TW: Eating disorder/weight/depression/panic attack 

Guys just a reminder if you relate to this please know you're not alone and you deserve recovery!!! 

Ambrose was knelt in front of me. The water was on the ground by his knee. I hadn't given an answer to his question of whether he could get me anything because I couldn't find enough reasons to ask for food. 

He sat back on his ankles and said, "It wasn't - you weren't triggered by anything I did, were you?" 

I shook my head immediately. "Not at all." 

"Alright. That's good. Uh, are you okay? Like, was that...does it happen a lot?" Before I had answered, he shook his head and looked down. "I'm sorry. I don't want to overstep a boundary or anything. You don't have to answer that." 

"No, it's...it's alright." The floor was uncomfortable. Or maybe it was my body. Everything ached. "It barely happens. Like, almost never. I don't know. Once or twice a year, if that." I straightened my legs out in front of me. God, I was so exhausted. 

Ambrose nodded. "You don't know what caused it this time?" Then, "Fuck, that's way too personal of a question for me to be asking you. I'm sorry. I just - I feel like sometimes talking to people you barely know can be easier than talking to someone you know well. But please don't tell me anything you don't want to." 

Where the fuck had this man been for the past eleven years? I wanted to tell him anything. I didn't know why. Something about him - maybe the way he spoke - made him seem like the safest person in the world at that moment. 

"No, I agree," I said. "I mean, there's a reason helplines exist, right?" 

"Right." 

God, I was so fucking hungry. "It's like you said with your ex. Lots of little things turn into a massive fucking mess." 

"Sure." He noticed me wrapping my fingers around my wrist and for a second, our eyes met. "Life can be overwhelming." 

Understatement of the year. "Yes it can." 

"Well, if you need anything..." 

"Oh. Thanks." Whether he meant it as in water or tissues or as in, 'I'm here if you need anything', I wasn't entirely sure, but I didn't ask. "I'm sorry, I've totally overstayed my welcome." 

"No, you're fine. You're good." 

I listened to my stomach growl. I knew he heard it too. I closed my eyes because I was sick of it.

I said before I could back out, "Are you, like - you're in a good headspace? If I tell you what's wrong, you're not gonna feel suffocated by it? I don't want to contribute to anything you've got going on." 

"I'm good." He assured me. "If you need to get something off your chest, I'll listen." 

"It just feels like a lot. You know? I barely - I barely know you." 

"So? Doesn't mean I don't care. Anyone can see you need somebody to listen to you. I realise that sounds like I'm saying you don't look good, which is not what I meant at all-"

Surprising myself, I laughed and cut him off. 

He raised an eyebrow. 

"Sorry, I just completely forgot that people exist outside of my job. You know, that there are people who don't just want to mould me into their perfect idea of beauty and then forget all about me. And they're all fucking judgemental, demanding twats. I can't fucking stand them anymore. I can't fucking stand them. Fuck." I said the word sharply and pulled my legs back up against my chest, whispered, "fuck," as though I had hit a revelation even though I hadn't. 

"Tell me about that," he prompted. "If you want to." 

"God, you don't wanna hear it. You do not wanna hear it." 

"Sure I do. Hit me." 

"What breed are you?" Yes, I know. Weird fucking question, but cut me some slack, I was running on empty.

"What?" 

"Why are you - I don't understand what you're doing." 

"What do you mean?" 

"You don't know me," I said.

"No, but I hope if I needed someone to listen, there'd be someone there who would." 

My stomach rumbled again. I thought, I fucking hate everything. 

"Do you wanna get some food?" Ambrose asked, and I both dreaded and welcomed the question.

What the hell was I supposed to say? That I was trying to lose six more pounds? Or that I was sick of trying to lose six more pounds and hadn't eaten a proper meal since that fucking photographer told me to lose six more pounds? Or that I had no idea why the hell I was starving myself when I hated everything about it? 

