Dima

Dima and I dated for almost a year and lived together. Due to stress at work, I almost stopped eating—coffee and a couple of nuts a day, that's all.

Dima was silent at first, but soon he began to notice how I kept pushing away the plates of food he was preparing. He'd slip me sandwiches, put soup in front of my nose, or throw fruit on the table—and I'd barely touch it. He was clearly getting fed up.

One evening, he slammed a plate of hot dinner down in front of me. I picked at it for a few minutes, as usual, and then pushed it away. He snatched the plate abruptly, put it back down, and barked, "What's wrong with that?"

— Enough! Are you kidding me? How much longer can you keep this up? Eat. Now. And don't even think about making excuses—tell me straight: what the hell is going on?