Film Critics

For people with eating disorders, three straight days of rain can be Hell. For me, it meant spending extra hours at the gym since I couldn't move outside, another excuse not to be social, and a reflection of the way I felt inside. All of my Denver readers (who've been stuck inside for these unseasonably rainy days)may hypothesize what a killer the last 72 hours have been. However, a hypothesis is really a glorified assumption. After some careful variable elimination and control maintenance these last three days have actually fomented my newest theory: literary film adaptations relate very well to my life and film critics could ease up on the judgment. I'll tell you why.

Today, Saturday, Rainy Day #3, I felt mentally fatigued. The last week has been a whirlwind of life planning with yesterday being a particularly busy and social day. My afternoon plans with other girls from treatment were falling apart (because I wasn't willing to lead them) and rather than become dejected, I decided to do a little disappearing. I was afraid that this was "isolation," another of ED's tricks, but I knew that if I kept forcing social time I would work myself into an irritated spiral.

Before I left program for the afternoon one of the aides asked to "check-in" with me. I explained to her that I felt burnt out and was taking the afternoon for myself. She asked how I knew this was what I needed. I realized that when I felt this way before I shamed myself, thinking I should have the energy and willingness to live up to my high expectations. I pushed myself to the brink, usually ending in some sort of meltdown. I never really recovered, and we all know where such continuous stress led me. Today was different, though. I wasn't at the brink, and while I could have tried to spend time looking for apartments or with other patients, I really just wanted some alone time. And it wasn't out of desperation. It simply felt right. So I went for it.

I went to the movies. Alone. I walked there, savoring the cool drizzle, and then I bought myself an extra creamy coffee to make up for the burned calories. And then I sat down in a movie theater by myself. To watch a romantic film. Alone. With coffee with cream. And food. Seated.

Let me tell you, my humble audience, how thoroughly awesome it was. If satisfaction and contentment was solar power I could have lit Las Vegas. I laughed loudest, I cried loudest, I fidgeted most, and every time I felt my mind wander I compassionately pulled it back to the moment, to the face of Jane Eyre and that dashing man who played her lover.

When the movie finished I sat for a moment to soak it all in. I eavesdropped on the people in front of me who were obviously Jane Eyre fans. As soon as the credits rolled they began to compare the book to its film adaptation, and like most ardent readers were unhappy with the results. "She's so much more badass in the book," said one. "They left out all the good parts and just made her all romantic and sensitive." I could understand what they were saying- Jane did do a lot more moping, heavy breathing, and tear wiping in the movie. But the more I thought about this comment, the more I wondered, So What?

Jane Eyre the novel is a whole, complete work. It can be no more or no less than what it is, and because of that includes every tidbit of information that the author deemed necessary. Jane Eyre is a badass, wittily standing up for her beliefs. But the movie is not the book, and that's OK. In fact, the director and screenwriter very knowingly chose what to include and how to portray it. They wanted to show a certain aspect of Jane's story, to create something new from their impression of an entire life's-worth of events. They knew, just like my fellow critics, exactly what Jane was made of. Yet, at that point and in that space, they simply wanted to show Jane for what she was in relation to their larger values.

In all my job applying and roommate interviewing I've been struggling to determine just how I want my time in treatment and my battle with an eating disorder to play into the rest of my life. A big thing that keeps coming up is why, when and how to tell potential friends and employers about my ED. It's especially difficult when they start asking questions about "what I'm doing right now" (answer: eating). For the first few weeks of treatment I was telling anyone who would listen about my plight. It was empowering to talk about seeking help. As I move further away from my disordered thoughts and habits I begin to wonder what this time means in the relative space of my current endeavors and in the book that is my life.

Like Jane, I've got a past. I'm not just a disordered person. I'm also not just a woman, or not just a writer, or not just sad sometimes. I'm all of these things; if I were to author an autobiography they would need to included. But what about right now? This time in my life can be viewed as a movie adaptation: the new Emily is the star and she's using certain skills that make her more spiritual, more curvy, and maybe a little more awkward than before. That's the image that I want conveyed. That's the part of me that I want the audience to know. Yes, I have a history, and that will all unfold once I find friends to open the front cover. So what if something is left out? It's all relative to the value of the director. That's me.

It doesn't stop there, my friends. After the movie I took myself to dinner. I struggled to get what I thought was a enough food, and after being distracted from my book with feelings of doubt and guilt, I finally gave in and went to my parent's house to eat a little more. They had Chinese. I ate some. Then, they put on a movie. Two movies in one day?! Coffee with cream, Chinese food, more sitting?!?! No problem.

We watched the Truman Show. In the final scene, Truman walks to a door in the fake sky labeled "Exit." The director's voice sounds over the speaker and begs him to stay. You see the struggle in Truman's face: he knows how safe it is there, how planned and controlled. And utterly unimaginative. Totally hopeless. And not at all true to his true character, that inner spirit that shapes his values and life direction. He turns to the voice and says, "And in case I don't see you, good afternoon, good evening, and goodnight." He steps through the door and into his life.

Today, I listened. My heart told me to give it some lovin'; my body told me to eat more; Jane Eyre told me that I can be who I am and also what I want; and Truman told me that I have the power.

It's supposed to rain Wednesday through Saturday next week. I can't wait to see what hypothesis I can debunk.