Fat Chance by Brandi Kennedy Read Free Book Online Page B

cannot live with. How can I ever expect anyone to love me, as I am, if I don't even like myself? How can I show anyone the good in me, if I can't see it?
     
    So I've just hung up the phone; I called a therapist who does emergency appointments. He's agreed to see me today, and even as I go through the process of admitting that I'm messed up and I need help, I can't turn it off, my instinct to berate myself mercilessly.
     
    Wow, you just can't get more screwed up than this , my inner evil cheerleader chants. Therapy? Now you need therapy? Poor little chubby lady, can't keep her big fat emotional breakdown in check.
     
    Unfortunately, for me, my sweet and confident inner girlfriend is silent today. Maybe she's drowning herself in chocolate-covered chocolate ice cream.
     
    Anyway, it's a long morning, getting ready for the appointment with the therapist and making the drive to the office, all with the constant broken record of self-abuse constantly playing in my head.
     
    I walk in the door of the office and take a deep breath, looking over the waiting room. It is simply decorated, with a receptionist working behind a window, just as if this place is a regular office instead of a refuge for the mentally cracked. I walk close and clear my throat, drawing the attention of the receptionist, smiling in spite of myself as I am greeted by faded blue eyes in the midst of a sea of wrinkles.
     
    She must be in her seventies, and as she pats her fluffy cloud of short gray hair, she smiles back at me welcomingly. She looks the way I imagine my grandmothers would have looked, had they been given the chance to grow really old.
     
    "Uh, I'm here for an appointment. Cassaundra Keaton," I say, trying to force some volume through the nervous lump in my throat. I know my face is colored; I'm not sure I've ever felt more humiliated than I do right now, having to admit that I really have lost control over my life, and that my own emotions are my biggest fear. It's hard to admit to myself that I am my own worst source of emotional and physical danger.
     
    "Dr. Caswell is expecting you, dear," she says, her short manicured fingernails clicking away on the keyboard. She's smiling to herself, and I can't help wondering why. She looks me over, and her smile grows wider; my hand rises up without my permission, my fingertips smoothing my hair. Her scrutiny makes me nervous, so I look behind her to the clock, her little wall calendar, and some pictures she has framed on her desk.
     
    "Um, do I need to sign in or anything?"
     
    "Nope, your work insurance has already been run," she says kindly. She can obviously tell how embarrassed I am. "I ran it myself after you called this morning, so all you'll need to do is fill out some paperwork. He wanted to see you right away though, and has instructed me to hold your paperwork until after the appointment. You can take it home, so you'll just need to bring it back before we can proceed with your next visit."
     
    "Oh," I say, a little confused. "So, um -"
     
    "You can just go on in." She smiles kindly and waves her hand, showing me which door to go through.
     
    Nodding my understanding, I open the door and walk into a room that is dimly lit; somehow, I suddenly feel reassured. The office doesn't have any windows, but there are huge lighted paintings on the walls that give the small room an open feel. He's dressed his office with my comfort in mind; it looks like a small, intimate living room, and I am reminded of home, of Janet.
     
    "Hi, I'm Mackenzie Caswell." He stands from his desk, and I am shocked to find myself rather suddenly attracted to him. Usually, I'm so caught up in my own concerns that I don't notice other people in detail, but this man is a shock to my senses.
     
    He has dark hair, but I can't really place the color; the dim light of the room and the short military style of his haircut leaves me unable to label his hair as anything but "dark." Sharp, steely blue eyes look me over, fringed