Brooke-en Glass & Smith-ereenes

Brooke-en Glass

"Hi I'm Brooke and I am sixteen." I said to Ms. Kathy for the 1000th time. Ms. Kathy is my physiatrist. Every time I visit her she makes me clearly project my voice saying my name and age, "to build confidence ".She is a rather large woman, who wears all sorts of things that just look like the circus threw up. She says it is the way she shows confidence.I go to Ms. Kathy every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. My foster dad, Bill, said I needed her. I don't think I need her. I just think I need someone to love me. Bill took me in about four months ago after his wife had left him. I had been in a foster agency for three years, and I have never stayed this long at someone's house before. I got into the foster home three years ago when my father had went to jail for rape. My momma had killed herself after my daddy went to jail. My family has never paid attention to me, and always paid attention to the drugs, money, and sexual desires. But I ain't talkin' about it no more.I do not have any siblings related by blood, but I did have a few in foster families. Anyway, let's get back to Bill. Bill is (like I told you) my foster dad. He is very wealthy too. I don't have no clue about what he does, but he sure makes a fortune. Bill had no children in his previous marriage, so it is just him and I.

Bill makes me feel uncomfortable. Don't get me wrong he is a very attractive man. I feel weird because he is always invading my personal space. He stokes my back and sometimes lays his hands casually on my chest or inner thigh. I pretend to think nothing of it every time.

Okay, back to me. Yes, I am depressed. I take medication, and I receive help too. Just because I take medication and receive help, does not mean I will get magically cured. Like I said I do go to Ms. Kathy three times a week. I have to see her because Bill has found out that I do drugs, drink heavily, cut myself, and on top of that I starve myself.

I know all of this is bad for me, but it just makes me feel alive. Well, except for the hangovers. Ms. Kathy has already made progress with my drinking problem. Which is great to know. But my biggest problem is my anorexia. I have been to the mental hospital three times. For one week each. It's a scary place, but at least I am alone. Bill is not allowed to come unless it is from twelve o'clock to one o'clock, which is party of his every day shift.

I love food. I hate food. I um, love/hate food. I always feel fat. I am five feet and five inches and ninety pounds. Just hearing those damned words make me shiver and cry. I will never feel beautiful. I'm too fat! If I eat some cheese, I run on the treadmill. If I eat salad, I run on the treadmill. If I eat anything,I run on the treadmill. I can't stop being anorexic. I also cannot stop being fat.

How about we talk about something positive in my life, Smith. Smith goes to therapy classes. Smith has high anxiety after he watched his best friend get run over by a train when they were drunk one night.

But the thing I love about Smith is