Addicted Inheritance

I noticed Cooper before I actually met him., smoking his Marlboro Reds just outside the glass window... just out of reach.  It's been two days since I stopped smoking and it seems to me, that everything I've said and thought for the two days somehow suggested cigarettes. Two days ago, I came to this place... Two days ago, my freedoms were ripped away, and I was forced into this ANAL schedule.1

Robert Butler once said, "I am just a businessman, not a poet."  Well for me... it's always been the opposite.  Fuck economics and precal... I could live on the streets as long as I had a guitar in my lap.  I'd be just as well doing that... in fact... I'd be completely content... But... Mom had me sort the eyes, and education comes first in her mind.  How do you overule the matriarch of the family?  My dad can't even do that.2

I look around to find a few teen girls crying, and the rest of the crowd is glaring.  I'm not willing to accept help, so there really is no point in my being here.  There's an overweight woman in tears, telling her story, and looking in my direction.  I'm confused, so I listen.3

"I know, that when I walked in that door two days ago, everyone thought: 'Oh great, here comes a fat girl.  Why is she even here?'"  Her gaze melts into my gaze... My heart starts beating, and my eyes start to water.4

"Hillary, you look moved by this, what are you feeling right now?"  I cock my head to the side at the sound of my name.  The leading therapist points to the posters behind her, several posters with lists of feeling words.  They're all a blur at the moment.  I can't read that right now.5

"I just... i know how she feels..."  I say this half agreeing with myself.6

"Use a feeling word... or... do you want to give Cheryl a reality check?"  The therapist gives me one of those "work with me" looks.  Like I want to give her a fucking 'reality check.'  They're all the same... basically you just say "Oh, its ok... you're beautiful, and a great person, and... you're not fat."  I'm not going to do that to her... I relate too much to her to be such a bitch.7

"I, uh... I feel sorry for her?"  I immediately regret my choice of words.  "No... i mean... I feel..."  I scroll down the word lists, and decide to just read a few out loud. "Melancholy, worried, anxious, unhappy, angry..."  I stop.  Angry?8

"Angry, Hillary?  What about."  She looks suprised.9

"Society... screw society... I know how she feels... can't we leave it at that?  I know how it feels to tell yourself not to eat, and then be so fucking pissed of at yourself for eating that damn meal or two you had... and I know how it feels to think everyone judges you as soon as they see you..."  Now Cheryl and I are both crying.10

I search the face of every skinny girl in the room for some kind of... reaction.  They're all just wide-eyed, a few tears for our tears, but nothing more than that.11

I think back to the one-on-one sessions I've had with various thin ladies:12

"Hillary, being skinny... or having a boyfriend are not going to make things all magically better."13

"I know."  Yeah... i said 'i know,' but really, she's the clueless one...  being romantically alone, and physically... irregular... well those are the two things that add up to about 95% of my pessimism, and all of the negative shit I've been through.  If i lost some weight, and/or got a boyfriend... I would be happy.  I know this... and she'll never understand... only Cheryl, and any other girl in our "condition" will ever understand.14

That's the overweight understanding.  Thanks society.  Now I need a cigarette.15