I find out quite quickly that the inpatient care I'm at only accepts a few patients at a time and costs a lot of money. I didn't know this when Warner dropped me off, and I assume he didn't tell me because he knew I would freak out at the price. Especially since he is covering all of the costs. The counsellors and Doctors won't discuss money with me so I can't figure out the exact amount but I know it's a lot.

I was upset about being sent so far away to a place none of my friends were allowed to visit but now I know why I had to go three hours away. This was the best of the best.

I am greeted with patience and soft smiles in the hallways, in the garden, or when I am completing my school year with my tutor. But when it comes to eating and talking, the staff never let us forget who is in charge

The name of my primary counsellor was written in my welcome packet, which included my daily schedule, the rules of the facility, a map of downtown Barrie for the days we go into town, and a sheet of paper with a layout of the house.

Kayla, my counsellor was adamant about the fact that everything I told her was confidential.

There were no games this time. No midnight exercise parties in the shower for me. No dumping my food in the plants or sticking it in the garbage when nobody is looking. I avoid the drama of some of the other girls here, running away from the pain as fast as they can. I hope they figure it out.

The concept of eating is scary. The nasty voices are always on call, eager to pull me back down but I do not let them. I put all of the bites in my mouth and try not to count. It's hard. I take half a cinnamon bagel. and the numbers jump out at me, boo! Half a bagel (165). Whole bagel (330). Two tablespoons of full-fat cream cheese (80).

I breathe in slowly. Food is life. I exhale and take another breath. Food is life. And that's the problem. When you're alive, people can hurt you... It's easier to lock everybody out.

But it's a lie.

Food is life. I reach for the second half of the bagel and spread cream cheese on both. I have no idea how much I weigh. This scares me almost to death, but I'm working on it. I am beginning to measure myself in strength, not pounds. Sometimes in smiles.

I read a lot. I write awkward, random poetry. Our floor goes on a field trip to a restaurant. I eat a waffle with syrup, and I ask for more.

The first time I went a day without crying over calories I felt a release so beautiful; I could have cried.

I like my therapist here. We talk until the dams burst and the tears flow because I'm angry. But nobody storms out of our sessions. Nobody uses nasty names. We all take turns shovelling through years of muck. Sometimes I think my skin will burst into flames. I'm angry at my mom. I'm angry at my bullies. I'm angry that I starved my brain and that I sat shivering in my bed at night instead of dancing or reading or eating ice cream or kissing my boyfriend.

I'm learning how to be angry and sad and lonely and joyful and excited and afraid and happy.

I am learning how to taste everything.

I don't lie to the nurses. I don't argue with them or throw anything or scream. I sometimes argue with my therapists, but they listen. Take notes.

There are no visitors and I'm not allowed a personal cell phone so I do most of my communication through email or letters.

My friends email me almost every day and I can tell they're trying not to talk too much about all the fun they are having without me, but the happiness practically leaps off the pages of their handwritten letters, and I smile when I finish reading them. They deserve to be happy.

Adam sent me an email the other day with a photo of a pillow they bought for Warner that had my face on it. His next email included Warner asleep cuddling with the pillow. I showed my whole floor the photo and it gave them a good laugh.

I get letters from Warner. Almost every day without fail a flat, business-sized envelope is waiting for me in the mail slot with Warner's boxy handwriting on the outside.

He makes sure to let me know in every letter that he is very much still in love with me and that he misses me just as much as I miss him.

I miss them all.

But I can't have visitors.

Not yet.

___

Today was a good day.

I was shown a picture of me in high school. The exact same pictures my mom taped on the walls of our home gym to motivate me to work out.

I used to look at those photos and feel disgusted at myself.

Now I look at the photos and I want to hug the girl in them.

I want to tell her she is beautiful and smart.

I want to tell her that she doesn't need to starve herself for her mom's love because she will never get it.

Love from a parent isn't supposed to be earned its meant to be unconditional.

The type of love my friends give me, the type of love Warner gives me.

____

Today is a big day. It is the Westshore final cup game and I won't be there to watch Adam and Warner play. I try not to be too upset about it but it's hard not to be when I think about how much I wish I could be there to cheer them on.

