At 22 years old, 200 pounds of lean muscle mass and 4 percent body fat, I sat and listened to women describe their anorexia. Which is the most fatal mental health condition. Organ failure, wasting away, suicide.
Several were ballet dancers. And then me, the new in-patient. A 16-year-old talked about needing to be smaller. I didn't get it. She was tiny already. Me? I needed to be bigger.
By 2002, those forces converged into a confused, weightlifting, binge-eating law student named Justin. I crashed hard. One night I had enough of my cycles and was ready to end them all. For good.
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