He paced the length of the blackboard as he talked and pressed his hands behind his back to think – his catchphrase, basic emotions. Who knew individuals liked to eat dirt? Pull hair out by the roots? Cut their skin? And the names of disorders I didn’t want to acknowledge: anorexia nervosa, bulimia nervosa. That’s not me. I haven’t eaten from the Chips Ahoy! bag for three days. But you’re thinking about them, aren’t you? The impulse, the silent urges, weighing yourself every weekend – feeling defeated when the needle won’t go down.
“Caitlin, may I speak with you for a moment?”
He was watching me descend the lecture hall steps. He stood at the bottom waiting. When my sneakers touched floor level, I had to look up. A grey patch lined the trim curve of his dark brown beard. I felt the urge
