Sad Perfect: A Novel

Ahhh disappointment, my old friend, it's nice to see you. It's been awhile.

For a more detailed and better explanation about how problematic this book is, feel free to read this review


Warning: I get incredibly personal in this review and I apologize in advance for it. I'm not usually this personal. I do talking about some stuff that I'm not usually open to sharing. Because's it hard for me to share as many people struggle to comprehend the way my brain works. Now, I'm used to people judging and not understanding, and you are free to do just that, but don't waste your time leaving negative comments. They will just be deleted. If there is something you want me to clarify or want to try to understand clearly, that's fine. I don't expect you to fully understand my thought process. Just don't be an asshole.

I have no idea what fruit tastes like.

I've never actually been told if I have had fruit when I was still a toddler. I must have since it's one of those food groups that parents like to force upon their child at a young age, but I don't have any memories of me eating an apple or a pear or a pineapple or whatever. If I was to try to eat one today, if I was even able to bring it up to my mouth, I would probably have an anxiety attack and spend the rest of the day crying in my room. Instead, I eat a small cluster of about 6 or 7 different types of food. Whenever I am asked what I do eat, I usually reply with, “chicken strips, macaroni and cheese, cheese pizza, and most white bread products” because that's is a huge portion of my everyday meals.

That's just my life. I hate food. I don't try new foods. I can't eat in front of strangers. I can't cook in front of strangers. Eating is often a chore for me.

When I was around three or four, something happened, I'm not sure what exactly, that created an extremely negative association with trying new foods. My first memory of knowing that something is different with my eating habits happened when I was around four years old. It happened when I was at preschool, during Dr. Seuess day when lunch that day was green eggs and ham. I liked eggs, I liked ham, but the second I saw they were green I remember hysterically crying and shaking, refusing to eat.

For the most part, as long as I'm not put in a situation where I have to eat in front of strangers and I avoid talking about food at all costs, it doesn't control much of my life. People who know me and love me know about my eating habits and accept them for what they are. I've been like this for around fifteen years now, so I don't think much about. It's become part of who I am, just as much as I have brown hair and two siblings.

I was always labeled a “picky eater” (a term I utterly hate with all my soul), but I would always wonder if it was something more. I had a cousin labeled a “picky eater” too, but she seemed to just prefer to eat what she really liked. She was able to try things at restaurants, while I wasn't able to. Now, I'm not saying my eating habits are worse than hers or anything. I don't know what is going on in her mind and I will never know. She could be having an internal struggle inside her mind like I am. She might just be better at hiding her emotions than I am. But I would watch her try something without showing anxiety like I would, and it would make me feel degraded almost. If we were both picky eaters, then why wasn't I able to eat something new without feeling like my insides were going to explode right out of me.

I didn't think about it being an eating disorder until it was brought to my attention a few years back. I figured it might be a mental disorder, for why else couldn't I bring myself to eat like a normal human? But it is, technically, an eating disorder. It's called Avoidant/Restrictive Food Intake Disorder, or ARFID. It's a newly diagnosed disorder that usually begins at an incredibly young age. ARFID, while often called picky eating, is more than that.

As a reader, I never thought I would see such a topic portrayed in a YA novel. ARFID is a normal part of my life, I never thought of it as being anything special, as my life is incredibly mundane. So back in December, when I discovered that Sad Perfect was being published, which told the story of a 16-year-old girl with ARFID, I was absolutely shocked. I was worried about this aspect of my life would be portrayed inaccurately. I portrayed my worries in a (pre)review, and I was fortunate enough to have the author, Stephanie Elliott, reach out to me. We communicated back and forth through email for a few days, where I was able to learn that the book was inspired by her own daughter's experience with ARFID. Stephanie Elliott is a very sweet person, and no way does this review reflect my opinion of her at all.

I had higher expectations for Sad Perfect then I probably should have had, and I was disappointed in many different ways.

There are many parts of the book where I felt like my own thoughts about food were accurately portrayed. Thoughts that I have never been able to describe myself, and that I actually appreciated.

“You couldn't explain to Alex why being at social events with food made you anxious. How you couldn't really eat much of anything, and how thinking about food made you sick sometimes, and how even, if you were in the wrong frame of mind, watching other people eat a hamburger could make your own stomach churn.

You hate the girls your own age, except for Jae. They're mostly high-pitched girls who only care about how many Instagram likes they have or how many Twitter retweets they get and you wonder what makes them so popular. Most days you wonder what it would be like if the universe were different.

Sigh

But Jae, Jae means the world to you. She's nothing like the girls at school who live and breathe by how many likes they get on Instagram.

“You kneel on your bed and and emit a little girlie squeal and then want to shove it back into your mouth, because you sound like one of those stupid girls. You don't want to be a stupid girl.”

At Majestic Mini-Golf, Ben pays for the eighteen-hole course, then grabs two putters. He chooses an orange ball and you choose a green one. “I thought you would have picked a pink or yellow ball,” he says. “Why?” you ask.“I don't know. Maybe that's what I expect girls to do, pick girlie colors, but you're different. I should have known better. That you'd pick the unexpected color.” “Well, green is my favorite color, so I wanted the green one,” you say. “Aren't you feisty tonight,” Ben says, laughing.

“Oh! Get this! Ben said he'll watch The Fault in Our Stars with me sometime.” “The Fault in Our Stars, really?” Jae asks. “He says he wants to see it.” “What guy wants to watch Fault in Our Stars?” Jae says. “I know,” you say. “Wow.”

“Favorite flower?” “Definitely white carnations.” “Not red roses?” “So cliché.”

As you wait, you busy yourself checking out the latest from the infamous Instagrammers. Yep, they're still there, posting selfies in sports bras and Nike workout shorts, looking slutty as usual. You wonder if their moms have any clue about the pictures they post and the comments they get.

The staffer has a name tag that says DAMIAN and you can't help but think of some devil-worship guy because of his name.

“He's the only one who seems to keep the monster at a lull.”

“What kind of sandwich is that?” you ask him. “It's turkey with cheese.” “I wonder what would happen if I took a bite.”He lifts his eyebrows. “I thought you were a vegetarian?” “Self-imposed,” you say. You both laugh. He hands you the sandwich and you look at it, and then take a bite. It's a small bite, mostly bread, but there's definitely some turkey and cheese in your mouth.You chew. You consider. You try very hard not to think about what's in your mouth because if your brain and your mouth work too hard together then you know you'll gag. You swallow quickly. It tastes like ... it tastes like nothing.

You are certain that the monster didn't really exist. He was everything around you, surrounding you. He was anxiety. He was depression. He was your brother. He was your parents when they were aggravating you. He was how you felt when you were hungry, or angry, or sad. He was the food that was keeping you from living your lfie this whole time. You unconsciously created the monster, someone else to blame, because you didn't want to take on the responsibilities of fixing what was broken.The monster was never real.“I'm ready,” you tell Shayna. “I'm going to take the responsibility to get well, and not blame something else for my problems.”Of course, you'll need Shayna's help, and with time, patience, and determination, you'll succeed. You're sure of it...

Sad Perfect