i waited in the doctor's office, smelling the carpet and my legs were shaking. up and down. down and up. i tried to read some magazine that was sitting in my lap but the skinny models with boy like hips made me want to go wretch up what i had previously ate that morning. not because i was sickened by their bones and skin but that i was sickened by mine.

one might say that it was my need to be skinny that gave me this ulcer. but it came long after the years of punishing my body for trying to be different then the norm. it came when i left the comforts of my room in new york and went in search of something better in another state.

that something i never found and still haven't even found it in L.A. i don't fully expect to find it in L.A. so i don't try.

i am not trendy. my glasses are not hip and my messenger bag is not filled with hand lotion and notebooks. i don't wear nikes and i won't go into gap. i just don't fit in here. i am not even close to fitting in here. why?

because i don't stare at my reflection in the double mirrored glass of the big office buildings. when i run my shorts don't match my shirt. when i smile my teeth are not perfect and when i walk.. my ass wiggles.

so anyway.. i was in the doctor's office waiting. he was late.. it was normal. my watch [that for some reason i had put on that morning] ticked loudly against the silent, stiff air of the waiting room.

my name was called.

i told him about the spicy vegetarian chili and how it probably wasn't the way to go. either was the EXTRA chili powder i had added to it. he nodded and wrote something down. i just wanted to stop feeling the hole in my stomach get larger. but it was then that my doctor looked over my chart and raised an eyebrow at me.

"i'm eating," i assured him.

he nodded.

"i'm not stressed out."

he nodded.

"i'm happy."

"You need to cut down on your stress level. You need to help your bodies chemicals balance themselves out. You have to stop running around and trying to save the world... you also need to eat more.. and don't forget to get some rest," he smiled too hard at me, handing me a prescription for some oddly named drug.

i crawled into my car a few minutes later and cried. but just as quickly ast it started, it ended and i wiped my face off and drove away. somewhere back in that office building was a chart that had my name on it.. it had my past medical histroy on it and probably in bright bold red letters it said eating disorder or some variation of that. they always tell me to "eat more". i could break my arm and they'd tell me to "eat more".

it was and always will be the first [and last] thing any doctor ever says to me. it's like going to prision, getting clean and then getting out. your future employer always has to ask about prior convictions. no one ever tries to realize how far you've come.. or everything you've gotten past.

instead they just keep looking at the past and making you relive it.. day.. after day.. after day.