• I sit at the mahogany-stained table, by myself. The room is dim, the only source of light the morning sun streaming through the windows. I stare at the empty bowl crouching in front of me. My heart pounds as I slowly reach my hand out to grab the box of Corn Flakes. I stop, my hand trembling, only a few small centimetres from closing my fingers around the box. I can hear the blood pounding in my ears. Should I do this? Am I really going to do this? How many calories are in one small bite of cereal? Every calory I consume puts extra weight on my body. Every bit of extra weight can and will be noticed by others. I don't want to be fat. I am--

    No. No, I won't fall back into my old ways. I'm a new person. I'm happy with myself. I'm happy...

    I feel my throat close up and my eyes begin to tear over.

    Suddenly I'm no longer at that mahogany table. I'm in the past, my memories playing through my head like scenes from a movie.

    I'm sixteen again. I'm standing in front of the full-body mirror in my room. The reflection that stares back at me doesn't please me. It almost makes me angry. Too much of a bulge around the waist, things too large; everything I look at is just too fat. I resolve to lose weight.

    It starts with "forgetting" to make a lunch for school. Soon it moves on to refusing myself breakfast. I start counting every calory of every bite of food that enters my stomach. After a matter of weeks just the thought of eating makes my stomach churn.

    I don't want to eat supper. How do I get around my parents? I manage to get the food down, then force myself to throw it back up later.

    When I stare into the sparkling white bowl of the toilet, a small, miniscule part of me whispers desperately, No! Stop! This isn't right, you're hurting yourself! But when I go back to my room to stare unhappily into that mirror, the rest of me screams unbearably loudly, You're still not good enough! You need to lose more, more, more!

    I go to school every day, and every day I watch the other girls, wishing I could be like them, wishing I could be beautiful and have all the boys watch me like they watch them, with their slender waists, flat stomachs, shining hair, beautiful, flawless faces. It makes me all the more determined.

    To think my parents and friends are oblivious is to be a fool. They know something is seriously wrong, every one of them, and they try their level best to help me. Again that small part of me whispers to let them help, but I know I don't need help, that there's nothing wrong with me. I'm perfectly fine.

    My parents send me to a therapist. When that doesn't help I am sent to a sort of rehabilitation center for teenage girls with eating disorders. I'm angry at everyone for the longest time. I push every one away, the other girls and the psychiatrists. I don't belong here! There's nothing wrong with me! Why will no one believe me?

    One day I glance into the mirror. I catch a glimpse of what I really am. I'm little more than a skeleton. I can see every bone, every joint, prominent through my stretched skin. My collarbone is seen clearly, as is my pelvic bone. My face is thin, almost every line of my skull visible.

    Tears well up in my eyes. What have I turned myself into?

    From then on, I am determined to fix myself. I do my best to turn myself around. It's hard, and now and again I fall into a lapse, but I don't give up. I eat every meal. I keep it all down. I watch myself in the mirror, becoming healthier, turning back into what I once was. I don't let myself see fat. I make myself see healthy.

    It takes two years to get over my disorder. It's two years of mental and physical strain but I make my way through it. When I'm seen fit to return home, I feel an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. I made it over this hurdle. I know there will be many more, and I'm not over it all yet, but I will not give in. I'll keep fighting, whatever it takes.

    I smile to myself and close my fingers on the cardboard box. The cereal rattles into my bowl. The milk follows it, and I dip my spoon. I lift the spoon to my lips, chew, and swallow. I grin wider.

    Not once do I count the calories.