I can’t eat much most of the time. I’m always eyeing my portions and making sure I have less on my plate than the skinny people, so that they don’t look and see how I’m a fat pig stuffing myself with too much food.

When I was younger my mother always told me I ate too much and told me to stop being such a pig.

“Oh my God, Elizabeth! You don’t need to eat so much!” she sneered every time I made myself a plate. Was it really so much? Once I was at my uncle’s and I took too big a bite of steak and he slapped me across the face in front of my father.

“ You can’t take big bites like that in public!” he roared.

But I don’t see him much anymore.

Last time I was at my mother’s she hovered over me all day acting all concerned, and she wouldn’t stop trying to give me food I didn’t want. I kept telling her I wasn’t hungry.

“Oh my God, Elizabeth! You have to eat!” she sneered at me like she was concerned. But it doesn’t matter because I turned it all down, because I’m still fat.