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“Hello, Health Services.”
“Hi, I’d like to make an appointment with Dr. X?”
“And what is this regarding?” (is what I imagine she said, but I don’t recall the exact words)
“Umm… an eating disorder, maybe?”
It felt really weird to say that. Partly because I’m pretty sure it’s not an eating disorder — at least not the way it’s usually defined — but it’s the closest thing I can think to call it. But it was strange to say it to someone who isn’t my parents. When the receptionist looked for a time to book me in, she had trouble finding a twenty minute slot, since those kind of appointments usually take a little longer, she said. Which means, well, one, it takes longer, which, well… I don’t know why. But two, “those kind” of appointments happen, well, more than just this once. Which, well, of course, obviously. But this appointment is not going to be, “I hate myself because I’m fat”, it’s going to be, “I hate myself because I’m lazy and skinny.”