The Beginnings of the Deathly Cycle
I remember sitting there in my room, which I shared with my stepsister at the time. On the edge of the bed, a magazine balanced over my knees, I read an article about one of my favorite singers—who I admired greatly and, who for obvious reasons, will remain a stranger for the purpose of this work. The article followed her struggles with body image under the spotlight, and in great detail, it described her behaviors with food. And because I admired her so much and wanted to be exactly like her, I decided that day, that in order to be her, I had to go through exactly what she went through. That day, I sat on the kitchen floor and ate too much, I believe it was bread, and then I went to our shared bathroom and tried to get it all out—though as I knelt there over the dirty toilet, nothing came out because I had no idea what I was doing.