I guess you could call me muscular. It wasn’t until I was in fourth or fifth grade, when you start that semi-awkward phase before the official puberty-ridden awkward phase that I became less lean and more full. Full breasts, full hips, full legs; I was full or “filling out,” as that antiquated phrase suggests.
Read MoreI stood with my head buried deep in the pantry, scavenging for anything that I could eat without preparation.
Read MoreI am 21. Impulsive, reckless, young, and the epitome of self sabotage. People often tell me, “You don’t know. You have no clue what the real world is like yet.” Maybe they’re right. Maybe I don’t, but I definitely know enough. All I have ever needed to know. I know this world wants to see me wither away, the embers of my soul burned to ash, into nothingness, just like me.
Read MoreI’ll never know the real catalyst for why I was able to pivot so quickly months after disordered eating had become so much a part of my identity…
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