The anorexic mind is not one which can be coaxed into remission by persistent pleas of changing one's thinking. No, someone who fears the curse of obesity cannot simply convince themselves that all is well; yet they can justify going hours upon hours without so much as a glance in food's general direction. Self inflicted starvation is about looking good, and it is also about feeling in control. It's about watching friends devour cheesecake while you sit in an arrogant silence, knowing you passed it up and that three days later the dessert will be padding their thighs instead of yours. Constant hunger becomes a companion instead of a biological reminder. The hunger itself morphs into a vicious stabbing sensation that never leaves and you learn to love that feeling. You are controlling your body now. With each hour that your stomach roars in defiance another pound will be shed, jeans in a smaller size may be purchased. I seem to write about anorexic thinking a lot because I myself have battled it and still do even as I write this. There was a time when I was a bit pudgy and over the summer I literally stopped eating. The feat was hard at first, but gradually I began to love the feeling of emptiness when I hadn't eaten in almost a day. Clothes fit me better, I could wear a bikini. But the most rewarding, most unforgettable experience was my first day back at school after three months of blissful summertime starvation. Boys who hadn't known I existed told me I looked great. That was all I needed, all I had ever wanted: someone to acknowledge me. I felt as though I had achieved an outstanding goal when in reality I was spiraling deeper into a mutated reality. Anorexia is not something to be treated with pills. You can't just wake up and snap out of it. So many times my mother would say, "Why don't you just stop thinking you're fat?" She didn't understand. My mind was not a force to be reckoned with. Eating like normal people was the equivalent of committing suicide.

That episode happened a few years ago, but when I returned home from Thanksgiving this year my mother noted that I looked a little heavier and although I was not fat, it wouldn't kill me to lose ten pounds. Now the cycle is beginning again. It's been awhile since I've forced myself to go to bed hungry, to go the entire day without eating, but I'll do what I have to in order to look good. When you have a tall, thin blonde room mate and a Spring Break destination already planned, it makes not eating all the better. There is no way to win this game. This sort of thing will probably plague my adult life, haunt my relationships, and what some people don't understand is that it just doesn't go away. You don't grow out of it. Well, at least I haven't been able to. In my brain there is a mountain with a scale on top of it, and the scale reads "115 lbs." If I can climb that mountain and get to that scale I'll feel great about myself, just like I did on the first day of school. I'll never forget when two popular boys walked by me and one whispered to the other, "Look how thin she got," and I felt beautiful. In some ways it bothers me that there might be something wrong with me, but who knows, maybe I just need to work harder to keep myself thin. I was raised in an Italian family where no food could go to waste, and perhaps it is breaking that habit, and not anorexia, which has proven to be so difficult.