Hell Week for Anorexics

Thanksgiving week for anorexics is arguably worse than any fraternity hazing or SEAL training. It represents the ultimate test of will, and mental preparation for this test requires at least a week. That week is hell. No, it’s worse than hell. It’s war, and the battle lines are drawn between those who will remain strong in the face of temptation and those who will not.

Those of us who have the will to stay strong – we’ll take pride in our suffering, denying ourselves even a single helping of mashed potatoes and corn bread while the rest of the fuckers around us help themselves to a fourth or fifth serving. We will look upon them with simultaneous envy and scorn, wishing we were them and thanking the heavens we’re not.

Those of us who are weak – we are the reluctant anorexics who resent our eating disorder. On Thanksgiving we’ll say, “What the hell? It’s only one day.” Then we’ll load up our plates so heavy that we strain what’s left of our sadly starved biceps. We’ll chow down like we’re normal, reveling in a few moments of bliss before the reality of “I just fucked myself” sets in.

Truth is, it’s a battle that no anorexic wins. All anorexics know that when Thanksgiving comes around, we’re all pretty much fucked.