How did my life end up this way? Just a few months ago everything was perfect, then I throw out my lunch a few times and decide I don't want to eat every meal and everyone thinks I've gone crazy. I wasn't crazy. I knew I wasn't.
All I wanted was to tell that woman I didn't need her help; I was fine. I laid my fragile, bony arm against the wooden chair I was sitting on. No matter what I did, I could not find any comfort as I sat in that dreadful room.
I didn't want to talk to this stranger, this unknown woman I was forced to see, but I didn't have a choice. My parents said I just had to. But why, why!? There was nothing wrong with me! My mom sat in the chair beside me, filling out paper work with my name written on every page. I was so nervous, vulnerable, scared in that moment. I didn't know what details she was sharing. I didn't know what this woman knew about me. I didn't know what was going to happen to me next.
My mind was strong, but my body was too weak to fight my fate. I knew I would be dragged into that office and held there as the 'doctor' tried to pry out the words "I have a problem" from my sealed lips. But the thing is, I didn't. At least I thought I didn't.
I tried hushing the whispering voices in my head.
"You can still lose more weight, you're fine, don't tell her what's really going on."
At this point, I didn't know what I felt anymore. Was I angry? Anxious? Or just afraid to face the fact that maybe I did need help?
"Mom, how much longer are we going to wait here? I want to go home. This isn't fair I don't want to be here!" I whined.
"Sam, we've only been here for 5 minutes! Relax! You need to talk to her, you don't have a choice."
Only 5 minutes? Why was time moving so slowly? I wanted to dart out of those large, imprisoning doors and make all this end. I needed some time alone, some time to think and calm down. I was not going to share my thoughts with this woman. She couldn't make me speak. I would simply sit there and wait until my hour was over, then come outside and silently endure the car home.
"Samantha, she's ready to see you now," the overweight woman behind the desk in the washed out, grey shirt said to me.
"Great."