He doesn’t react. Like, at all. But he says, “Is that a thought you often have?”

I sit with that for a second. “No. Not in a realistic, substantial way.”

“Have you ever come up with plans or done research on how to—”

I don’t let him finish. “No, never. I don’t want to take my own life.” As I say the words, I know them to be the truth. “I was just overwhelmed by my eating disorder and all the stuff happening with Jack, and it was like I couldn’t breathe. I can’t even have a moment where I’m not consumed by food or the pain I’m in, and I just …”

He takes a deep breath. “Oftentimes, those thoughts are your body wanting to experience relief. It doesn’t mean you actually want to die.”

“I don’t.” I barely choke that out as my bottom lip trembles. “I just don’t want to be in pain anymore. From Jack, from the eating disorder I’ve had on and off since high school, and the body dysmorphia I’ve pretty much always had. I just want to feel … me. Not that I know what that even feels like.”

He narrows his eyes. “And how does Jack tie into your feelings about your body?”

“If Jack, the person I loved, can’t even defend or claim me, how can I claim myself?”

“So,” he starts, “your emotions in regards to your body are connected to Jack?”

“No, but I’d had everything under control until things with us fell apart.”

“Is that true?” Sweatervest puts the pad on his desk and leans forward. “In my experience, it’s a lifelong battle learning to cope with body dysmorphia, especially when it’s tied to eating disorders, and while this experience with Jack might have triggered a relapse, I’d be interested to know if you had those compulsions before what happened between you?”

“Your experience? What are you? Twenty? You don’t look much older than me.”

He leans back. “Is my age important to you?”

I shrug. Because, of course, it’s not. I’m being an asshole, and I know it.

“It seems like you’re avoiding my question.”

I fall into silence, which feels like it’s crushing me with everything left unsaid. “It’s like the monster under my bed at night. I know it’s there when I turn off the lights, so I can never sleep. And the lights are always off.”

“That’s interesting.” Dr. Sweatervest bites the corner of his lips as he thinks. “Let’s work with that, the monster under the bed. Oftentimes, I find it may be helpful to personify your feelings. I want you to think about your body dysmorphia as a physical being. What does it look like to you? Close your eyes, and what do you see?”