crash&burn.

   The Therapist is an obese, middle aged Asian women. Height: About 5'3. Weight; About 220.
   For an hour, we've been talking about me. About my weight, food, about the holes in my skin.
   "Well, it's nice to hear you've recovered so well this past year, Arianna," she says with a soft smile.
   I smile back, the corners of my lips tugging up and my eyes creasing automatically.
   "Yes, I am too. It's nice to be myself again."
   "Now, what has changed that you are doing better with your perception of yourself now?"
   I bite my lip and pretend to consider before speaking. "Well, I think mostly I learned to accept that no one is perfect, that everyone has flaws and talents."
   She beams. I choose the correct answer. "Very good!" She compliments like I am a dog that has learned a new trick.
   I pass the tests with flying colors.
   I'm returning next week for a follow up, but I am nearly divorced from my treatment team now. I lie so well that I talk loud enough to cover the sound when I know my stomach is about to growl, that I rehearse my lines in the mirror.

    She invites my parents in next and asks them questions, too.
   They smile and nod and talk about how we are much more open as a family these days. They smile and nod and talk about how their 'little girl is back'. Mom forgets to talk about finding food logs, or liters of diet soda in my drawers, or cuts on my arm.
    We all know our script.


437.