A Room of Their Own Rakefet Yarden (top 10 novels of all time TXT) 📖

Just walking further and further along the sidewalk, tears running down my cheeks.

I hadn’t cried in months.

In fact, I can’t even remember the last time I cried.

Not at Grandpa’s funeral, although I really did want to. I saw everyone else crying. I mainly saw Grandma all broken up and distraught, as though everything had been taken away from her. I felt sorry for her. I felt sorry for her weakness, for her dependency. For a few minutes, I’d even detested that needy place she was at. But the crack within her touched me, and I wanted to feel what everyone else was feeling there, or at least seemed to be feeling. Maybe I just wanted to feel something, anything. But I couldn’t. Nothing. Total void. I drifted away over some distant cloud. I saw the group of people from afar, and I saw myself, small and brittle, standing among them helplessly, alone within a crowd.

I also didn’t cry when I’d been notified that Dooby, the cute, energetic German Shepherd I was taking care of, had been run over.

But this time, the tears flowed from my eyes as though someone had turned on a faucet. I couldn’t stop. In any other circumstance, I’d probably think that I was simply at that time of the month, that it was just hormones. But it’s been two months since my periods stopped − again. After three years of being regular.

I tried to remember when the first time was that I’d stopped eating. I tried to remember why. During all of my previous treatments, especially in the unit, whenever I was asked that question, I’d always give what I thought to be the most “normal” answer. Yes, even within an abnormal state such as fatal self-starvation, there must still be a “normal” range. Or at least that’s what I thought.

“Oh, I just wanted to get thinner. Like everyone else,” I’d say casually.

“Still, not every girl that starts a diet ends up hospitalized in a life-threatening state,” one therapist told me, and I said that she was right, that I’m just exceptionally stubborn. That I’ve always been extreme. Another lie.

“Did you really need to lose weight?” another therapist once asked.

“No, but what does it matter? I thought that I needed to.”

I never connected with all of those questions. What is this stupidity of trying to understand how it all started? Right now I’m underweight and my head’s majorly screwed up, and that needs to be treated. What good will it do to rewind and try to remember why it had all started to begin with?

But this time, I did want to remember.

It suddenly felt really important. It became clear to me that I needed to understand why I’d started it. I realized that it was the source of all the mess and pain in my life. The thing that caused me to start all this craziness.

And the truth is that it was the complete opposite. The opposite of what I’d said. I didn’t want to be thinner because it’s pretty. I wanted to make my body look ugly. Repulsive.

And I hated it. This body. I don’t know why, I just know that I started hating it at a very young age. I’d already realized back then that this body could cause a lot of trouble. That it needed to be repulsive. That we’re all better off looking ugly. When everyone told Tal how beautiful and tall she was, I’d always feel sorry for her.

Images suddenly resurfaced within me. Swiftly. I couldn’t keep track. I stopped. Grabbed my head. Suddenly felt dizzy. Of course, I hadn’t eaten anything for over a day. Just coffee. Yes, that’s why. I kept walking. Don’t break down. You’re strong.

Again, flashing images invaded my mind like dozens of ping-pong balls independently bouncing around my head, no one playing them. I quickened my pace. Walked fast. No longer on the curb, but rather where I could walk full speed ahead, until my legs burned.

Rotem

The sky was slowly darkening, its edges shaded with orange. A thin moon hung from above with a single star beneath it, resembling an earring. Yotam threw a stick and ran along with Snoopy to fetch it. “Can Gili come over tomorrow after school? Her Mommy said it was okay.” He’d already laid down the groundwork. Such a thorough child. “She can, Yotami,” I said.

Snoopy sat in front of Yotam, staring at him with his wise eyes. “Look, Yotam. He’s waiting for you to throw the stick again.”

They ran off and then returned. I picked up the leash. And then a realization suddenly struck me: There will always be someone between me and Emily.

It used to be our father, then it was her husband, and now it’s her guru. That’s what she does in order to defend herself from the world, from this wound of hers at which I pick in order for her to notice me.

How didn’t I realize it until now? It’s not that complicated. What did I ever do to her, what did I ever say that made it impossible for us to go on?

Snoopy was pulling me ahead, as though saying, come on, make a move already with all of your thinking. Moving diminishes the thoughts, lessens the burden.

Emily cut me out of her life the way one removes a band-aid. A lot of things were shed along with Ehud, her late husband. Eighteen stubborn pounds from endless shifts and lousy food were shed all at once; the work at the clinic, of which she’d grown tired, and me − forever her little sister. It hurt me then, and it still does now. I tried to renew contact, and she did, too. But we couldn’t do it. We still haven’t recovered from what happened between us during Ehud’s shiva, and perhaps it had actually all started long before. Let go of her, Rotem, I’d try to persuade myself. She doesn’t have any energy for you right now, and you’re not useful in any