Chapter Eleven
New York, New York
Thursday, February 2
4:01:57 P.M. EST

Today Dr. Shonberg is wearing a cranberry-colored turtleneck, cinched at the waist with a black belt, a black skirt with black tights, and black pumps. Somehow, this outfit makes me respect her more. Partly because I approve of it. Also, I think I have those shoes. But her clothes alone won't win me over. I've only just got here, and as I sit down across from her, in the same chair as last time, I resolve to get some answers during this session. I won't leave without learning what I want to know, and I won't tell her anything unless she's honest with me first.

She gives me a friendly smile and says, "So, how's your week so far?"

"I'm bulimic?!" I spit back.

I'm not stunned anymore- just angry that no one told me in the first place.

She only looks a little surprised- and the emotion passes quickly. Taking a sip from the black mug in her hands, she replies with: "Are you?"

"Don't give me that," I snap. "You knew- you must have known, everyone knew."

She doesn't say anything.

"Why didn't anyone tell me?" I demand, feeling the anger boiling under my skin.

I haven't mentioned the bulimia discovery to anyone all week- though I desperately wanted to shake Serena or my parents and demand to know why they hadn't told me- and now it's finally coming out. It feels good to be talking about- to be letting loose everything I've kept locked up inside me. But at the same time, this territory is scary. Eating disorders and psychological histories- it makes me nervous for some reason- but I'm running into the topics, headlong, without restraint.

"I'm sure it wasn't kept from you on purpose," she says.

I raise an eyebrow, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Blair, I wasn't going to tell you about your history of an eating disorder during our first session," she says. "It's a delicate thing- to tell someone they had an eating disorder when they don't remember it. It's not something you want to necessarily remind them of if you don't have to."

I shake my head, disgusted. "It would have been good for someone to have told me! God, how am I supposed to remember anything when everyone's lying to me?!"

"Lying to you?"

"My parents and my friends kept it from me- it's like they didn't want me to know, so they could keep me from ever having the eating disorder again," I say viciously.

She looks at me dubiously, "Do you really think that's why no one told you?"

"I don't effing know!"

We stare at each other for a good minute, she sizing me up and waiting, and me feeling as if I want to ring someone's neck.

"So how did you find out?" she asks, sipping from her mug again.

This makes me pause. "I had a check up with Dr. Ryce on Monday," I tell her. "I mentioned it to him."

"Mentioned what to him?"

Damnit. I knew this would come up somehow.

Taking a breath and looking away from her, I say, "Well, I've been having these dreams about a car accident- where it's raining and I'm stuck in the back of a cab, feeling hurt and shaken. When I wake up from the dream, I immediately feel anxious and both times I've had a panic attack." A shaky breath escapes my lips. "With the panic, I usually throw up."

Dr. Shonberg takes this in, nodding slightly.

"I mentioned it to Dr. Ryce and he asked me if anyone had told me about my history for bulimia," I tell her, my mouth twisting around the word.

"I see," she replies, looking at me thoughtfully. "So how did you react when he told you this?"

I confess, "I freaked out!" I shake my head, "I mean, what the hell?!"

She nods, smiling faintly. "We'll come back to the bulimia aspect," she says. "How was the rest of your week? Has anything changed or happened that's of any importance?"

I'm about to tell her that nothing of any interest happened, but then I remember having lunch with Dan, and talking to him about our relationship and my anxiety. I remember my calling him at four in the morning when I had the panic attack. All the guilt comes to the surface as I think of my one true friend in all of this- Serena- and how I feel as if I'm sneaking around behind her back because I don't want to tell her how much her boyfriend means to me- for reasons I can't even comprehend. But with all the guilt, I'm steadfast in knowing that I don't want to tell her- revolted by anyone even knowing how much Cabbage Patch means to me, when he's been an obvious thorn in my side and a fly in the Upper East Side ointment ever since I shook his hand where ever we were- whenever we first met.

"You remember Dan, right?" I ask, feeling my throat tighten.

"The one person you remember," she says.

I nod, taking a breath. "The second time I had the dream- when I was panicking afterward- I called him."

She waits for me to say more, but I don't. "And what happened?" she asks.

"He calmed me down," it almost sounds as if I'm surprised when I say it.

"Isn't that a good thing?"

I snap, "No! I hate him, I've always hated him!"

She looks at me dubiously, "So?"

"So, what would people think if they knew I was now going to him when I needed help- the one guy I could never stand- instead of my real friends?"

She shrugs, "Who cares what other people think?"

I stare at her as if she's crazy. "I do? Besides, I really don't even like him."

"So why'd you call him?"

This stalls me for a minute.

