I looked at my calendar and silently groaned. “Therapy again tomorrow? I just went last week. There is literally nothing else I can say. I’ve said it all.” And there’s some truth to that. I’ve been in and out of therapy since I was 15. Having eating disorders, anxiety, and depression means my butt has been on a lot of old couches with stiff pillows, while surrounded by fake plants, cheesy quotes and various assortments of self-help books. Nonetheless, I…