Read Online Fat Chance by Brandi Kennedy - Free Book Online

water instead of soda, and eat salad instead of fries. He'd looked shocked too, when I'd told him that.
     
    "You just have no faith in yourself at all, do you?" he'd asked, compassion softening his tone. "Okay, here's what we're going to do."
     
    Dr. Caswell had insisted that I switch to weekly weighing, instead of daily. He said, that way, I could keep track of my weight without undue daily stress. I didn't have the heart to argue, to tell him that going an entire week wondering what my weight was would probably increase my daily stress.
     
    He also said that I need to work more actively on building myself up. He'd prescribed a mild antidepressant and gave me a little book full of quotes to use as positive affirmations. Grinning at my confusion, he'd instructed me to take one of each, daily.
     
    Today's affirmation, which floats to mind as I load my groceries into the car, is a quote from Elizabeth Gilbert. "Never forget that once upon a time, in an unguarded moment, you recognized yourself as a friend."
     
    I don't know when that time might have been, that time when I genuinely liked and believed in myself, but my heart recognizes the truth in the quote. Somehow, I have to find the ability to enjoy myself again.
     
     

Chapter Ten
     
     
    Standing in the hallway, I close my eyes and breathe deeply, counting to ten. It's my fourth time here, and I'm still nervous. It's not because of the therapy anymore though; I actually like being in therapy a lot more than I expected to. After my appointments with Dr. Caswell, I always feel as if I've accomplished something big, just in unloading my personal baggage. I don't lose weight, but my appointments with him make me feel lighter somehow.
     
    Still, I'm nervous because he's beautiful, and because I'm totally unprofessional to think so. I embarrass myself weekly, walking into the waiting room and sitting there, pretending to read a magazine while all I can think of is his eyes. I'm nervous because now there's a part of me that wants to stay a little crazily obsessed with my weight, because the misery it causes me is what makes me need him.
     
    I know it's intense, and I'm not sure I like it; I always swore I'd never be one of those girls , those kinds of girls who meet a man and are suddenly so stuck to him that they can't tell where one person ends and the other begins. I don't want to be that kind of woman, I don't want to live that sort of co-dependent life. I don't want to crash and burn the way my father did when my mother died.
     
    Then again, I've never been in love. Maybe someday, I'd like a little bit of co-dependence, that sense of having someone to turn to and someone to lean on.
     
    I just need to remember one little thing. That my 'someone' is not Dr. Caswell. Sexy Mackenzie Caswell, with the searing eyes and the gently reassuring disposition. Because I am a patient. And he probably likes the hot, supermodel type, anyway. Most men do.
     
    Walking into the waiting room, I stop for my usual chit-chat with the receptionist. In the past few weeks, I've learned that her name is Marie. Caswell. As in, she's his mother. I like her; she always greets me so cheerfully when I come in.
     
    "Hi, Cass," she says, smiling warmly at me.
     
    "Hi, Ms. Caswell, how are you this week?" I ask, signing my name with a flourish on the sign-in register.
     
    Her blue eyes twinkle and she giggles a little, which is an interesting sound coming from such an aged woman, but somehow it fits her. "I'm just wonderful," she says to me, glancing at Dr. Caswell's door to be sure it is still closed. "I had a hot date this week," she whispers across the desk.
     
    "Is that so?" I ask. "Well, at least one of us is getting some man action."
     
    "Oh, honey, your days are coming. I have a feeling about you."
     
    I take a breath, trying to think of something to say to this kind little woman who has so charmed me, this woman who sees something special in me that I cannot yet see. Before I can