Warning: This post may be triggering for those with a history of disordered eating.
The girl in that picture thought she was super fat. This was the summer after my senior year. I was on crutches because I had a stress fracture in my foot. I had put on maybe 15 pounds total by this point, partially due to a vacation where I ate like a normal person and partially due to inactivity from the stress fracture. Those 15 pounds felt more like 15 tons to me.
My solution? Read books and websites to learn how to have an eating disorder. I wanted to make myself anorexic (like I thought I was the Pretender and could be anyone I wanted just by doing a little research). I was feeling pressure to keep up with the identity I built for myself. So, I starved myself. I had several days when I would only eat a banana. Basically, I was addicted to hunger. For a while, it worked.
Eventually, I tried the whole throwing up thing. I remember eating a whole package of chocolate chips after a long time without food (maybe a couple of days) and then throwing it up. The good thing was that my face got red and blotchy and my mom asked what was wrong. I explained everything and she took me to a dietitian.
The dietitian helped me get back on track and I lived happily ever after. The end.
Just kidding! I slowly started eating more (still weird, but more), but I was headed for an eating roller coaster for the rest of my young adult life. That’s because It didn’t address the real issue: my heart.