I dance with my classmates in ballet class, acutely aware of my largeness compared to their petite figures.
I listen as my friend tells me her thighs are too big, and I silently wonder if mine are too big as well.
I ask to try on a dress, and the store owner dismissively tells me that they don't carry a size large enough for me.
I watch, mute, as my high school roommate prances around the room in her birthday suit, championing her own beauty and her muscles, criticizing the lack of mine.
I sneak oranges from the dining hall and skip dinner.
I panic as my dress no longer fits. I binge until it holds itself up again. I starve until my tummy looks kind of flat again.
I look in the mirror and see someone sizes larger than me.
I forget to eat.
I fit into a pair of jeans that chafed my hips when I bought them years ago. This time, they are too loose.
I shake up meal supplement powder in a mason jar and force myself to put something in my body.
I wince as I chew and the sores inside my mouth hinder my progress. I make mashed food so I do not have to move my mouth when I eat.
I make and drink soup because it sneaks nutrition to my body with the least effort.
I nearly cry when my college roommate makes me food that reminds me of home, to try and make sure I don't starve.
