My Secret Life Read Online Free PDF

I could that surrounded the issue of weight-loss. Mostly I just found that the programmes half spurned me, but half aggravated me at the same time. Of course they can stay that skinny , I told myself. They have their own personal trainers and dieticians . I started to develop a most curious relationship with the images I was seeing. The women portrayed on television and in advertisements represented everything I wanted to be; determined, disciplined and utterly perfect. I also, however, cursed their names and told myself that if these women were in my position, they surely could not look as they do. They’re not strong enough to go it alone , I thought. But we were. If I could somehow get my head and my body in sync with one another, together we could do it with absolute perfection. Suddenly being flawless didn’t seem so impossible.
    It seems almost inconceivable now but I began searching the internet again and again with words and phrases such as ‘skinny women’, ‘thinspo’ (thin inspiration) and even ‘emaciation’. I didn’t want to be that skinny, though it would have been preferable to my size at the time. No, initially I just wanted to draw a contrast. I felt that I was one extreme and that by looking at women who lived at the other end of the spectrum, I could motivate myself enough to find a happy medium between the two. I was captivated by these images. Oftentimes, I would glare in horror at some of the extremities depicted but I could not look away; I could never stop myself looking that extra bit closer. Their bodies, unlike mine, could be studied like a painting. While my own felt like one massive surface of skin and filling, theirs were concave with protrusions scattered here and there. Their bones rose and fell from shadow to shadow, with porcelain skin draped over like silk. They were jagged creatures and were composed of sharp-edges and spindly bends, reminding me of a delicate spider. If you had a gentle enough touch, you could have played their ribcages like a piano. Tummies were always flat but evolved very abruptly into hips. With each image, a new twist and turn of the creatures could be found until I finally had a mental image of every possibly pose such a body could display. It was art. I would slip into a trance and would temporarily leave my own body looking at them. She who now lived in my head guided me gently from picture to picture and like a sponge, I soaked it all in with ease and what felt like nourishment. It was as easy as breathing.
    The weight loss thus far had been minimal when taking into consideration how hard I had been working. Looking back now, I doubt any amount of weight loss would have proved sufficient at that time. I was nevertheless completely dissatisfied. I never again wanted to feel that way, never again wanted to feel so utterly inadequate. It was thanks to this sense of total incompetence, however, that a new fire was ignited within me. I now had an unquenchable thirst, which completely absorbed me from head to toe. What exactly it was, I couldn’t put my finger on. But its presence created a ravenous appetite, not of my body but of my mind. It could not be satiated by any earthly sustenance. I was not interested in the origins of this hunger, my only concern was how to nourish it.
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    I am ten years old. I play Gaelic football on my school team. I don’t really like it but everyone plays because you’re weird if you don’t. Besides, Mr O’Brien is our couch. He’s also my teacher and the coolest adult I know. He doesn’t talk to us like other adults do and everyone wants to make him proud. That’s why we play. I’m not very good at football; the others can run faster than me and always seem to know what they’re doing when we’re on the field. I always stand near the goalpost and try to avoid getting in the way. I once tried to kick the ball but scored an own-goal for my team. Everyone was really angry at me that day and my other teammates didn’t