Wasted: a Memoir of Anorexia And Bulimia
“I leaned over the garbage can and was violently, involuntarily sick.
Two weeks later, I boarded a plane with my choir for a tour of the Far East. In Hawaii, our first stop, we went to the beach. In my head, I looked terribly fat, at least compared to the other girls. Pictures of us show toothy grins and skin gleaming with sweat, arms flung around one another's shoulders. I look tired, pale, and plenty thin.
I had the bright idea to lie on the beach in my bikini for twelve hours without sunscree...n. I am extremely white. I slept, that night, under an enormous aloe leaf, my skin blistered with second-degree burns from face to foot.
We flew to Japan, my face mottled with blisters and peeling skin.
My memory of the ancient cities of the East is skewed by the way my bra bit my raw skin, the way the airplane seats peeled parts of my skin off. My memory is skewed, too, by the uneasy guilt in my belly. Not to eat would be an insult to my host families, but if I ate, where would I throw up? I remember every single goddamn meal: what was served, what I ate, what I threw up.MoreLess
Two weeks later, I boarded a plane with my choir for a tour of the Far East. In Hawaii, our first stop, we went to the beach. In my head, I looked terribly fat, at least compared to the other girls. Pictures of us show toothy grins and skin gleaming with sweat, arms flung around one another's shoulders. I look tired, pale, and plenty thin.
I had the bright idea to lie on the beach in my bikini for twelve hours without sunscree...n. I am extremely white. I slept, that night, under an enormous aloe leaf, my skin blistered with second-degree burns from face to foot.
We flew to Japan, my face mottled with blisters and peeling skin.
My memory of the ancient cities of the East is skewed by the way my bra bit my raw skin, the way the airplane seats peeled parts of my skin off. My memory is skewed, too, by the uneasy guilt in my belly. Not to eat would be an insult to my host families, but if I ate, where would I throw up? I remember every single goddamn meal: what was served, what I ate, what I threw up.MoreLess
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