Epstein took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. Going up to the doors, he asked a security guard if he was in the right place. With his confirmation, he walked in through the doors and headed up to the admissions desk. When the receptionist didn't notice him at first, he cleared his throat. She held up a finger to indicate she would be with him in a moment. She finished what she was working on and hen looked at Epstein.

"May I help you?"

Epstein swallowed. "I, ah, I need to check myself in." He hesitated, unsure of what he needed to say. "See, I need help and I didn't know where else to turn."

He looked her in the eyes. It was clear that, on top of not getting much sleep, he had been crying.

"Alright. Well you're in the right place. Hold on one moment."

She turned to a nearby file cabinet and opened a drawer. She rummaged through some papers inside. Taking a paper out, she clipped it into a clipboard, and then handed that and a pen to Epstein.

"I need you to fill out this form. We'll get you processed and then go from there."

"Thank you." He mumbled.

He took the clipboard over to some chairs and sat down. At first, he looked at the form while trying to fight back his emotions. Taking the pen in his hand, he started filling out the form. Everything on it was excruciating for him to fill out, especially once his vision blurred from tears. He tried his best to keep his writing legible, but with his rising emotions and his rapidly falling tears, this was an increasingly difficult task.

Secretly he had known for a while that he needed to get help. But he had been too scared to face the reality of it. So, just like with other things, he tried his best to block this out. And even though he knew he had a large support system with his family, friends and even his teacher, he never felt more alone. He was afraid that by checking himself into the hospital, he was admitting weakness. If he couldn't get through his depression on his own, then somewhere he must have failed himself. He had to fight these thoughts and talk himself into still getting the help he needed. He had to believe that seeking help didn't make him weak. He had to believe he wasn't a failure. He had to believe that he was doing what was best for him.

Once he was finished filling out the form, he stood up. With the clipboard in his hand, he shakily walked back up to the desk. Each step felt heavier than the one before it. His tears were beginning to fall faster as he let go of all control over them. His hands shook as he placed the clipboard on the desk. He barely heard the receptionist as she told him to sit and wait for someone to come see him.

The next few moments were a complete blur. At one point he heard his name called. Then the next thing that he knew, he was placed into a room. As soon as he could relax, he lay back on his bed and began reflecting upon everything. It wasn't long before someone came into talk to him. In fact, people seemed to be in and out of his room all through that first night, talking to him and asking him questions about his depression. He just hoped that this hospital stay was going to be worth it.

A few days later, Epstein was asked down the hall by a nurse. She explained to him about how they felt he would greatly benefit from group therapy. He was willing to try anything as long as it helped him feel better.

When they arrived in the room, Epstein looked around. The room reminded him of a small cafeteria or gym at school, only much quieter. There was nothing but a circle of chairs set up in the middle of the room and a couple folding tables with refreshments lined up against the far wall. A few people were seated already and talking to each other quietly. He walked over to the chairs and took an empty one. Soon after he had sat down, other people entered the room and then everybody took their seats.

The therapist, Doctor Martin, sat in a chair in the middle of the circle. He started the session by introducing everyone to Epstein. Having messed up his name, Epstein was quick to correct him over the fact that it was Juan, and not John. After a brief apology, Doctor Martin explained to Epstein how this group session was going to go. He then encouraged Epstein to begin sharing.

"Well, I, ah, I don't actually know where to begin."

"Just share some thoughts you have on your mind right now." Doctor Martin replied. "The first thing that comes to mind."

"Alright." Epstein looked down, partly at himself. "Well for starters…" he smiled shyly, feeling a little uncomfortable. "I used to be thin. I was in pretty good shape before all this happened, y'know?" he laughed a little.

"But now it'll be a while before I can get back to that." He leaned back some in his chair. "Not too proud of myself for all this weight I gained. But I suppose I should talk about it since it's all part of this mess I'm in with this depression."

He looked over and felt the burn of tears forming. He cleared this throat before he could speak some more.

"Sorry, I, well I get pretty emotional thinking about everything I've been through. I know I'll start cryin' soon and that ain't easy for me to let myself cry in front of other people like this. But… I figure at this point, cryin' is a lot better than stuffin' my face." He shook his head. "Was a time when I made myself believe the opposite to be true. Which is how I wound up so, so," he motioned along his body. "Well like this. I never would have imagined myself gainin' so much weight. But I have and now I have to deal with it. Along with everything else."

He managed to look up at everyone in the room. "I'm afraid I have a long story."

"Go on," Doctor Martin encouraged, "we're here to listen. Just get out everything you need to say."

Epstein nodded. "Alright. Well here's my story for how I remember it."

...

Epstein entered the classroom in a daze and munching on a snack he had brought with him. Dark circles were under his eyes from lack of sleep. He barely acknowledged anyone around him. He shuffled his feet a little as he went over to his desk. As he sat down, his clearly growing stomach, bulged out some. This put just enough pressure on a lose button on his shirt, causing it to pop off. Epstein groaned in displeasure before mumbling to himself. He then allowed himself to escape from the world around himself as he continued eating.

