Bikki found me. She screamed, waking me up from my trance, and calling Joshy to her. He ran out of the ladies', got James and the two of them pulled a sofa into the hallway. While Joshy carried me onto the sofa and Bikki went to do her own vomiting, James kept the door shut. "No paparazzi," he said. "People will just have to wet themselves." This must have been so hard for Bikki. Me, now in the same place as Brisky was - at least I was vaguely awake, but at least Brisky was clean. I was covered in puke and blood.
Afterwards, as I regained consciousness, Bikki came out, and held up my handbag, and a few things that had fallen out. A few empty Ex-Lax packets .... and the culprit. The medicine bottle was still open, and spilling out. In a quick reflex, I picked up the bottle and screwed on the top, so that I didn't lose any. In case I needed it again.
"IPECAC!?" Bikki shouted. "I hope this is to get rid of the 40 laxatives you've just taken - but somehow, I doubt it." I wanted to say it was, if I was a good liar, she'd provided the perfect answer. But even if I said it was, we'd both know the truth. I started sobbing. "This stuff can kill you, Raven," she continued, taking the bottle from me. I started to cry some more - I don't know why. "Have you ever thrown up blood? Without Ipecac?"
"Only .... only if I really tried." This must sound terrible to a woman who vomits without assistance, just can't keep anything down - I almost envied Bikki, not just for her babies, but for her chronic morning sickness. That must sound terrible to anyone ....
"The paramedics are on their way," said Joshy. I secretly thanked him for the distraction. I didn't want to talk right now. All I wanted was one person.
"I want Jakey," I cried. "I want Jakey ...."

I woke up, remembering what happened, and not wanting to wake up. There was an IV drip going into my wrist. I pictured all sorts of greasy, fattening foods going through that wire, and I couldn't throw up any of it .... I wanted to pull it out, show them that it's not that easy to make me fat, but I wasn't alone in the room.
"Jakey?" I said, turning to him. Unfortunately, we didn't have long to talk alone. A nurse walked in.
"Mrs. Regan Robbins," she said, holding up a chart. "Ingested high quantities of Senna, followed by an overdose of Ipecac syrup. What was this for?" I didn't answer. She carried on. "OK then, I'll tell you what I think it was for. I'll assume you ate a lot of food beforehand." She was right, the post-Birdies fare was plentiful, and I couldn't help myself. "So to expel the food from your body, you took these laxatives, and then drank this poison. Is that the truth, Regan?"
Again, I didn't answer. "Please co-operate, Raven," Jakey said. I looked at his face. He wasn't trying to order me, or bully me - he just wanted to see me get better. Well, it may not look like it, but I'm fine. I've learned to take less Ipecac next time I take it, and maybe drink some water with it.
"How long has this been going on?" She paused, again unanswered. "Do you ever use other methods, such as self-induced vomiting, spitting, or diuretic pills?"
"Why do you want to know all this?" I asked.
"To get an accurate picture of your - problem, Regan."
Ha ha. The way she said it was almost laughable. "I don't have a problem."
"You lot are always difficult." The nurse sighed and walked out of the room. Great. Now I'm 'you lot'. No longer a unique person, me, Raven Comatose, I'm 'you lot', only known for drinking poison. I called the nurse back. "Yes, Regan?"
"When am I getting out?" I asked, hopeful for an answer along the lines of 'now'.
"When you've recovered from the poisoning."
With that, she left me here - still not clean, still covered in my own barf - to explain to Jakey. I couldn't. What if he wanted the whole story? "I'm scared," I said. "I'm sorry." I held his hand tightly. I wondered why, in the slightest, he would be interested in holding this fat, crazy hand, when he could have any hand he wanted. I felt guilty - like I'd wrecked the relationship for him, keeping this secret, and then it all blowing up like this ....

Edited by user 04 November 2009 23:13:58(UTC)  | Reason: Not specified

"Shouldn't you be on tour? I don't want to interrupt," said Raven, but I really thought, 'I want to be worthy to interrupt, but I'm not'. But you can hardly say that out loud.
"Regan Robbins, yes?"
My thoughts were interrupted by the presence of another doctor. "Raven," I muttered. "Get me out of here."
"You seem to be recovering well, though Ipecac has side effects and we want to keep you in on watch." Oh fuck. "Ipecac syrup is the most dangerous way for a bulimic ...."
"I'm not - what you said," I cut in. I wasn't sure myself whether this was a lie or not. I don't like my secrets labelled.
".... to purge. Whether you are or not, must be assessed. If you are taken in ...."
"WHAT!?" I was gobsmacked. They couldn't take me in. I wasn't in critical condition.
"It's a possibility, Mrs. Robbins, that we may need to save you from yourself." He sounded patronising, but apologetic, kind of. "If you are unable to stop this behaviour, you may seriously hurt yourself."
"What do you mean? I can stop." OK, I probably can't, not easily, but whose business is it if I carry on? Not theirs.
"That's good to know." He turned to Jakey. "Make sure she takes care of herself." Why are you talking behind my back!? I'm right here!
"He can't, he's busy," I said. I hope I didn't sound mean. Needy, but not nasty. He has to do what he has to do, and I don't want to stand in his way.

"Hi Jakey," I said, reaching out to him. I wouldn't be surprised if he slapped my hand away. Oh great. What do I say now? I had a big secret and left you out? Yup, that'll go down well. I didn't tell you because you'd tell me to stop it? Oh, that'd be even better, I'd really keep the relationship going there! "I love you, and I'm sorry you had to be here, I really screwed up," I said. "I feel so bad for bringing you into - this thing. I shouldn't have."

