I threw up in the bathrooms with no walls. That was when the last straw was taken and I collapsed. I had pushed it too far. They hooked me up to an IV and I lay in bed solitary for a few days. I enjoyed my silence. When I was in the bed, I didn't have to pretend I was ignoring anyone. I didn't speak. They didn't care.
They lifted me out of bed when they thought I was stable enough, and my supervisor, whom we called The Stripe, stood at my side with his arm around my waist and helped me down the hallway. My body was rigid, and my bones were brittle. I had grown so weak that I could barely support my own weight, and it was a few days before I was even able to move short distances on my own. Once I started walking on my own again, my metal calorie-feeding friend followed me around until I could start eating solid food.
Physical therapy for me involved similar treatments. They tried to rebuild muscle-mass by walking me around the room with weights, but yet any real strenuous exercise was a no-no - burning it all away was too much of a possibility. They put me on the IV again weekly, they said, until I started gaining weight back.
At lunch the Stripe sat across the table to make sure we ate our meals. That's what I got for falling among the "eating disorder" group at mealtimes. I think eating was the only thing the average non-E.D. patient wasn't supervised doing. I couldn't even take a crap without someone standing in there. My first hurdle was getting over the violated feeling I got from taking a shower in front of four other guys.
During group therapy, though, I was among the emotionally traumatized. Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome was what they told me I had.
Many of the kids were like Angel - dealing with mental struggles and overcoming fears. Many of them had Anxiety disorders. One kid cut up his body - and even went as far as cutting off a finger. Another guy had aggression issues, and small things would throw him into bouts of anger, this was amusing, unless of course, he was angry with you. Of course, no one else was dubbed "The Traumatized Bulimic Rock Star" in my group. I got that name on the first day, when I introduced myself.
"I'm Taylor." I had mumbled when everyone's attention was drawn to me. That was the first time they heard me speak. "I'm here because I haven't eaten for six months, how about you?"
"Hey, you look familiar." Someone pointed out. I winced, crossing my arms uncomfortably across my chest - as I waited for the guessing game.
"Have I seen you somewhere?"
"Where are you from?"
"Did we go to high school together?"
And finally - "Taylor... Taylor... You're that Hanson kid! Aren't you?"
I nodded my head slowly and said with a weak, raspy voice, "Yep. Taylor Hanson."
They then burst into giddy conversation. "God, that song 'Mmmbop' - God, I never want to hear that again. Please don't sing it."
"I always knew it! I always knew one of those kids would end up in a nut house! There was just no way around it!"
"Wow. Taylor Hanson is bulimic."
"Hey - that mean's he's like... a traumatized bulimic..." Pause. "ROCK STAR!"
They all laughed and I slumped further in my chair, wishing I could hide myself. It made it that much harder, and I didn't talk for the rest of group that day.
Mike - the roommate - complained at mealtimes because they wouldn't tell him how many calories were in his meals. He seemed to be overly concerned about getting fat. At night he stared at himself in the mirror and poked at his skin. "I'm gonna get fat if I keep eating like this." He complained.
"Well..." I quipped, "You're either going to die or get fat - Which sounds more appealing?"
"Fuck you, Hanson." He said, pointing at my bare, naked chest, "It's not like you're any better."
I lit up a cigarette, "You're right, I'm not." I ran my fingers over the raised scar on my arm, "But that's why we're both here - isn't it?"
He nodded, "Yeah, I guess." Then paused, "Hey who the hell is 'Ani' anyway?"
I looked down at my arm, "She's my girl."
"The red head?" He was referring to Alexis - who he probably saw a few times during visiting hours.
"No, that was Zac's girl." I said, "Her and Isaac are my only family in L.A."
"So then - where's this Ani chick?"
"Dead."
He raised his eyebrows, "Dead?"
"Yes."
"When did she die?"
"Oh, last month sometime," I said, trying to act nonchalant about it. "She..." I shook my head.
"She what?"
I closed my eyes and I choked on my words, "She killed herself."
