It was meant to be a fix, a permanent solution to my life long problem. My problem was food. My solution was supposed to be Wellspring. Everyone makes fun of fat camps, but before I went I had never heard of one. What was meant to be my saving grace, turned into a nightmare that still haunts my dreams.

I always knew I was overweight. It was the only thing I couldn’t control. This may seem irrational, that I should have been able to control what I ate, but I couldn’t. I threw myself into schoolwork. If I couldn’t look perfect, then I should at least be perfect. I was replacing one problem with another. Instead of constantly worrying about my weight and what people thought, I retreated into myself. I craved perfection and I was determined to get it any way I could. To this day I know people look at me and think I’m fat. I know this because I do it, too. Being judged your whole life doesn’t prevent you from seeing the world everyone else sees, but it makes every judgment in the world more defined. I was the silly fat girl. The one who nobody thought was pretty, the one who was destined for loneliness. It all broke me. I saw my friends leave me. I saw my past begin to retreat farther and farther behind me. Then there was the magic fix.

While I may have not been thinking about my weight, my mom still was. She signed me up for Wellspring Camp, NY, a fat camp. Most people might be mad about this. They might have objected to going at all. I didn’t. Because of my weight, the only people I felt that didn’t judge me were the boys I was friends with. They didn’t care what I looked like or how much I weighed. They knew the real me. The problem with hanging out with guys when you’re a girl is that a lot is expected. I had to compensate for being a girl by being good at sports, and not minding getting dirty. Wellspring, I thought, was the opportunity to get better at sports, and to show everyone who ever judge me because of my fat who I really was.

I got to Schenectady, New York, on a Friday during the summer. My dad and I found the Union Collage campus that was used for Wellspring.  When we arrived, my dad helped me carry my bags to my room and to get settled in. I had a roommate, but she was not there yet. I got all settled and I videotaped my dad saying good-bye so I could re-watch it over the next six weeks I was there. When he left, I thought I was going to be okay. It might be hard, but I could survive this. Oh, how wrong I was.

The bane of my existence knocked on the door. In came Emma and her mother. I smiled and greeted them. I saw the world as black and white I lseooked at the world and only saw those above me and those below.  It was the social hierarchy that was invisible to some but too clear for others. It had always been easy for me to see where I stood in the world. I could see who were better than me in the eyes of society and who were not. From the moment I saw Emma I classified her as below me. It wasn’t a judgment; it was just how I saw things. Perhaps it was due to the many years I had spent isolated in my own mind. Or maybe I just saw the world differently than anyone else. In order to survive all those years of being alone, I had built a wall that I would not let fall. So in my mind, everything was black and white, those above me, and those who were below. This sense I have is almost always spot on. This is the only time I have known it to be wrong.

I helped Emma on the first day. I let her take up way too much space in our room, saw her hanging profanity upon the wall, and listened as she went on and on about pointless things. I did not object. Before I left home my mother had advised that I try to make friends so that everything would be easier. So I kept my mouth shut and let her do as she wished. To this day I don’t blame my mother. Making friends was generally good advice, but not this time. Before the first week was up Emma was the queen. Our nine-person group was split up by day two, into those who followed Emma and those who didn’t. We were all here for the same reason. We wanted to lose weight so we could be the same as everyone else. We all knew what it was like to be ridiculed and tormented, yet half of us had turned kind and the others grew hard.

The first day was difficult. It started with a morning walk of 2.5 miles. Although I had always played sports, this was all it took to make my legs, arms, and every part of me sore. The rest of the day was a blur but I remember it hurting when I stood up, when I sat down, and when I moved at all. The physical exhaustion was beginning to affect everyone. I wish I could say the physical part was the worst part.

If you wanted to know what kind of things we did I would tell you that we walked 2.5 miles every morning. We had a choice activity every day, which was between soccer, running, and preforming arts. Then we had the gym equipment some days. We even went to the computer lab on that one special day of the week. We played sports, we did healthy cooking classes, we did boot camp, and more. I could have told you this from just reading the website. The personal experiences are what hurt. I knew I was going to have to work hard. I was prepared for that. I went above and beyond everyone. I got up for the optional early boot camp every day, I played soccer instead of performing arts, and I skipped the unnecessary calories.  I was exhausted but I was strong.

I remember one morning very clearly. It was perhaps the first time I noticed my utter exhaustion. Emma set her alarm for me to wake up for boot camp. She insisted on always being in charge of everything, including how and when I woke up. Her alarm wasn’t a beeping noise or a random song; it was the news playing as soon as it went off. It was about the fifth day I had been there. The alarm went off early in the morning and for a brief second, less than a fraction, I thought I was home. I thought my little sister was playing the T.V. too loud and I didn’t care.  Then I opened my eyes and reality set in and I felt tears slowly prickle my eyes. Instead of being home where I was safe I was still locked away in a cage that held me prisoner. I got up silently because I did not want to wake the wrath of morning Emma that had fallen back to sleep. I headed to my dresser and I opened the top drawer and grabbed a shirt. Then I opened the bottom to grab some shorts and I tried to stand up again but I hit my head on the top drawer. The tears from everything that had happened in the five minutes I had been awake flooded down my face. It was impossible. I got back in bed and just cried. A combination of exhaustion, and physical, and emotional pain is enough to make anyone fall to pieces. I was no exception.

