The doctor walks in and has a seat on his swivel stool. He sets a clipboard with paperwork attached on the counter along with a laptop.

"So, Gwendolynn, we're here today to talk about an eating disorder?" he asks.

"Yes," I whisper.

"When did this all start?" he looks at me quizzically.

"About halfway through my freshman year of high school," I murmured.

"And where are you in school now?"

"I'm nearing the end of my sophomore year."

"So this has been going on for awhile then?" he asks, concerned.

"Yes..." I trail off.

"What kickstarted this whole ordeal?"

"To tell the truth..I can't really pinpoint an exact reason. I started feeling depressed around seventh grade and started cutting myself soon after. I've been doing that ever since. It soon seemed as if controlling my eating was the only way to control my life at all. Everything just got out of hand so quickly. I hated myself. I still hate myself. Eating repulses me. I'm still unhappy with my life and my body. I don't know what to do anymore, and I feel as if I'd rather die than live to try and make any of this better," by the end I'm in tears and so is my mother.

"Gwendolynn..it's obviously a very bad thing that you feel this way. We're going to get you the help that you need right away. I'll let you be outpatient, but you have to promise to cooperate and eat and get back to a healthy weight. I am diagnosing you with chronic depression, anorexia nervosa, and general anxiety disorder. You're going to get better, and everything will be okay. I'm also going to start you on some anti-depressants along with weekly therapy sessions."

I end up walking out of the doctor's office with a new prescription and a therapy appointment. I also have to meet with a dietician to "get me back on the right track" so that I can gain back all the weight that I worked so hard to lose. Fantastic.