"Oh, hey, I'm sorry man."
I shrugged and tried to brush off the tears brimming, "We all have our burdens - don't we? Don't feel bad for me."
He looked down, "Nah, don't worry about it - you've been through a lot. If you ever want to rattle on to someone besides your doctor you can talk to me."
I nodded, "I'm alright, but thanks."
He put his elbows on his knees and looked at me curiously, as I stared up at the ceiling - trying to will my tears back in my head. "Hey - you don't really talk about your family... I mean, well I know you're famous and stuff... but I really don't know anything about you."
I turned to look at him, "Well... what do you want to know?"
He shrugged, "I don't know... I just... being in a band with your brothers, I figured a guy like you would talk about his life and family a lot."
"Well... I kind of haven't talked about much of anything since I've gotten here." I said, noting that it was my eighth day, in my head. I talked to no one but Mike. "I don't really know what to say... A lot of things have... completely changed."
I hesitated, "I guess... the basics... My parents were high school sweethearts - got married, and had a butt load of kids. I have six... well... five siblings. Isaac, three sisters, and another younger brother. I was born and raised very Christian - but by the time I was in the band and popular a lot of that stuff was forgotten about. Um... I'm twenty-two. Circumstances beyond my real control are the whole reason I'm here today... and uh... that's about it, for now."
He smiled, "Wow, I only had a mom and a sister. I always wished I had a brother, or something."
I sighed, "I always wished I could have some peace when things got hectic - and now that everything's quiet, I hate it. My house is like a place of death since Zac died."
He nodded, "I can't even imagine that - I mean... I don't know what I'd do if my sister died. That's a really big deal."
I nodded, "Yeah... it stings."
That was when the hallway monitor came in and said, "Lights out." I leaned over and flicked off the lights and we both shuffled in the dark crawling into bed. I closed my eyes and let a few waiting tears slip out before I went to sleep, only to wake a few hours later from the first intense nightmare I had had since I came.
My screaming woke everyone, and for some reason it was taking me longer to recover than usual. My terrified eyes searched the crowd of people for Isaac, but he wasn't there, and paranoia set in. I sat up and held on tight to the bedpost, curling up my body in fear. I was whimpering and quivering. "Leave me alone, God, please." I cried.
The dream had been the same as the last one, but this time the song was playing, and the dripping was more prevalent. Doctors were closing in on me, and I was singing to escape the pain.
"We live... on a mountain. Right at the top. This beautiful view... on the top of the mountain." I shook and cried, and relived the memory over and over, until I squirmed away and fell onto the floor, feeling sick all over. I threw up in front of all of them, and when I was done I was left crying, but the feelings of terror slipped away.
They took me away immediately and kept me in an empty room for the night, with a door that closed. My doctor came in on emergency, and I couldn't tell him about the dream, even though I tried. Every time I tried, I would start to sob, again. Words refused to surface, and no syllables escaped. They eventually gave up trying to talk to me - trying to feed me, and let me sleep.
When they left me alone in the room I sang myself to sleep, because I wanted to think in my head that it was Isaac or Zac. I had no home comforts when I needed them, and I was lonely. So to myself I sang.
Goodbye four leaf clovers
Hello gone awry
Don't cry the fight ain't over
Unless you let it pass you by
I'm looking for a Song to sing
I'm looking for a friend to borrow
I'm looking for my radio
So that I might find a heart to follow
I've never been just longing for your loving
I've never been just wearing down to nothing
I've never been just looking for a reason
So that maybe you'd be thinking of me
Singing a song we wrote - something I had only done once or twice since Zac's funeral was making me feel completely incomplete. I sang to Annissa on both Hanson-song occurrences, and spent any other time at the piano playing other music, and any other time singing - singing music to an album. Avoiding the past seemed a better solution than drowning myself in it - living it like my brother chose to do. I liked my solitary avoidance. I liked that no one noticed me.
I looked around the empty room, and began to cry.
How lonely
I
Was.