Portrait of a Hunger Artist

The anorexia began innocently enough, until eating became the point of living. Precisely because it was so special, it had to be made more perfect by hunger.

By Emily Troscianko, published on March 01, 2010 - last reviewed on March 08, 2010

"You are welcome in our new home, but your anorexia isn't," my mother said to me one day in April 2008. How dare she imply that there was any distinction between "me" and "my anorexia"?

I couldn't imagine my life without it, nor did I want to. It dictated everything I did and was, from going to bed almost when other people were getting up, to the solitude of my existence on a boat in Oxford, studying and starving, to my absolutely nonnegotiable daily bike rides and my constantly being cold—and my incomparable pleasure in the plate of bread and low-fat margarine and boiled vegetables in bed last thing at night, followed by cereal with skimmed milk diluted with water to go further, and finally mouthfuls of creamy chocolate to send me to sleep without hunger.

What i found interesting about the article is that the author who wrote it had something to do with anorexia, since she had it, so she could recall what happens to others who have it too. I learned that anorexia is a bad thing, that starving yourself could & would lead to death, & I picked it since it "pop"s out at you, it describes the life of a girl with anorexia, how she dealed with it.