I’d make it all the way through dinner and up to bedtime without giving in to my desire for garbage food. But then I’d be lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, obsessing. No matter how full my stomach was from dinner, it would twist and growl and insist on its fallacious emptiness. And so, inevitably, I’d end up in the kitchen after my parents had gone to sleep, and I’d gorge myself on snacks. Many times, I’d cry while I ate, looking at the thin bodies of my classmates in the sexy pictures they posted on Instagram.