Glancing up as the teacher entered the classroom, Epstein leaned back in his seat some and tried his best to pretend like he cared about being in class. The trouble was, it was the first day of a new school year, and he already hated being there. If he had his way, he would have stayed at home, in bed, burying all his thoughts and problems beneath food.

It had been a few months since he had started eating to block his emotions. He had put on weight during those months, but he was so deep in his depression that he didn't care. The only thing that helped him get through the day was food. He knew this was an issue and it would only get worse if he let it. But he knew that he wasn't anywhere near ready to face it, especially since it was only one of many issues he had to deal with.

He sat there during the whole class period, doing nothing by eat. At first, he pretended like he was aware of what was going on. But that only lasted so long. The only thing he could focus on, the only thing that held him together, was his food. If he didn't focus on eating then he knew he would start crying. And there was no way he was going to let himself cry in school. He had to keep this up through all of his classes that day. And he already knew it was going to be tough, since some teachers didn't allow eating in class.

Somehow he managed to make it through his classes. The ones in which he couldn't eat were excruciating to get through, but he did it. Sometimes he had to excuse himself from the classroom, so he could go somewhere where he could cry in private. He never thought he would struggle so much with anything. He had been depressed before, but it was much easier to manage then. This time, he didn't know if he could make it through. With food being the only thing that really helped him hold himself together, it worried him about how he might turn out. He had already put on some weight since his depression started, and he knew he would only keep gaining.

But for today, he had to struggle to get through all his classes. He had done it so far, and now he was on the last class of the day. Luckily for him, it was social studies with Gabe. The one class he truly felt comfortable in.

Eventually, the bell rang, but he barely noticed. He stared off into space, lost in his thoughts and still eating. As he sat there, he didn't notice as the other students left. He didn't realize anything until Gabe came over and kicked his desk. This caused him to jump, startled, and he snapped back into reality. He looked around the room, completely bewildered.

"Mr. Kotter where did everyone go?"

"While you were busy eating, everyone left. School is over, Epstein."

"Are you serious?" He looked at the clock to confirm the time. "Oh shi- I can't believe I didn't notice class was over."

Unable to fathom that he had been eating the entire class period, and completely blocking out what Gabe was saying to him, Epstein sunk back into himself. He grabbed his food and began eating again. He didn't know why he was still eating. All he knew was, he had to eat in order to feel better. And that meant he had to block everything out. He only came back to reality once Gabe grabbed him by the wrist, causing him to drop some food. Stunned, he looked up at Gabe in disbelief. It took all that he could to keep his guilt from consuming him.

"I'm going to say this again." Gabe said, seriously. "You need to stop eating. Juan, look at yourself. You were eating all through class like your life depended on it. You were eating in the hallways. You ate everywhere you went. Even in gym from what I hear. Every time I saw you today, you were eating."

"Mr. Kotter I-"

"Juan listen." Gabe cut him off. "You have a problem. It's not just everything you're trying to hide from by eating. It's bigger now. You have a problem with food."

Those words stung. They sank right through him, striking every nerve the entire way. He felt his breath become trapped in his lungs. His throat burned as he tried forcing his tears away. He tried to fight against the pain from hearing those words. There was no way he was going to accept that he had a problem. But the truth was, he already knew. He was too scared to face it, because he knew that if he faced his problem with food then he would also have to face everything else he had been avoiding for a while.

Again, he felt the burn in his throat and he had to squeeze his eyes shut in order to keep his tears from falling. He wanted to scream, but suddenly he had no voice. He wanted to run but his legs were paralyzed. He wanted desperately to hide but was forced to be out in the open. Feeling that he should say something, despite not knowing what to say, he made an attempt to speak. But this attempt ended as soon as Gabe spoke again.

"No, don't say anything. You're coming home with me. We need to talk. Just you, me and Julie. We need to get to the root of the problem. We need to get you to face it so that you can stop eating like this."

Unable to speak, Epstein looked at Gabe through tear-blurred vision. He swallowed and then nodded his head. Automatically, he reached to pick up his unfinished food.

"No, Juan, leave it. You don't need it."

Those words stung just as badly as when he was told he had a problem. Those words stirred another battle inside him that he was not prepared to fight. Knowing that he had a problem was hard enough to face. Being told that he didn't need his crutch was even harder to stomach. Food was the one thing that got him through everything. Everything that caused his depression earlier that year. He never thought that he would even hear anyone tell him he didn't need to eat the way that he was. But at the same time, he desperately wanted to eat because it helped him block out a lot of the pain. If he stopped eating then he knew he would have to face all the pain, and he wasn't anywhere near ready or strong enough to face it.

Not knowing what else to do, Epstein made himself leave the food on his desk. It felt like torture, leaving his crutch behind. But he made himself do it so not to concern Gabe even more. He never felt weaker, making himself appear strong. It killed him to leave the food behind. So much so, that when Gabe shut the door to the classroom, Epstein looked back, desperately wanting to go back in to get it. He knew that without it, the journey to Gabe's apartment was going to be one hell of a struggle for him. Somehow he had to make himself do it.