When I was 16 years old, I had a metabolism that was to die for. I could eat anything I wanted, whenever I wanted to, and was always hungry, which led to developing an undesirable habit of snacking at 3 a.m. My parents saw the litter of dishes and snack wrappers in my room that I had been too lazy and tired to clean up before crashing back into bed and wrongfully concluded that I was closet bingeing. Coupled with my string bean frame, they were concerned enough to book an appointment with a therapist. Unyielding in the face of my denial and protests, I soon found myself subjected to Thursday afternoons spent with Janet.
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