I eat. I love eating. I have no problem with it, and I really enjoy the explosion of different flavors in my mouth. It's an interesting experience and I truly like all kinds of dishes.
The problem starts when the very last mouthful is gone. That's when the guilt comes into scene. I suddenly feel horribly for eating so much and start to get dizzy. And that's only the tip of the iceberg.
This whole matter goes back to primary school. I was a lot fatter than I am nowadays but I still cringe every time someone calls anybody else fat. I was bullied. I was that one fat, nerdy girl with glasses, braces and two-size-bigger clothes. I was full of joy till fourth grade. I was a little girl becoming a pre-teen, and I wanted boys to think I was pretty. I started to notice those stares and glances that the boys in my class shot me. They were not checking-you-out looks. They were laughing at me. So I started feeling bad about myself. I had to get nice clothes. If that's what it took to be accepted, I was gonna spend every cent of my savings in clothes shops. Of course, I had never cared about fashion before, and when I went shopping for the first time I was really disappointed. I would find a really nice shirt and immediately fall in love with it. I would see it on a mannequin and it would look stunning. And then, excited, I would go and try it on. Imagine the look on my face when I saw how the shirt fit me. It didn't look the same on me than it did on the other girls. I was horrified. I then realized that it was gonna take a lot more than a shopping therapy to be liked. I started obsessing over calories. I didn't eat half as much as I had been eating before. I practically  starved myself to death every day, and I kept track of all of it in a tiny notebook I took everywhere. I couldn't bring myself to enjoy eating because it was too painful. Everyday I watched as my friends took pizza for lunch as I chewed my lettuce. All the cruel things the boys told me hurt me even more than anything. My mom worried about me and she said I was perfect. Of course I was, in her eyes. But I wasn't happy with my body. I did a long diet that lasted for three long years. In seventh grade I started to eat a bit more and that's when I hit puberty. I grew taller and slimmer, and my body curved-up.
I was still uncomfortable with myself. Boys started noticing me, and I was happy about it, bit I wanted more. I started to work out and until now, three years later and in high school, I'm still not able to like my physical form. I've lost a lot of weigh, but my mental image is similar to that ten-year-old  girl that discovered that nobody liked her because she was fat.
I look in the mirror and see nothing but imperfections. I put on make-up and fancy clothing only to find that the real problem is **inside my head.