I don't know how to explain. Jakey probably thinks I'm just some girl who's obsessed with her weight now, and thinks puking is the answer. I don't know, and don't care, what my weight is. But wouldn't it sound even weirder for me to say that I need to be empty, because .... oh, I don't want him to be part of my private hells, so many there are.

"I think you should go," Jakey said. He was hurt by what Kay had said, but in a way, she was right - he wasn't sure he could be trusted with this responsibility either. "It's the best thing to do. I'll be there as long as I can, I can't stay forever and I want you to be with someone who cares for you as much as I do. Please go? For me."
He knew she needed watching over, but didn't want to say that to her face as if she was a child. America was the right place to be, with her family, they'd know what to do..

After releasing my single, I went on this private plane. Landed at Columbia, as always. Met Yasmin there, along with a minion of hers. (My youngest sister doesn't have friends. She has minions.) The minion introduced herself as Minnie. I giggled inside, and could see that Kay was doing the same.
Minnie was rather talkative. "So, you're Kahlen? And Regan?"
"Raven," I said, sounding meaner than I meant to.
"Oh yes, Raven. I hate my name too. It's short for Minnesota .... it's OK naming your kids after where they're conceived if it's Paris or Geneva, but Minnesota?" She laughed. I laughed. Minnie seemed nicer than most Yasminite minions. Very smiley. Most of them just worshipped the ground that Yasmin walked on, but this one seemed genuinely interested in talking to Kay and me. About anything and everything - and when I say everything, I mean it.
Me : "Yes, it's weird having it out in the open .... I don't want to talk about it."
Kay : "What she said."
I could tell that Kay was having withdrawal symptoms, and would probably shoot up as soon as she had some time alone - but my superior knowledge did nothing to lessen the superiority of Kay. Being on pot and heroin is COOL, everyone does it. Bulimia's just gross, laxatives even more so. If I'm going to get sucked into an eating disorder, I could at least starve myself like all the pretty girls do. Honestly, Raven, get some control.
This didn't stop Minnie. She wanted to know everything about my bulimia, and Kay's drug addiction. We eventually gave in.
One thing I noticed about Minnie was that she was way too interested. Unlike my purse, she had a big bag on her, like a laptop carrier - a bag she kept dropping. I got a peek inside; it was full of paper. Maybe she was talking to us so much because she was a journalist, interested in the real life of Raven Comatose. I didn't care.

We went out for a cup of tea. Well, tea for me, vodka coke for Kahlen, coffee for everyone else. "You're getting British!" Minnie laughed - but she was observing what I was ordering. Looking at the stand full of luscious cakes and muffins; looking at my reaction to it. (I was almost drooling.) "Alcohol at lunchtime? I always save it for the evening!" she giggled at Kay's order. When Kay went out for a cigarette, Minnie said, "I hope it's legal!" I went out with her to 'check'. I didn't care whether Kay had a cigarette or a spliff in her hand, probably the latter; I just wanted to get away from Minnie. She was driving me round the bend.
"She's driving me round the bend." Kay dragged on her secret spliff. I wouldn't tell on her, just as she wouldn't tell on me as I downed six Senokot Max Strengths. Now wasn't the time for ipecac, or for 'gobfingery' as Rayne calls it. Minnie would probably watch me purge.
"Why does she care? About timescales and all that. It's like she's reading out the DSM criteria, to see if we fit ...." My brain clicked. "You kick over her bag as you walk in, by 'mistake'. I'll offer to pick it up for her, and see what's on those papers."

Just as I thought. I took a sneak peek, and saw a file labelled ....
KAHLEN RENÉE ORMEN. F. DOB 06-23-1985.
Diagnosis : Substance abuse, 305.00.
Ref. Dr. Minnesota Bat.

I held it up. "Well, the crap's out of the bag now, isn't it, Dr. Bat? Let's see what you've got on me!"
Handing Kay's file to her, I took out mine.
REGAN WOLFE ROBBINS. F. DOB 07-05-1983.
Diagnosis : Bulimia nervosa, 307.51.
Ref. Dr. Minnesota Bat.

I looked through the pages. I saw a handwritten note.
Dear Kahlen,
I would definitely be interested in assessing your sister for inpatient treatment.
There was more to it than that, but the words 'inpatient treatment' stood out .... and then, 'Kahlen'. I was used to this - Yasmin and I would never be friends. Kahlen, as the middle child, swung between being on Yasmin's side and on my side. I would expect Yasmin to betray me like this, but not Kay.
"YASMIN! YOU BETRAYED ME!" shouted the girl at the other side of the table. "You .... you want to put me .... into REHAB!?"
I took her letter, and compared it with mine. Same handwriting, same signature, Cheryl somebody. Obviously a Bedlam-type place where they treat all addicts. I decided to be a smartass about it. "Well, at least you won't be alone. You'll be spending time with me, Judas!"
"I'm sorry, Regan. I was only trying to help!"
"So you were trying to help - but when you get a similar letter, Yasmin betrayed you? Kettle pot teamaker!"
"All rockstars do drugs. It's NORMAL. And there's a reason they're called recreational drugs - they're FUN. How can making yourself shit your guts out because you're afraid of getting fat be normal or fun? And you've been barfing WAY longer than I've been smoking pot. You're fucked up."

Maybe I am, but not as bad as her. Or the same, or worse .... I don't even know any more.