Beautiful

I did that. I made a wedding cake all by myself. And everyone who tasted it or saw it would also see the little card saying it was made by André Park from Dalkom Park Bakery.

But then I remembered that I hadn't technically done this alone. It was because of Tory that I was able to deliver it. I was going to have to show him a good time later to thank him.

The bride came in at one point, halfway through her transformation into perfection, and she was ecstatic.

"Oh my god, it's perfect!" She gave me a big hug. "Thank you so much, André!"

"It's my pleasure, really." And I meant that. As hard and time consuming as it all had been, it was also a lot of fun.

"Is there anything else you need? Anything at all?"

"All I need now is for you to have a great wedding."

I left soon after. By then it was around 6 PM, a good time to have dinner with Tory. I still had some concerns about the whole thing, but when I picked him up he was acting perfectly cheerful.

"How'd it go?"

"It went great, but I'll admit I'm looking forward to smelling and being around other foods."

We went to a steakhouse I had been to once before and liked. I had a reservation, so we were able to walk in and start dinner right away.

The date went well. We talked, laughed, and ate. It was all normal. Tory ate his salad and roasted chicken just fine.

By the time the check came and we were ready to leave he excused himself, saying he had to go to the bathroom really quick. He left and I just sort of sat there.

For some reason, the way he asked it, the way he stood up, the way he walked away, it all rang as...a little off.

I had to be reading too deep into this. What did I even have to go on? But the feeling kept persisting. My gut was telling me that something was wrong.

Minutes ticked by and he was still gone. I just got more and more worried.

I decided to go check on him, just to be safe.

*****

Walking inside that restaurant felt like walking into my own execution and I didn't know why. It's not like I was doing a pie-eating contest, I was eating dinner in a restaurant, something people a lot healthier than me do on a regular basis. Sometimes when I get really stressed, my face feels like it's getting itchy, like one of my hairs keeps poking it. I was itching the whole time.

But I kept it inside. It wasn't André's fault I forgot how to act like a human being. He was doing this for me because he was a nice guy. He wanted to thank me. What kind of person would I be to make him uncomfortable about this? I just kept smiling, kept talking and laughing, kept pretending like nothing was wrong. Because nothing was wrong. I had no reason to feel the way I was feeling.

When I took the first bite of salad, with ranch dressing and croutons and other things I hadn't eaten in months, I was blown away by how good it was. What was I so afraid of? This was delicious!

I felt myself begin to relax a little bit. This was good. I was enjoying myself. I was worried over nothing.

The knot I was tied in for days finally started to loosen. This wasn't scary.

I got my entrée and it was also delicious. I might have to come to this place again!

Then there was that time after things were eaten and we waited for the bill. My stomach started hurting. I ate a lot more food at once than I had in a long time. It was pretty rich, too. Besides being salty, there was cheese and oil and other fats I normally avoided.

I felt more sick and I started to panic. I ate too much. I ate the wrong things. I'd lost control and now I was paying the price for it.

On the inside I was freaking out, but on the outside I kept things normal. This was my problem, not André's.

I was starting to feel nauseous. This was bad. If I threw up in front of him I didn't even know what I'd do.

The feeling was only getting worse. I had to go somewhere private, so I politely excused myself and went to the bathroom.

I knew I was about to throw up, I could feel it. Tonight was a mistake. I got into the shameful position of kneeling in front of a toilet in a public stall and waited for the dam to break.

But...it didn't. Nothing was happening. But the sensation of feeling like I was about to puke my guts out persisted.

It was the food, it had to be. It wasn't healthy, I didn't even know what was in it. It was processed garbage just like all the other shit that made me so fat in the first place.

Then it felt like I had tripped and fell and suddenly I was tumbling down a hill of shame.

What the hell was wrong with me? I worked so hard for so long and then I just forget about everything I had learned? I was better than this. I was stronger than this. It felt like there was this horrible poison inside me, slowly infecting my body from the inside out.

I needed to regain my control. No, I needed to take back control.

