This is my body. It is MINE. I am not ashamed of it. In fact, I love everything about it. Men find it attractive. Clothes look awesome on it. My brain rides around in it all day and comes up with funny jokes.
I remember her picture: somber, willowy, standing on a bathroom scale, her shoulder blades jutting out like wings. I looked at her and felt my whole being compress into a single strand of longing. I wanted that. Anorexia.