bother me to be called Allison but that seemed somehow private. I could count on one hand the amount of people who addressed me as Allison; Cuddy being one of them. I didn’t want to share anything personal with this therapist, and as I had to, a chosen name made it seem like part of me was still in control.
“Cameron it is then,” she agreed, seeing no problem with my request. “And you can call me Rachel; I see no need for formalities.”
I nodded at her words, wishing that the session would start. After all, the sooner it started, the sooner it would finish. “So I guess you’re wondering why I’m here,” I stated.
Rachel looked surprised that I’d come out and said that, but seemed to recover fairly quickly. She plastered a neutral expression on her face as she said, “Actually, Dr. Cuddy briefed me on the basics, so I do have a rough outline as to why you want these sessions. However, I stress that I know only the basics; nothing else. You’ll have to fill in the gaps for me.”
I asked curiously, “How much do you know?”
“That you have an eating disorder,” she said bluntly.
I frowned. “And that’s all you know?”
She looked at me sincerely. “That’s all I know. Would you like to tell me more?”
I gave a nervous smile, unsure of how to start, where to begin. There was so much to say, but so little that I wanted to reveal. “I don’t really know what to say,” I confessed. “I know I have a problem, but admitting that to you isn’t going to make it all better.”
“Maybe not,” she conceded. “But talking about the reasons behind it, discussing it in detail and figuring out ways we can get you to behave normally around food… that will help.”
“Maybe,” I acknowledged she might be right. “What do you want me to tell you?”
“Well, what type of eating disorder would you say you suffer from?” She asked.
I shrugged. “Cuddy thinks I’m anorexic.”
“Dr. Cuddy?” She prompted.
I nodded.
“Do you agree with that?” She questioned me further.
“I think so,” I said carefully. “I think she thinks it’s a bigger problem than I do though. The thing is, I’ve been doing this…starving I mean, for so long. I don’t know how to eat normally. Do I eat cereal for breakfast or just a piece of toast? Is it ok to skip lunch? What if I don’t feel hungry?”
Rachel nodded. “The thing is; there’s no right answer to any of those questions. It has to be a healthy balance. Take the matter of skipping lunch for example. Once in a while that’s perfectly acceptable. Everyday? Probably not a good idea. However, if someone was to snack every few hours instead of eating lunch, then who’s to say that’s wrong? It’s about finding what works for you.”
I nodded, replying, “I guess.”
“If it’s alright Cameron, I’d like to leave the food side of things alone, maybe allow a nutritionist to sort those out? I’m not really trained in that area you see,” she admitted.
Now that Rachel had mentioned it as well as Cuddy, I started thinking it was perhaps worth a go. If I hated it, I didn’t have to go back right? I didn’t have to eat everything I was told to? I was the one in control; it was ok. “I’ll give it a go,” I offered. “But if you don’t want to talk about food then why the hell am I here?”
Rachel smiled. “You’re a doctor, so I’m guessing you do realise what anorexia is.”
“Yes,” I said impatiently. “It’s not about food. But the thing is, there’s nothing in my past that anorexia suffers usually have. I wasn’t abused. I had a happy childhood, lots of friends.”
“They’re just some typical examples, not always the case.” Rachel informed me. “Tell me, are you happy now?”
I opened my mouth to automatically say yes, and then realised that for this session to actually work, I had to tell the truth. I said quietly, “No.”
Rachel watched as I clenched my fists. “Why?” she asked gently.
“I feel fat. I hate the way I look, the way I feel.” I said uncomfortably.
“But realistically, logically, can you not see that you’re anything but fat? That you are in fact, noticeably underweight?” she questioned.
I shook my head.
“How does starving yourself make you feel any better?” she pressed.
“Numbs me.” I mumbled.
She nodded. “And you like feeling numb?”
“Numb and in control.” I elaborated slightly. It’s better than feeling pain.” I was starting to feel a little more awkward.
“What makes you feel the pain?” she prompted.
“Everything.” I said shakily. “Losing a patient, being rejected, making a mistake. God, even looking into the fucking mirror!” The last thing I wanted to do was cry in front of a stranger, but if she kept on with the personal questions I’d be in floods of tears, I knew it.
Rachel leaned forward, catching my eye. “It’s ok Cameron, I know how hard this is. For what it’s worth, you’re doing really well. Why don’t we discuss what makes you feel good about yourself?”
“Nothing,” I said adamantly.
“Really?” she persisted. “Nothing?”
I thought for a few moments, before I realised there was something. No, not just something, two somethings. “Well, curing a patient. That can make me feel good.”
“And that’s something you do on a regular basis right?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I replied, racking my brains for an example. And then it hit me; Hannah Phelps. Someone who I’d forgotten about until now, but I’d been right, she was lactose intolerant. Begrudgingly, Foreman and Chase has praised my suggestion, perhaps realising that I was actually of use. It had been a long time since I felt I’d done well. So, I explained, “There was this baby girl, Hannah. She couldn’t breathe properly, and no one could figure out what was wrong with her. As a long shot I suggested lactose intolerance, which really was a million to one chance, but all other avenues had been explored and… I was right.”
Rachel smiled. “So because of you a baby lived. You know if that were me, I’d feel pretty damn happy.”
“I had help from others though,” I stated. “They helped to dismiss other possibilities.”
“You were still a big part of solving the problem though.” Rachel dismissed my putdown. “Anything else that makes you feel good?”
I took a deep breath before answering. “Cuddy.”
Rachel looked at me curiously. “Why is that?”
Honestly, one hundred percent truthfully I confided, “I don’t know.”
Rachel seemed to consider her words carefully. “Maybe you’d like to think about that, and we could perhaps discuss it at some point in the future?”
“Sure,” I agreed awkwardly.
“I’d also like to talk about why you think you developed anorexia,” she stated.
“I don’t know why,” I replied, frustrated that she thought I had all the answers. Wasn’t she supposed to be the one who told me why I was like this?
Sensing that I was annoyed with her questions, Rachel added softly, “I’m not expecting you to know all this straight away. I just want you to consider what may be the reasons behind it. You hold the key to unlocking why you’re like this Cameron, even if you don’t realise it yet.”
Though I saw the truth in what she was saying, I couldn’t bring myself to agree with her. At the end of the day, delving into reasons as to why I was this way was the very last thing I wanted to be doing.
Problem was; I knew I had to.