From then on it went completely downhill. I try to forget about that year, those feelings, those struggles. I try, but they all keep coming back whether I want them to or not.

I did whatever I could to stay home from school. To not eat, or go outside. I wanted, craved to be confined to the four walls of my bedroom.

I wouldn't eat. No matter how hard my parents tried to get me to, I simply did not eat. From all the anxiety and lack of food, I became extremely skinny. I was 20 pounds underweight. You could easily see my ribs, shoulder blades, color bones, and hip-bones. My legs were like tooth picks, my cheeks and stomach sunken in. When I look back on how I looked, I feel sick. I was too thin and it was obvious I didn't take care of myself. It made me wonder how nobody noticed how sick I was. And if they did, why didn't they say anything?

The school phobia was horrible. Every bad word you could think of and that was what it was like. My parents had to come home from work to literaly drag me to school.

I hated myself for that. Their jobs were at risk and they didn't need more stress. They already had me to worry about.

After about a month or so, nothing got better. In fact, it may have gotten worse. What I hated the most though, is that nobody noticed. Even if they did, they wouldn't say a word. I felt so unloved and worthless. I felt as if I were just a burden on peoples lives. I was feeling so many emotions, but I was good at hiding them.

Edward never noticed anything either. That kind of stung a little. How could he not notice? He did this to me! And as much as I never wanted to be near him, I did. We sat across from eachother and talked often. Is it possible to love and hate somebody at the same time?

Yes, yet it is.


It was mid-February. The morning was rough. My dad had come home and was beyond mad which was understandable. I was crying, yelling, breathing heavily, and dragged to school. More specifically, the office.

I hid my face in my dad's shoulder, completely terrified, having about the third panic attack that morning. The secratery told the other 2 students who were in the office not to stare. In a way, I was thankful for that, but also embarassed and ashamed.

Mrs. Lombardi came out of the teachers lounge. I always thought she was nice. She had short brown hair, looked in her 30's. She was curvy, not fat. Had a pretty good, comfortable taste in fashion. She was the school councelor. I never really cared much for the school councelor, not seeing any reason to have one there until that very day.

She continued walking with papers and a water bottle in hand until she saw me. I remember her, coming over to me.

"Hi, Bella." She bent down to my level.

"I'm Mrs. Lombardi, which you may already know."

I stared at her, unsure of what to do or say. Should I shake her hand? Say hello? Anything? Instead, I just gave her a small nod.

"Would you like to come with me and hang out in my office?"

I guess if any teacher said this, a student would think they were in trouble. But, in this situation, it was completely different. I contemplated. Why should I go? I could handle this problem on my own. I didn't need anyone. I had gotten that far on my own, why change now? Getting through it with my own strength would mean so much more. But, what if I had one person to just talk to? To vent to once and a while. Would that work? I doubted it.

I had continued this little battle in my head for a couple of minutes until I gave a response. I looked up at Mrs. Lombardi, my vision blurred by my tears.

"Yes." It was a simple, one word answer, right? But, sometimes one-word answers aren't exactly simple.

She held out her hand and I took it. We walked to her office which was located near the library.

We played cards, which I beat her at mostly and it was obvious she was trying. We had laughed and talked what we enjoyed doing and about our familys. She continued throwing questions at me.

"What do your parents do? What's your sister's name? Do you like sports or music?" I answered her saying that my parents had really big and imporatant jobs so they weren't around that much. I talked about my sister Jessica and that I only like swimming and am more of a musical person.

I had asked her if she was married, had a child, and things like that. But, the one question I most wanted to ask slipped from my tongue.

"Aren't you going to ask me a million questions about how I feel?" I had asked, forming my hands to make air quotation marks as I said the word 'feel'.

She looked up from the cards and simply said.


And sometimes, one word answers are simple.

From that moment, I knew this wouldn't just be the start of my healing proccess, but the start of a new friendship aswel.

Just to let you guys know, Mrs. Lombardi isn't her actual name.

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