Ana's Voice
After a night of anxiety attacks, waking up to the stink of rotten cat food in my putrid kitchen, and my own stench from full-body sweats and my unwashed hair, I can hear Ana’s voice again: “I’m so sick of being fat. Of looking hideous. I’m going to be super-conscious of every little thing that goes in my mouth. I’m going to write it all down. I’m going to push myself really hard to get active again. To form good habits. If you even have the slightest hope of getting married after forty – after fifty – you’re going to at least have to be a normal size – although, realistically, no one’s going to marry your face, anyway.” On and on she goes. She’s insidious, really, in the way she creeps back into the house when you think you’ve evicted her for good. It’s not like any of the measures Ana’s suggesting would even make a difference. I was on Ozempic for eight months and didn’t lose a pound. I’ve tried shake diets for weeks at a time – nada. We know that food intake isn’t the pr...
