I never could have guessed that I would be here today, sitting in a big room in an old converted mill building, inhaling the sterile air. My chair squeaks beneath me as I bounce my foot up and down nervously, waiting. The woman who opens the door is round-faced, with kind eyes and a fake tan. I’m surprised they didn’t strap me down, I think, since I tried to walk home after my mother had coaxed me out of the car. I don’t want to be here, in case you haven’t guessed. So here goes nothing. Awkward snacks, blood pressure checks, weigh-ins wearing  paper jonnies; everything according to plan right? Exactly how I pictured my high school years to be. Pain, sadness, and belly-aches after gigantically proportioned, perfectly balanced meals. I can hear mom up late every night crying, and it kills me to see dad so upset. “Everything is ok” I tell them; but it’s not, not really. None of my friends understand what is actually happening. My Favorite Friend refuses to help me because “I’m too fat to have an eating disorder.” The school nurse is my new best friend: we eat lunch together. My teachers were notified of the Situation and now they give me the Eye of Pity, and they ask me how I am. The dark seems to be closing in and I feel that there is no escape. But time is the best medicine- that’s what they say right? Days pass, then weeks; meals are easier and I now know how to tie a jonnie- correctly. Smiles creep onto my face now and then, and every so-often a laugh escapes my lips. “I’m getting better” I tell them; and I am, really. After what-seemed-like-a-week-but-was-really-a-lot-longer, the kind eyed, round faced lady with a glossy smile tells me that I have completed the Program. And I’m glad, really really glad- happy even. Right about now you are starting to wonder when I will meet The Boy and Fall in Love like the title says. You think that I’m odd for telling you this, or that I listen to heavy metal music because I was depressed, or maybe that I am vain and superficial because I use Behaviors. The People at the Place told me that I couldn’t say what I was doing because I may trigger you to want to do Something, so we call those Things Behaviors. So back to my Love Story that Pushes Romeo and Juliet off its Pedestal and Makes Nicholas Sparks Wish He Had Written It. I have been out of the Place for a year. I have hard days, but most days I am a normal teenager. I don’t attend Hogwarts, and I don’t breakout spontaneously into song (complete with a choreographed routine for the other people in the hallway- my new backup dancers). I drink tea and read E.E. Cummings on the weekends, and I listen to old music. I have big dreams, close friends, and a lot of homework. Yesterday I walked back into that room with the brick walls and I breathed in the comforting smell that it boasted. I hugged the lady with the kind eyes and the warm heart and I laughed with the other People. It felt nice to visit; they invited me to speak, to give motivation and inspiration to those who are at the Place, Struggling. I told them my perfectly ordinary story and I answered their questions. And when I walked out of that big room with the high ceilings and the old mill windows, I realized that I did it. I turned the keys in my ignition and drove home, thinking how extraordinary my ordinary life really is. And that, my friends, is my love story. There is no Boy, no Special Song, or Romantic Moment. My Love Story is epic and ever going, because I’m learning to love myself without my Ed.

I am free.