A serious post, coming your way!
I was thinking about my friend Amy the other day after being invited to the 2008 Renfrew Reunion (which is way too depressing and weird for me to handle this year), and I realized I need to (need to) write a semi-autobiographical but not really, long-ish story full of humor and hijinx about my time there.
I'm sick of novels/documentaries about eating disorders and how self-indulgent, melodramatic and exploitative they are. Like, look at how secretly, freakishly glamorous this woman is for eating two apples per day, eventually reaching an unprecedented low weight of -45.73 pounds! And then, one day, on the verge of death, BAM, she starts eating again and is now completely better, even thought she's still 20 pounds underweight and on a low-carb diet.
It's the same fucking story every time, and (in my opinion) isn't helpful to anyone reading it. It intrigues non-sufferers and makes those who are suffering covet thinness even more.
What they don't tell you is that your mind wastes away too, your thoughts captivated by unnecessary drivel, starved into submission. It can be a slow, corrosive process that sucks the life out of you in ways you wouldn't imagine. I couldn't write for two years. I could hardly read ten pages without being exhausted. I lost friends, wasted summers.
Agh. And for something so silly. Thankfully, not too silly to make into a story. Or perhaps just silly enough for the best kind of story?