“I don’t want it.” I push away the tray of hospital food that Kerri, the nurse, has set before me.

“The doctor says, you have to eat.”

I shake my head. “No can do, lady. Sorry.”

“Why not?” She looks me straight in the eyes. “Olivia, if you don’t start eating, they’re going to have to put you on an IV. Is that what you want?”

I shake my head again, trying with all my might to keep the fright from showing on my face.

“Then why won’t you eat?”

“Look at me!” I burst out, no longer able to contain myself. “Look at me! I’m fat, I’m ugly! If I eat that, it’ll just add to all this…flab! I’m disgusting!”

With wheedling and cajoling, she finally coerces me into eating two bites of the rubbery chicken. When she leaves, I head straight to my bathroom. It’s locked.

“Kerri!” I shout down the hallway. “My bathroom’s locked!” I know why. It’s because they want me to get fat and gross, so they won’t let me throw up.

Only years later will I see the truth—I look like a Holocaust victim.