My counsellor Kayla hands me my almost daily letter from Warner with a huge smile. Today's envelope is different. There is a message on the front that says not to open it until the game starts.

"Now I know you can't go to the game, but someone called us up and told us we should play it on the big screen and cheer him on together." Kayla smiles at me.

I didn't even know if I would be able to watch the game. Let alone have everyone watch it with me.

I wasn't alone.

I look up at her about to thank her but before I can say it she hands me another package. When I open it, I find a Westshore jersey, personalized with the last name Brooks and a foam finger. "It was your boyfriend's idea to let you watch and he thought you might need this. He told me you are his good luck charm, and he is quite convincing."

I almost tear up at the sight of the foam finger. He hasn't forgotten about me. Nobody has.

Ten minutes later I'm sitting on the couch, wearing my Brooks jersey and foam finger next to almost every girl on my floor. All of them have heard about Warner and seen his many gifts and letters so they are certainly curious to see him play.

Since the game is about to start I open the letter.

To my Juliet,

I called your inpatient team and they informed me that you still don't have access to your laptop so you might not be able to watch the finals. Luckily, I am so charming that I was able to convince them otherwise. I wouldn't be playing in the game today without you. I don't know if I would even be here without you and I don't think I can win today if you aren't watching.

I wish more than anything that you could be here cheering me on. Being on the field without you, it feels like I lost a limb. These past weeks without you, I feel like I am missing a part of myself.

Since you can't be here, I have come up with a code so I can talk to you throughout the game. It is described below.

Touching the ribbon = I'm thinking of you

Pointing to my heart = I love you

Holding up three fingers = I miss you

You are such an intricate part of my life, of my heart and I am still very much undeniably and whole-heartedly in love with you.

I miss you so much it hurts,

I'm yours, Juliet. Today, tomorrow and always,

Love, Warner

P.S please continue looking after my heart; I've left it with you

Kayla grins at me as I read the letter and I wonder if she can read the page from where she is sitting. I smile shyly at her as the announcer announces the Westshore lineup.

I spot him easily among the sea of players, not just because of his height, but because I would recognize my Warner anywhere. I try my best not to drool over him, not to trace the beads of sweat as they run down him but it's tough.

I only allow myself twenty seconds to marvel at the cutting edge of his jaw as the camera pans towards him and the announcer announces his name.

He looks directly at the camera points at his heart and then holds up three fingers as he walks onto the field.

I love you, I miss you

I try not to well up

"Oh my god that's your boyfriend?" my new friend Haley asks, her jaw practically on the floor.

"Yes, that's my Warner." I smile, proud of how far he has come and proud of how hot my boyfriend is.

"I want to lick the sweat off him." Another girl chimes in, which I pretend I don't hear.

Adam runs onto the field and the girls appreciate him as well. As the game goes on they start to get quite into it, and even more of the counsellors come in to watch the game with us.

____

Almost every time Warner is on the camera and the play has stopped, he touches the ribbon on his wrist. I don't know if it's a nervous movement or if he truly thinks of me that often when he is on the field.

But my lucky ribbon is bringing him luck because Westshore is winning with only a few minutes left in the game and Warner has been on fire all game. Everyone on the couch had to shift away from me because I started jumping up and down flinging the foam finger around in excitement.

5 minutes left in the game. Westshore is winning 2-1.

2 minutes left and I'm gripping the couch so hard I think it might break.

The final whistle blows and the entire room bursts into cheers. Everyone has come into the room at some point and they are all rooting for my school's team.

The cameras pan right to Warner after the whistle and the first thing he does is point directly at the camera, then to his heart followed by the three fingers.

I love you, I miss you

Then he mouths the words For you

After that the screen is a blur of fans running onto the field, reporters crowding the players and I'm standing on the couch, pointing my foam finger in the air, grinning like an idiot.

But for once I am not thinking about whether I am too heavy to stand on the couch or if this is an unflattering angle. I'm not thinking about the snacks I just ate. I am just happy for my Warner and Adam.

Happy.

There is no magic cure, no making it all go away forever. There are only small steps upward; an easier day, an unexpected laugh, a mirror that doesn't matter anymore.