I knew that when people binge-drink, ingest a dangerous amount of alcohol, they needed to throw it up before it could absorb into the body and cause serious damage. It was the same principle. I needed to get this food out of me. If it wasn't going to come out on its own, I had to get rid of it myself before it was too late.

I took my finger and did what I had to do. And I kept going until the mistake I made was completely erased.

I felt numb when it was finally over. I wasn't proud of myself, I wasn't ashamed, I just wanted to stop thinking about this and go home.

After wiping away the tears vomiting had forced out and cleaning my hand with toilet paper, I flushed the toilet and stood to leave.

But when I opened the stall door and walked out in the bathroom I saw the worst thing that could ever possibly exist. My own private hell. The absolute worst-case scenario.

André was standing there.

*****

The look Tory gave me when I suggested we go out to eat was nothing compared to the look he was giving me now. It went beyond being flustered or embarrassed. It was like I was pointing a loaded gun right at his face.

I had only walked in about thirty seconds prior, so I didn't know how long he'd been at it, but I'd definitely heard enough to be worried. Worried enough to throw caution to the wind and ask him something uncomfortable.

"Did you just make yourself throw up?"

His facial expression answered my question instantly.

I reacted based purely on instinct and gave him a bear hug. A few seconds later he started crying his eyes out. I didn't know what to say, so I just held him tighter. He kept going for a few minutes, sobbing into my shoulder. Thankfully nobody walked in on what was happening.

Eventually he was able to speak.

"André," he whimpered. "I think I have an eating disorder."

I paused for a few seconds, unsure of what to tell him.

"I'll take you home and we can talk about it, okay?"

"I...okay."

The drive back to our apartment building was silent and awkward. I just kept my hand on his thigh, trying to comfort him.

When we got back I took him to my apartment and sat us down on my bed.

"Please, tell me anything you want to tell me. I'll listen."

At first it was slow going, but as time went on he seemed to open up. It was like the floodgates had been lifted.

He told me how insecure and ashamed he had been about his weight and appearance for years. He tried losing weight the standard way, but it wasn't enough. So he gradually pushed it further. He began counting calories, he'd drink water or think about something else whenever he got hungry. He'd skip meals if he wasn't making the weight progress he wanted. I got the impression he told me a lot of things he never even said out loud before.

It was heartbreaking. This wonderful, beautiful man was in so much agony, hurting himself and pretending it was okay.

"André, I'm sorry for dumping all of this on you. You've had a long day already."

"That's irrelevant. I care about you and I want to be here for you. That's what matters."

I looked at the clock and saw that it was getting late.

"Are you tired?"

He let out a mix of a laugh and a sigh.

"I am so fucking tired."

"Then we should get some sleep. We can talk about this more tomorrow."

In a few minutes the lights were out and I had Tory in my bed, wrapped up in my arms. He seemed to fall asleep quickly, but I was awake for a little longer.

I knew about eating disorders. I learned about them in health class, I knew they were bad, and I knew that they killed people. But I never knew somebody with one before.

I didn't know what I was supposed to do, or if it was even my place to do anything at all.

His mind was working completely differently than mine. He saw food as something scary, but I worked with it every day. It was comfortable. It was a good thing that brought people together. I wanted him to see it that way, too.

I thought back to how I grew to see it like that and knew it went back to my dad. He'd bake and cook all the time and when I got old enough, I wanted to help him do it. It was something we bonded over. That gave me an idea for something I could try.

That night's events also made me realize just how much I cared about Tory. I wanted him to be happy.

Still, even with all these thoughts buzzing around in my head, Tory was right when he said I'd had a long day. I got up early, worked my ass off to finish the wedding cake, and had to deal with a lot during dinner and afterwards. My eyelids were starting to drift closed by themselves.

Before I knew it, I was asleep.

*****

The next day was horrible. I think a part of me wanted André to watch over me, force me to eat a normal amount of food, something, but like the sweet, gentle guy he was he just told me to do what I had to do and that I could always text or call him.

So I had to go back to living my life, though now it was starting to dawn on me just how not normal my "normal" really was.

