“Does she eat now?” They laugh at dinner over their third helping of spaghetti at the busy bar and grill. Their banter continues and I suddenly feel as though I might puke at the thought of putting one more bite of baked penne pasta into my mouth. Their laughter is ignorant. Girls do not just decide to not eat. What is their problem? Why do they think it is funny? They have no idea…the struggle that poor girl went through and likely continues to go through. “You’re done?” One of them says to me eying my half-eaten plate. “yes” I say matter-of-factly trying hard not to scream at them. It is not their fault they killed my appetite, but I hate them for it anyways. At that point I wish I weighed some ungodly number, like 92 pounds. It’s ironic, because I hated them for making light of someone else’s eating disorder; someone that they knew, but at the same time I desperately wanted to be the one they were talking about.

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