The Life of a Real Girl,
A True Story
When I was sixteen, I was starving myself to death. My periods had stopped, and my arms were so skinny that my brother Frank, three and a half years older, said I had wrists like a bird. At seventeen, I weighed 225 pounds. The dowdy misses dresses my slender mother brought home for me from lane Bryant were size 44. My favorite ring had to be cu† from my finger. Even my feet were fat. I wore 8 1/2 E.
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