"I drew a picture of Idina in a cage. She's stuck inside, and there's a lock on the door to the cage. I'm standing here on the outside, holding a bunch of keys that won't work."
My voice caught, but I wasn't crying. Not yet.
"This symbolizes how Idina was trapped inside her eating disorder. It shows how I felt responsible for saving her." Here, I stopped, unable to talk any longer.
The last thing I wanted to do was cry in front of people, so I set my drawing down and covered my face with my hand. I didn't talk or move; I just sat there, trying to rein in my tears. I felt my sister stroke my back, and I stiffened at her touch. I didn't want to need sympathy. I didn't want to appear weak.
As the silence dragged on, however, I wasn't able to control my tears. I knew that I couldn't just sit there; time was passing. So I forced myself to show my tear-stained face and speak through my tears. Living hell.