I look into her tired eyes, noticing every wrinkle surrounding them. The wrinkles were clearly from stress. I have no idea how she can handle being a therapist for crazed teenagers.
"Megan, can you tell me how this started?" She asks.
I smile innocently, "How what started?"
"Well," she opened the file that was laying in her lap and read from a paper in it, "anorexia, bulimia, self harm, and a suicide attempt. It says you just recently got discharged from the hospital. They had to pump your stomach because you swallowed a bottle of pills. A few weeks before your suicide attempt, you were discharged from a clinic for teens with eating disorders. You were an inpatient there, at Sunny Oak."
I sighed, "You want to hear it all? From the beginning?"
She doesn't say anything. After a few seconds of silence, she slightly nods.
"Well," I begin...