I heard a metaphor about addiction once that compared it to boiling frogs. If you drop a frog into boiling water, it would immediately try to escape, but if you put the frog in lukewarm water and slowly crank up the heat, it won't notice what's happening until it was too late. I always thought of it in terms of being addicted to drugs.

But now here I was, unaware that I'd been boiling myself alive.

I tried. I really tried to make baby steps. I ate a little bit more of everything, and I had a little snack during the day instead of ignoring the urges like I normally did. But I was blown away by how difficult even doing those things was. I was so stressed, and therefore so itchy I felt like I was breaking out in hives. I almost wanted to go back to the way things were so I could feel better.

I was in the biggest funk I had ever experienced by the end of the day. Then I got a call from André.

"Hey man. Wanna hang out?"

"Sure. That sounds great, actually."

"Cool. I'm at the bakery. I wanted to show you something."

Wait...what was his angle here? He never asked me to come to the bakery before. Maybe it was a trap. Maybe he would force-feed me cake or something. As much as I didn't like the idea, I felt like it would at least be more effective than what little I was able to do.

When I got there he greeted me with a hug and kiss.

"How's it going?"

I almost said "fine" based purely on instinct, but stopped myself.

"I'm struggling."

"I kinda thought as much. Well, I was hoping we could take your mind off of things."

He walked into the bakery and I was compelled to follow. He led me to the kitchen. Maybe this is where he would tie me up.

"You told me last night that you got anxiety by not knowing how things were made, what was in the food you ate. I figured I could show you."

He began getting supplies, moving through the kitchen with a sort of skill and grace.

"You don't have to eat or taste anything. You don't even have to stay and watch if you don't want to. But if you're comfortable with it, you could help me make one last cake before I close up shop."

This was nothing like what I was expecting.

"Uh...what kind of cake is it?"

"It's the first one my dad ever taught me to make," he explained, still getting things ready. "It's a sponge cake with strawberries and whipped cream. I was thinking we could make the cake today and decorate it tomorrow."

And that's exactly what we did. I sort of helped, but mostly just watched him for the whole process. Flour was sifted, eggs were beaten until they became a sticky foam, and we baked the sponge cake in the giant oven the bakery had. The next day we sliced strawberries, whipped cream, and assembled the cake.

I didn't know how to feel when we were done. It looked pretty, but that was all because of André. I hadn't tasted a single thing, either. But considering how nervous I was the first time I walked into Dalkom Park it did seem like a step forward.

I thought about what André was like. He was beautiful, confident, and ate a slice of cake just fine. Why couldn't I be like that?

Wait...why couldn't I be like that? What was stopping me?

The rules and fears I set up had taken control, but they were things I created. If I could push myself so far all on my own, who's to say I couldn't pull myself back with a little help?

Looking back on it, I think one of the things that helped me the most, especially during that first week, was to stop seeing my eating disorder as this insurmountable monster I couldn't possibly beat. That's how I used to see my fat and that only led to misery. Any little step, no matter how small, was getting me further away from where I started. Maybe I didn't want to take a bite of cake. But I could look at it. I could smell it. That was something, right?

I was moving forward.

*****

Things felt touch-and-go for a little while. I gave Tory my unconditional support, but didn't know what I was supposed to do or say very often. He had become a part of my life, and I didn't want to make things worse.

Conversely, another huge part of my life, my bakery, was improving in a very tangible way. There was a small increase in business, and with the money I earned making that wedding cake I was finally able to hire an employee.

Nina was a great person. She's a woman about my age who knew a little about baking but really excelled at running the counter. She could run circles around me in terms of talking to customers, making recommendations, things like that. It allowed me to spend more time in the kitchen, which was where I was more comfortable.

Dalkom Park was closed on Sundays, and every week on that day Tory and I would bake something together. I didn't really know how well the idea would work in the beginning, but he seemed to get into it more and more. He still didn't taste anything, but I could see him get slightly more relaxed each time.

