I’m bulimic. I feel like everywhere I go, people are staring at me, wondering how on earth a person could be so fat and feeling good that they aren’t as disgusting to look at as I am. I feel like food controls my life. I’m overweight but not obese; I wear an American size 12-14, which is about average. I have excellent blood pressure and I work out. But every time I see someone skinny on TV, I feel like a failure. You have to be skinny to be beautiful. You have to be beautiful to be loved. I don’t throw up because I want to be skinny; I throw up because it numbs the hurt knowing that I’ll never be good enough in anyone’s eyes for anything—friendship or relationship.