Unlike the two-year-old who doesn't realize how important that answer is, someone with an eating disorder gets it. Gets that if she can just figure out how, maybe all the pain and fear and hatred and sorrow and guilt and shame and secrecy and torment could be gone. And that's all she wants. ...
I have battle scars on my arms, and stretch marks and loose skin on my baby-bearing belly. My thighs and legs are tiny, my hair and eyes are brown, my breasts disappeared with the infancy of my children, and pimples, freckles, blackheads and laugh lines are the make-up of my face.