As Emma’s roommate I had some credit among her friend so they sometimes included me in different conversations. But, I was never the first choice. I was the last choice. Like if they needed one other person for their group they would choose me. These little glimpses into their lives are what terrified me the most. I was only thirteen years old but after this summer I would never be a kid again. These girls saw the world completely differently from me. They valued big breasts and big butts. They placed importance on boys and how far you went with them. They used words and phrases I had never heard before and they laughed when I told them I didn’t know what they meant. Besides the vile and revolting words they used, Emma as a whole wasn’t much better. The nauseating things she did will never be erased from my mind.

Sometimes when something bad happens it’s hard to explain it afterwards. There were a million things Emma did but it is hard to explain. The worst out of everything was probably her being two faced. She was nice to me but as soon as I turned my back she was cruel. Emma and her friends laughed at what I said in confidence. They used what I said against me. The worst part of Emma was when she was nice. I was so desperate for a friend who would help me get though everything that when she was kind I couldn’t help but fall in the trap that was her kindness.
By the second week it was clear that in order to survive I had to retreat into myself. I dedicate all time to working towards my goal and any free time to burying myself in books. I read constantly. I was afraid that if I didn’t, I would be faced with the reality that broke me into pieces. I tried to distance myself from anyone but only the slightest bit of kindness was what I needed to be pulled back in. Like Toria asking if I wanted to go to boot camp with her, Emma wanting to room with me again, or Katelyn and Miranda wanting me to sit with them at lunch. I was so desperate for love and attention that even a thank you made my day. I started carrying a bag full of everything they could need. These things resulted in my nicknames: Bookworm because of my love for books and Mary Poppins because of my “bottomless bag”. 

Another moment I remember with exact detail was when we were playing a variation of soccer when I got ‘out’.  After a couple rounds both Emma and I were out. While waiting to get back in, we walked around. She asked me many questions and I answered them all. Somehow she got it out of me that I was upset about something a girl named Star had said. I told her in confidence how I felt. Later that day she used what I said against me. Everyone was gathered in our room and Emma said “Star wants to know why she is two faced and why you think she should just choose one, which doesn’t even make sense by the way.” She turns too her friends and laughed. I don’t remember much after that except them continuing to gang up on me and crying.

It took a month for me to become numb to everything around me. Emma’s words no longer hurt me and everything else was just sound. I ran everyday. I took up running to fill the hole in me that longed for home. I ran the morning walk, I ran a mile at the gym, I ran a mile at the track, and I ran three 5k races. I could fill pages upon pages of things Emma said, but at this point they didn’t matter.

It’s funny that the worst summer of my life also contained the best day. It was the very last week of camp. We took a field trip to New York City. While many hadn’t ever been there, I practically grew up in the city. It was going to be the closest I had ever been to home. We arrived early in the morning. We walked around Central Park and we went shopping. The last thing we were going to do was go to the Broadway play, The Adams Family. Everything was painfully normal. My pretend smile, my nodding and pretending to be listening, and my mind wheeling inside my head. Emma started staring behind me. She made a weird face. I turned around and within a matter of seconds I was surrounded in a familiar hug. It was my father. It had been three weeks since I had seen his face on my iPod’s screen. Six weeks since I had seen him at all. I held him tight completely aware of the tears staining his shirt. I had never been so happy. In the back of my mind I had hoped to see my father during this trip. It seemed more like a dream than anything close to reality. But here he was. Everything came pouring out of me. All the times I told my parents on the phone that everything was fine. All the letters I sent when I wanted to pour onto the page everything I was feeling but I contained my emotion so I didn’t worry my parents. Even though I was due to see my parents in only two days when they came to pick me up, I was happier than I had a right to be. My dad took a picture of me to show my mom. He hugged me again and said goodbye. I waved and said see you soon. I went into the play and cried silently the whole time.

A few days later my parents came. They sat through lectures, they helped me pack my clothes, and they drove me home. To this day the picture taken on the day in the city remains my fathers favorite. He thinks it was because I had lost twenty-three pounds. I think it was because my eyes sparkled from the tears that are unseen and because my smile wasn’t fake. That summer taught me appreciate what I have and not take it for granted. It taught me how terrible life can be. Most of all it taught me that only when you know real pain, can you understand true happiness.