Whatever I said, it couldn't be that I wasn't hungry, because he had heard my stomach at least twice by this point. 

I asked, "Do you have the time?" 

I really should buy a watch. 

"Nearly five," he said. "We can go for an early dinner somewhere, if you want? Or I can stick something from the freezer in the oven." 

"I have to be really honest with you right now." 

"Shoot." 

Was I really going to tell him? A man I had known for two weeks? A man who didn't even know my last name? Was I going to let him on a secret that only my parents and Lonny knew? 

My heart thudded. I couldn't not say it now, after that. I couldn't not tell him. I had to tell him. If I didn't tell him, I worried I'd go through with one of my suicide plans when I got home. I worried I was having some sort of breakdown and if I didn't say something, I'd be fucked. I had to tell him. 

How is it that everything can fall apart so quickly? How is it that one thing can trigger such an intense spiral? 

Ambrose waited for me to speak patiently, didn't ask me to spit it out like my parents did whenever they thought I had something bothering me. 

I thought, fuck, just tell him. 

I was going to cry again. I shook my head and looked up at the ceiling. My entire body was trying to sleep. 

I said, "I'm starving myself." 

I couldn't make myself move to catch his immediate reaction. 

There was a long silence. I had no idea whether that was good or not. My mother had never been silent about it. She'd been more horrified by the diagnosis than I ever was, wouldn't shut up about it for weeks, months. Like somehow I had personally offended her by having the audacity of developing such a thing as anorexia. 

In a soft voice, he said, "Fuck, okay. I'm so sorry you're dealing with that. Uh, do you...do you want support with it? Like, do you want me to eat with you, or help you in any way? Or do you not want me to talk about it?" 

I thought, fucking hell, have I actually found someone who isn't going to make me feel like shit? 

"I don't know," I admitted. 

"Okay. Um, when - when did you last eat something? Like, something proper?" 

"I don't know." 

"Alright. Okay." Still with my eyes on the ceiling, I heard him move. "Does anyone know?" 

"My parents. My best friend. Well, they know I used to. They don't know I'm doing it now." 

"No one else?" 

I shook my head. 

"Do you want me to help you tell them you're doing it again?" 

"I don't know." I dropped my head down and looked at him. "Fuck, you don't have to care this much. "

"Hey, no, don't say that. It doesn't matter how long I've known you. You're struggling and I could never not care about that. Everyone deserves to have someone care. I think you'd be the same if the roles were reversed." 

"I would, that's true." 

"Yeah, so let me care, okay? You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, but at least just know that I care. Alright?" 

"Okay." 

He smiled. "Alright. You tell me what you wanna do. I'll drive you if you'd rather go home." 

"What d'you have in the freezer?" 

"Oh, I'll have to check. Could be anything, to be honest. Fucking mystery box, my freezer. Uh, do you wanna sit in the living room? A couch probably beats the floor." 

"Yeah, thanks." I watched him stand, hesitated before saying, "Will you just stay while I get up? I might black out." 

"Of course." Again, he smiled. 

That he didn't try to pull me up was appreciated, and I stood slowly, taking a long breath in once I was upright, determined to beat the onrush of dizziness. "Shit," I mumbled. "Shit, Ambrose?" 

"You're okay. I got you." 

Indeed, he had got me, and he held me steady, one hand at my waist and the other holding my shoulder. Vaguely, I wondered what he was thinking, if he had noticed how my body felt against his hands. I tried not to care. 

"Alright?" He asked. 

I blinked and blinked again, waited for my eyes to clear up and focus. "Fucking hell," I breathed. 

"You okay? Wanna sit back down?" 

"No, just...give me a sec." 

"Alright." 

I didn't move. I let him keep me steady while I breathed. I could have fallen asleep right there. "Okay," I said. 

"You okay if I let go?" 

"Yeah." 

Slowly, he stepped back, watched me for a moment before turning and beginning for the door. 

I thought, I should have hugged him.