My Eating Disorder is Just as Grotesque as Yours

You know, telling me to eat a sandwich is just as rude as me knocking yours out of your hand, mid-bite. Every time you say "put some meat on them bones" and then shove a handfull of walnuts into your chubby squirrel cheeks, I feel offended, not flattered. You are not giving me a compliment when you remind me that my collar bones protrude disgustingly from my chest or that my usually round face looks gaunt and skeletal.

I know you thought it was kind of nice to have a conversation with other people, in front of me, about how I would be pretty if I were one of those "cracked-out heroin models" but I really don't look pretty at all this thin.

I remember how it used to be cool in the 80's to have anorexia. It was the designer eating disorder. Then came bulimia. You weren't cool if you weren't barfing up all the food you had just gorged yourself on. Then in the 90's diet pills and laxatives were all the rage. Shitting your pants in public was almost cool, as long as you could still shop at 5-7-9. But now, someone decided that being an overeater is a disease too. Jillian Michaels and the Biggest Losers made that possible. Now society doesn't feel the same way about skinny bitches, now they are just bitches. The newest fad in eating disorders is the comfort eater. The over eater who eats to take control of their environment. Now we all cry with joy when someone looses enough weight to make a whole other person.

So, please, let's just ignore when I take my belt off at the airport, my pants fall down, and I won't draw attention to the fact that while you read this, you ate an entire loaf of banana bread. I hate my body just as much as you hate yours. The only difference is that I don't ridicule you about it.