Friday, 26 February 2010


So why be thin? I wouldn'y know, never have been. I did once, years ago, through a judicious combination of bulimia and laxative abuse, get down to about 9 stone, but that must be the lowest ever.

My sister is thin; I've never seen my mother eat lunch. Or breakfast for that matter. She put me on a diet at eight. At sixteen, she encouraged me to have black coffee and cigarettes for breakfast and wouldn't make me sandwiches to take to school. Instead, I got a bag of cheese and peanuts. WTF? Hello, fat content. Needless to say, I'd scarfed them by recess and became the most helpful person in the school canteen so I could get something to eat which I'd try and throw up later on.

My father would sit at the table at supper, staring at me eyeing the chips and pizza which was the plat du jour many jours, chanting 'resist it, fight it.'

What a twat.

No wonder I have fucking issues about eating.

What a pathetic and sad little tale.

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