I'm in a car with two of my close friends, Chase and Stephanie. Chase is driving, white-knuckled hands gripping the steering wheel, peering forward into the darkness ahead of us. It's winter outside, the sleeping trees covered in ice and snow. The road is small and treacherous, curving around impossible bends. Where are we going? I ask. Nobody replies. Stephanie is singing softly to herself, a song I know very well. I need you to know, I'm not through the night. Sometimes I'm still fighting to walk towards the light... it's "Courage" by Superchick. A song about Anorexia. The words echo in my head and I look down at myself. My legs are spindly and small, my arms bony and white. I shiver suddenly, realizing that I am wearing only a baggy t-shirt and black tights. Where are we going?
Still no reply. I look out the window and try to figure out where I am, but everything is dark and unfamiliar. Then I see a large building ahead, a mansion of some kind. No, it's a hospital. You need this, Lilly, Stephanie says to me softly. Then it dawns on me. Treatment. I try to scream but I can't. I watch in terror as we speed toward the building. Suddenly the car hits a patch of ice on a turn. Chase tries to straighten out but it's too late. Shit! He yells, tugging madly on the E-brake. We spin out of control, headed straight for the trees along the road. And then, everything is silent. There is no sound of tires screeching on the icy road, no screams. Chase's mouth is still moving, his eyes wide in terror. Stephanie looks away from me, tears in her eyes. And then I'm alone in the car, still careening to my death. I put my arms up as if to block the impact. I'm too young! I'm only 19! Panicked thoughts race through my head. Only seconds to live.
I wake up with a start, my heart racing. I blink rapidly in the dark and see flashes of the dream, still shots, frame by frame, trees and glass, blood, my fragile body crushed in the impact. Stephanie crying over my frozen, broken body. I scramble to turn on the light and the dream dies.
What an odd thought, dying on my way to treatment. It seems ironic, if nothing else.