I stayed in the hospital for three days before being sent back to the eating disorder facility. That is the bad news. The good news is that I got switched to the girls unit to keep me safe. Oh and let's not forget that all the boys involved in beating me up got sent to the state mental institution.

I no longer hide in my room all day now that I'm on the girls unit. I watch ratatouille with Jessie and Eva most the day, and when we're not watching it we're quoting it. "Anyone can cook but only the fearless can be great," Eva says. "I don't understand you guys. You won't eat food but you'll watch a movie about a rat that cooks?" That staff asks. "I don't like food... I LOVE it," I say everyone starts laughing. "What's so special about this ratatouille guy that you keep watching it?" The staff asks again. "The rats name is Remy not ratatouille!" Jessie says. "Sorry, Remy," the staff corrects himself. "He's inspirational!" Jessie says as she fakes being offended. "Sorry I didn't know," the staff says hoping not to 'offend' her again.

Everyone's still laughing and making jokes. I start thinking about what the staff was saying. Why do I watch a movie about food if I hate food? Maybe I want a better relationship with food. Maybe I want to get better.

...

"I'm scared. I eat, but I'm scared. I'm scared of what will happen if I eat. Will I get fat? Will people bully me? Am I not gonna be good enough? Was I ever good enough? Was I ever skinny enough? Was I ever the perfect body type? Will I ever be the perfect body type if I start eating? No. There's no such thing as perfect. No matter how hard I try I will always think I'm a failure. I would've kept trying until I died because there is no such thing as perfect. I need to learn how to accept my body. I need to stop being afraid and that is really fucking hard, especially when the person I'm most scared of is dead. All I have is that last opinion they had of me," tears start streaming down my face, "Why couldn't I be what he wanted?"

"I'm sure whoever you're trying to impress is looking down on you and is proud of how far you've come," Jenna says. "I doubt it," I reply as I wipe my tears. "Well if you don't think they're proud of you then do you think that they're worth impressing. Because we're all very impressed with how far you've come and that's the only opinion that should matter. Anyone who thinks otherwise is probably not in a healthy state of mind."

I nod along. I've learned to take the advice of the staff here because chances are they probably know what they're talking about. Jenna moves on to the next person. His name is Klaus and my gaydar is definitely going off. Apparently he started doing drug so that he wouldn't be hungry anymore. He just got out of rehab and he thought his social worker was gonna take him home but she brought him here instead. I feel bad for the poor guy. He worked his way through one program just to get stuck in another one.

As soon as group ends and everyone starts walking away Jenna stops me in the hallway. "I think we should set up some one on one meetings. I feel like there are certain things you're not opening up about in group and I think it would be easier for you to talk about it if it was just you and me," she says. "What are you saying? I didn't open up enough?" I accuse her, "Maybe there are just some personal things that I don't want to share. Also, I have been open so that is gonna be a no." "It's okay. I can't force you," Jenna says. "Can I go now?" I ask. "You're free to leave," Jenna tells me.

I walk back to the unit. Some of the girls who were in group with me start telling me things like, I'm brave or I'm strong. They tell me that I don't need to impress people and I have nothing to be scared of. If only it was that easy. We get in line for dinner. We walk to the cafeteria. I grab a tray. Tonight we're having Salisbury steak, mashed potatoes, green beans, and a chocolate chip cookie.

My heart is racing as I think about all the food. I take a deep breath. It's just food. I haven't had a panic attack at meal times for about a month. I'm trying really hard to get released. I've been in here for three holidays. Three holidays too many. I do what I normally do before I eat. I go through all the positive things that eating brings. Like getting released, seeing Dallon everyday, not disappointing my mom, I'll be able to wear more clothes, food tastes really good, I won't feel so sick all the time, I'll be happier. Then I think about all the negatives that come with not eating. It's pretty much just the opposite of the positives. I'll be stuck in the hospital forever, I can only see Dallon for one hour, five times a week, my mom will be disappointed in me, my clothes don't fit me, I'll be hungry all the time, I'll feel sick to my stomach, I'll be depressed, and I'll have to count calories. I don't want any of that.

I get my food and sit down at the far left table where the rest of my unit is sitting I sit across from Zack. He's usually sits across from me because he's the staff member who sits with people who haven't eaten yet after the majority of people are done eating. I have been finishing on time recently but Zack still sits across from me because he keeps me calm when I'm eating. I start cutting up the meat. "You gonna eat it or just keep cutting it up?" Zack asks. "I'm gonna eat it," I say. When I'm ready to eat it I will eat it.
I continue to cut up the Salisbury steak. While I cut it I tell myself I don't need to be scared. I don't need to impress anyone. I pick up one of the pieces of meat with my fork and eat it. Then I pick up another piece and another until it's all gone. Then a start on the mashed potatoes. I mix the green beans into the mashed potatoes. Mixing food makes me feel like there's less food to eat. Then I saved the worst for last. The cookie.

Deserts are definitely my number one fear foods. The amount of calories in such a small piece of food. I close my eyes. I don't want to worry about how much calories are in my food anymore. We had a group the other day with Kristin she told us not to look at food as good or bad. Food is just food. It's all about the amount of it that you eat. This is just one cookie. It's not like I'm eating a whole tray. I open my eyes and pick up the cookie. I take a bite out of it. It tastes good. I don't have to be scared of it. I don't need to impress anyone. I eat the entire cookie.

I go to my room after dinner. All I can think about is the last thing I remember my dad telling me, "Really Brendon? You've gained that much weight over the school year? Maybe you should just no longer be aloud dessert after dinner if you can't keep your weight down." I shouldn't have eaten that cookie. Dad is gonna be so mad at me. I need to purge. I pace my room back and forth trying to decide what I'm going to do. Then some more memories start coming back. "Stop being such a fat ass Brendon. You don't need to eat dinner tonight," my father says to 8 year old me. "But dad I just wanted some fruit snacks. All I had at lunch today was the salad you gave me and I got hungry. Please let me have dinner!" I beg him with tears in my eyes. "Stop whining! I'm not gonna allow you to get fat!" My dad screams at me. I start crying, "I'm sorry daddy. I was hungry. I won't do it again. Please let me eat dinner." "When your mom gets home you're going to tell her you're not hungry and that's that!"

I rock back and forth on the floor crying. I stick my fingers down my throat but I can't get myself to throw up. I stand up and walk out of my room. I wipe my tears and pretend like I wasn't crying. I walk over towards Zack. "C-Can we talk," I sniff. "Yeah do you want to talk off the unit?" Zack asks. I nod my head. We walk over to a table off the unit. "What's up Brendon?" Asks Zack. "I'm trying really hard to get better. I really am. But there are some memories from my past that keep me from wanting to get better. I'm just trying to impress someone who isn't even alive. I don't know why I want to impress him. He was mean to me but i-its because he's my dad," I say with watery. "I understand. A boys biggest fear is disappointing their father. My father wanted me to be a professional football player. He was so mad at me when I told him that I wanted to become a Certified Nursing Assistant. He said boys aren't supposed to be nurses, but now my dad fully supports me. It takes time but he came around and I'm sure yours is probably proud of how you've turned out," Zack says.

"I don't think he is. There's something else but I'm not ready to talk about it."