Mia
56 kg and falling

Hello, Diary! Ugh, what a mixed up day. Just finished vomming up a packet of peanut-butter chocolate thingies, a big budget bag. A Mega Bag, it said on the outside. Yay for Mega!
I've done something incredible. I've started a food blog! (groan! you say, but shh) … instead of showing pictures of delicious treats my blog shows pictures of food that is easy to purge. Isn't it genius? Isn't it darling and clever?
I shall call it Two Way Street.

I was proud of that little corner of the universe. I took all the photos myself, taught myself lighting and composition and read underground books about all those secret tricks to make the food look extra delicious.
I worked harder on it than for any other college project, or any other project for that matter. I conducted clever and cunning research on what food was best suited for, you know...
It's amazing the amount of banned literature one can get from high-school girls (I still had a few contacts there, particularly girls who had failed so many times their only hope was to find a rich husband or go into porn). Food was, after all, my life. It excited me, challenged me.
If I thought about it, food ultimately became, in fact, me. My body. An idea that blew my mind every time I pondered it. What are little girls made of? Secret cakes and stolen candy, public salad and private steak.
I didn't get any attention on the site until I started posting the photos Ana had taken of me in my underwear and put them next to the food. My goals, I said jokingly, because my boyfriend always used the word goals whenever he talked about gym, which was a lot. My thinning body attracted a lot girls to the site, and some haters, but that was to be expected. The haters wanted me to be ashamed of what I was doing, to be ashamed of my writing, ashamed of the example I was setting. I didn't let it bother me because the haters were probably just fat guys pretending to be girls, you never knew on the internet.
I struggled to use the mouse for long periods of time, the bite marks where I spontaneously clamped down on my right hand occasionally flared up into cramp. My dad didn't want me to use his computer and sometimes hovered around when I was browsing the web, so I had to sneak my site up using Ana's silver laptop.
I thought the site was beautiful, but never perfect enough. I sacrificed a lot of time to it, but I was worried people would find out my real identity and send me insults like they did when I was fat. We must suffer to be beautiful, Ana said, no one is born perfect. I added the quote to the blog.

At Ana's place I showed her some of the responses and comments on my site, Ana's body-check photos prominently displayed next to my food photos. Body By Ana, I wrote underneath each one. Some of my followers were even copying me on their blogs.
"The camera obviously adds 20 pounds," Ana said, and went back to browsing fashion on her Mac, a sliver of a laptop with the same ideals as her.
"What about the food photos? They're pretty good, don't you think?"
Ana shrugged and carried on reading the fashion article, flicking through photos of flat chested tweens dressed like people twice their age. "I don't like food."
"I put a lot of work into those photos, Ana."
"No one cares about your happy meals, Mia. Upload photos of me, then you will get attention."
"I'm not doing it to get attention," I said, putting away my phone, "I'm doing it because its what I love. I think I want to be a food photographer."
"Don't be stupid," Ana said, "you have no talent as a photographer. With your brain maybe just keep your dreams simple. Waitress or something. Like Sophia. Focus on losing weight so that you can find a rich husband."
I had no words for her then, she had a way of cutting into me, the worst part was the fleck of truth reflected in the hurt. We sat around for a while, not doing anything specific.
"I'm bored."
"You're always bored." Ana's Italian accent was especially thick today.
"I just want something to give me sensation. Something real."
"So what do you want me to do, whip you?"
Today I had wanted to share my work with her. Wanted her to encourage me, but instead Ana turned away and messaged Sophie, shutting me out completely when their conversation become intense.
I left without saying goodbye, not that Ana would notice. I tried to slam the door but it clicked shut pathetically behind me.
Ana was in a bad mood and didn't want me around to elevate her thoughts or infect her with my joy. It felt like we were Ana's accessories to mix and match depending on her state of mind. Now she wanted to roll around in Sophie for awhile.