Letters From Camp Part 3
Sup, J - Dawg? It's your pal Billy B - nuts! Just checking up on things from camp (also, sorry I couldn't send this in an e-mail but they don't have an Internet connection here at “weight management camp.” I find it odd that they have computers for us to type letters and calculate weight index...but no Internet). Speaking of the lack of technology, how's the new Call of Duty game? I can't wait to get home to whoop your ass in multi-player! Maybe my new pal Richard can join us online (he's my bunk mate). I think you'd dig him.
Camp's been okay so far. We had a rough first couple of days (long story, which I'll tell you when I get home), but the drama has leveled off a bit. We've actually been pretty busy the last week or so with different activities. I am taking cardio kick boxing and have hit the man-made rock wall the other day, and to tell you the truth, I feel...good! Exhausted, but good. I like the energy I get from hitting the punching bag. Head Counselor Chip says that I should visualize the bag as a “proxy” (not sure what that means) for all of my bad feelings and negative self-worth. I'm not 100% positive about what he means by “bad feelings.” All I know is that guy is a one-eyed creepo and my knuckles hurt like Hell.
I have to be honest with you. The real reason I am writing you is because I need to let off some steam. (Yes, I do really want to play Call of Duty, but just hear me out.) I was really pissed about my parents sending me here even after my loud and prolonged objections. I thought it was because I wasn't like the other kids on our block, or because I wasn't the way they wanted me to be...but I'm trying to see things from their point of view, and I think I've figured it out. The camp therapist asked us why we thought we were here. It was a difficult question to answer. I don't know if I told you this, but I stopped breathing when I was asleep about a month ago. My mom rushed into my room, thinking I was choking. She took me to the hospital, where they put me on some kind of steroid to open my lungs. I felt like my chest was caving in on me. I kept gasping for air but only got a little at a time. The doctors ran some tests and came back. He said I had asthma and something called “sleep apnea.” (I know what you're thinking: what the hell is that, right?) Well, it's when you stop breathing when you sleep. The doctor told my mom that it was because of my weight and that if I didn't do something soon it would probably get worse. She waited for him to leave the room, put her arms around me, and then she cried...hard! I've never seen my parent's cry before, not even at my grandpa's funeral...it kind of freaked me out. Ever since I got here I've just been thinking about that night. I hated myself that night, but not anymore.
I've been here a week and a half now, and I've lost fifteen pounds...it doesn't seem that much, but if you stack it up to how long I might be here, and I might lose at least thirty-five to forty pounds before I come home. That's, like, half of you!
I have to go, Jared, but I just wanted to write to show you how I'm doing, and if you see my mom...give her a big hug from me.