"Because-" I stop myself and think. Throwing dishonesty out of the equation, I say, "Because he's the one person I know- he makes me feel as if this really is my life, instead of just some bad dream."

She nods, "You obviously need him right now- now, when he's the only person you can recognize." She shrugs a little, "Don't push him away just because of what other people might think."

"But I don't like him!"

"You don't?" she asks. "Or are you keeping yourself from liking him because of what you remember- because of what other people expect of you?"

I stare at her, letting this sink in.

Shrugging once more, she says, "I'm not saying you need to share your life with him, Blair- but I do think pushing him away right now will only be bad for you."

After my session- by ignoring my mother's wishes and walking home instead of taking a car- I find myself in Central Park, breathing in the chilly air and shivering in my coat. I'm thinking about Dr. Shonberg's words, not yet convinced that I should openly be friends with Dan- not all that keen on the idea of disregarding what everyone else thinks. I mean, I may not be familiar with them as my friends and peers, but that is who they are, and I can't consciously forget that. No matter what my psychologist suggests. However, there is another part of me that so desperately wants to welcome Dan into my life with open arms- no matter what I felt for him in the past, and no matter what we once knew of each other. But my good sense tells me to promptly discard this idea- which, of course, I do.

"Blair."

I look up to see someone- Nate, my ex-boyfriend- walking over to me. He's pulling iPod earpieces out of his ears, and he's dressed in sweats, smiling at me carefully.

"Hi.... Nate," I say cautiously, hoping I'm not mistaking him for someone else.

"How are you doing?" he asks, sounding as if he actually cares.

I give him a rueful smile and say, "I'm doing okay. Still not remembering, if that's what you really want to know."

He frowns and says, "I'm sorry to hear that."

I shrug a little.

We stand in the cold for a moment, silent, before the awkwardness sets in. Nate takes this as his cue to speak again.

"Listen, about Sunday- you know, at brunch- when Chuck said-"

I cut him off, "Don't even defend him."

He shakes his head, "I'm not defending him- I don't even like him right now. But, listen, he was my best friend and I know how he thinks."

I stare at him, suddenly annoyed, "And what are you trying to say exactly?"

"All I'm saying is that you guys were kind of together- I know that much- and you remember Dan Humphrey," he says, as if it should all be obvious from there. When I don't take the bait, he elaborates, "Chuck is sensitive enough to take it personally. He probably doesn't get why you didn't remember him."

I stare at him, my mouth open slightly.

"I don't have any control over who I remember-"

He cuts me off, "I know that. But- if it had been Serena, or even me, that you had remembered, it would have been different. We're of importance to you, and Chuck would have been able to understand that."

"And Dan isn't of any importance to me?"

"No," he replies automatically. Then, he stares at me, rethinking this and asking, "He isn't, is he?"

I roll my eyes, "He is now- but only because he's the only one I remember."

Nate nods.

After another beat of silence, he says, "But what he said- about me thinking you're a slut...."

I stiffen at this, staring at him challengingly.

"Look, I did break up with you because I was hurt and I was angry," he tells me, playing with his iPod earpieces. "But, I don't think you're a slut or- anything."

"Because I have amnesia?" I counter.

He stalls, then says, "No-"

"That's why almost everyone is pardoning me, so don't feel bad," I reply tiredly. "I appreciate what you're saying though."

He shakes his head, "Blair, I never thought that about you- even when you had your memory and I broke up with you. I was angry that you would sleep with my best friend, but- I could never think that about you." He tries to give me a little smile, but frowns and says, "Especially after what I did to you."

I know what he means. He's talking about sleeping with Serena when we were dating.

I give him a warm smile, "Thank you, Nate."

He nods, smiling too. "I'm glad you're okay- aside from the amnesia, that is."

"Thanks."

"And I know it's hard for you- what you're going through," he says, a little awkwardly. "But if you ever need anyone to talk to or a friend, I'm here for you."

I can't help it, I step forward and put my arms around him, pulling him into a hug before I can convince myself otherwise. He's taken by surprise for a moment, but it doesn't take him long to hug me back. I've needed another friend- some more reassurance and kindness- and Nate's sweet gesture is greatly appreciate.

When I pull away from him, my eyes are burning a little and I blink a few times, saying, "Thank you. I need a friend now."

He nods, smiling at the vulnerability I'm displaying, saying, "No problem."

After another beat of silence, I say, "Well, I should probably get home, but I'll see you later?"

He nods, waves as we part ways, and starts to jog down the trail away from me.

I'm feeling marginally better as I make my way out of the other side of the park and start towards home. But a hundred friends- even ones like Nate and Serena- couldn't alleviate the Dan problem right now- do I want to risk it and be his friend too?

Or not?