Our relationship improved as well. The sex was as good as it had always been, but since that night both of us felt a lot better opening up emotionally. It was something I hadn't felt in a while. One thing I always get happy when I look back on is when I introduced Tory and Nina. I decided to take a chance and refer to him as "Tory, my boyfriend."

The smile he had on his face was something I won't ever forget.

Tory went to an ED support group, basically group therapy for people struggling with eating disorders. The people there knew him only as Tory D, a 27-year old man struggling with anorexia. According to Tory they welcomed him and treated him as a friend immediately.

He told me that there were a lot of things about his life that support group helped put into perspective. He thought he just had headaches a lot, but that was more because he wasn't eating enough. Not just that, but other things he easily brushed off, like being tired often or getting cold all the time, all suddenly had a simple, concrete explanation.

Once some of his habits changed it made me realize a few things. Tory had never eaten food in front of me before. The most I ever saw was him sipping black coffee. But slowly, gradually, that changed. Occasionally he had a piece of fruit, or one of those hummus packs. When he stayed the night, he would sometimes hang out at my place the morning after and have a bowl of cereal with me. One baby step at a time, he reintroduced eating to his life.

That didn't mean it was smooth sailing. One thing his group friends warned him about was the weight spike he was going to experience once he stopped starving himself. His body was receiving less food than it needed to function at a normal rate, so his metabolism slowed down. His body was acting like he was lost in the woods without food and needed to do whatever it took to survive. But when the proper amount of food began going into his system again, his body didn't leave survival mode. It saw the food like mana from heaven, a one-time gift it needed to milk for all it was worth, so it stored that energy as weight, preparing for more malnourishment.

Tory was a wreck when he gained some of his weight back. He knew it was a good thing, he knew it was what his body needed, but his anorexia was still there. It was telling him that he was making a huge mistake, that he would never be happy again, he needed to come back before it was too late.

It made me realize that anorexia and other eating disorders were addictions that can be as powerful as alcoholism or being addicted to hard drugs. And it made me see how strong Tory really was for trying to break free from it. At first he kept apologizing to me when he'd cry in my arms or talk about his issues, but I just kept telling him over and over that I wasn't helping him because I felt like I had to. I cared about his well-being and wanted him to be happy.

"Babe, why did you offer to let me use your car that one time? Was it because you thought you had to? Did you just pity my situation?"

"No, of course not."

"Exactly. This is just what you do for people you care about."

I think at the beginning Tory saw me as this knight in shining armor, gallantly rescuing him during his time of need, but he was the real hero in all of this.

He was starting to see that, and I couldn't be happier.

*****

There's no such thing as a quick recovery, anyone struggling with addiction can tell you that. It had been nearly two months since I started and it was still rough.

Despite that, I had hit a few milestones. A couple weeks prior I finally called my parents and came clean about everything. They lived halfway across the country, so we didn't see each other in person very often. I had visited them once in the period where my anorexia had taken control, and it wasn't a fun experience. They were both able to see I wasn't eating enough and kept encouraging me to eat a little more. At the time I just saw them as being overbearing, not understanding my struggles. I avoided visiting them since then.

I had a phone call with both of them that lasted nearly three hours. I apologized for getting so mad at them when they were only trying to help me, and they apologized for being tactless in their efforts. Both my mom and I spent a lot of time crying. But as uncomfortable as that phone call was I'm glad I did it. It made me realize how much I missed being close with my parents.

Unfortunately, there were also hurdles during that period. I hit a relapse and began slipping back into my old mindset. I'm pretty sure it started when I brought mangos back in my diet. Mango had always been my favorite fruit, but when I learned how much sugar was in them I cut mangos out of my life.

I thought my recovery was at a point where I could eat them again. But after eating some for a week I began doing that math that was always running in the back of my head for so long. How much sugar, how many calories, how much cardio I would have to do, how fat this would make me, numbers, numbers, numbers. I started feeling sick, like the sick an average person would feel after eating too much chocolate or something like that. It was probably psychological, the same reason why I felt so sick after eating at that restaurant with André, but knowing that didn't help much.