This is what it felt like to read this book:
"I was stressed. I started exercising. Then I lost weight. I kept exercising. Then my mom got worried. I ate."
Compare that to how it feels to read this excerpt from Wasted: A Memoir of Anorexia and Bulimia:
"It does not hit you until later. The fact that you were essentially dead does not register until you begin to come alive. Frostbite does not hurt until it starts to thaw. First it is numb. Then the shock of pain rips through the body. And then, every winter after, it aches."
Needless to say, I thought this book was too surface, there was barely any reflection. It was "boohoo, I was sad", but without the why
the sad came about, or was dealt with after the eating came back.
This book was barely worth the calories it took to turn the pages.