It�s late at night and you�re crying again. The house is so deadly quiet you just can�t take it anymore. Every little sound makes you start �the tic of the clock, the steps of your upstairs neighbor, the dog barking in the street. You can�t sleep. You turn over and over hoping for dreams to come but it�s hopeless. The TV is on �it�s on all day �and all night, just to keep you company. You look at the phone dreading it may ring any minute �you don�t want another annoying call from your ex telling you you�re a bitch and threatening to kill himself.

The next thing you know you�re heading for the fridge.

Bad, bad habit. But sometimes vital. A couple of cookies will calm your anguish �barely and shortly, but it helps anyway. You hate what you�re doing, you hate yourself. You know you�ll cry in the morning when you step on the scale �as you do every single morning of your life. You know you�ll insult yourself in the mirror when you start to turn from side to side again and find that that hideous shape hasn�t changed a bit. You know you�re destroying all the effort of one hard day of fasting, straining all your will power to the extreme, and ruining it all in one guilty bite �but there you are, sitting alone in the kitchen again, chewing fast and angrily, as if to make the temptation object disappear quick, feeling a dreadful remorse for the weird abstract pleasure you find in this activity, without even noticing the taste of it, only swallowing ahead, to pass the time, to make the night end faster.

When you can�t eat anymore you grumpily put everything away and crawl into bed, wishing you hadn�t done that. You can only hiss in your mind �I�m a spineless coward. I�m a stupid bitch. I�ll be a whale tomorrow. Damn! Damn! Damn!�

It�s not fair. In a world ruled by beautiful girls you had to be on the other side. And the most annoying thing is that you�re not! You know you�re barely ten pounds over your ideal weight. You know ten pounds are nothing and they�re practicably unnoticeable. You know nobody but you sees that huge giant belly, but still, that� belly strikes your eye more than a big clown red nose.

You can�t pretend you don�t see it, and you wonder why everybody else pretends it�s not there. Your family tell you you�re ok, your friends tell you you�re ok, even guys look at you when you walk down the street and you know it. But in spite of all that you feel so distressed you want to cry and scream and make a rage every time you step on the wretched scale.

�Why me? Why me?�

You look at all the girls that pass you by. Some of them are so thin you feel like tearing your eyes out. Some of them are so genuinely fat you ought to feel lucky �but you don�t. Because every huge girl that passes by has a cute guy attached to her hand. How in the hell? They are more lucky �why they are more lucky. Even they have someone to love them.

Clothe shopping is a curse. Everything looks so great on the manechin and so ridiculous on you. Ten pounds are just Ten pounds, but they sure won�t let you fit in your preferred outfits. And this is the only number available. Why those companies make clothes so miserably tiny? What if not everybody is a perfect size 6? What if someone that ought to be a perfect size 6 happens to have just two more inches of waist and two more behind?

�Can you get me a larger one?� You ask, rolling your eyes.

�It�s the only size� says the salesgirl. �But they�re elastic.� As if that was supposed to be a consolation. Yes, they are, but it�s not the same when it hangs and shows its beautiful design line, or when it sticks to your body making you look like a wrapped up candy in an envelope.

Speaking of candies, that is your next stop. Every time you get depressed you go to the candy shop. It�s good for you to walk �it burns calories. It would be better if your walk would take you anywhere else.

Darn candy shop, it had to be right on your way home! And they had to be all so good! And they had to be all cheap!

If only you had something else to do to keep you busy you wouldn�t need this shallow consolation. But there you are, alone and bored as always, sharing your spare time with a huge bag of chocolates, not even feeling the taste of it, but stuffing them down your throat, fast and nervously, angry with them and yourself, vowing to be the last time you commit this crime.

Then you run to the mirror and turn from all angles and feel like dying. Yes, those curves are still there, the hell with them. This was the last chocolate for you! Every single chocolate is the last, and every single day you�ll stop eating �starting tomorrow.

Sometimes you wish you were into drugs. It seems so much easier to break free. You can simply ban them from your life and avoid temptation, but your addiction is much worse. You must keep food in your house, you must go to the store to buy it, you see it absolutely everywhere, it�s cheap, available, allowed, and keeps jumping in front of your eyes �in TV ads, in magazine pictures, in your everyday life. How can you break your vice when you have it in front of your nose every minute! You dread visiting anyone for fear of getting invited to taste anything. Your trips to the store are a nightmare as you can�t help seeing all the goodies displayed there �and end up putting a lot more in your bag than you had planned. You grab the items mechanically, without looking, feeling already terrible, just for knowing you�ll take them home, but you do it. Weak, miserable idiot!

You try to console yourself every day. You are pretty, you got lovely big eyes, a silky hair, a very nice round face �but just there. You got to keep your eyes above your neck to feel pretty, but you know people don�t see you that way. Only when you dress you�re forced to look at your body and see how bad clothes look on you. And suck in your stomach to see how you�d like to look. And measure yourself again and again to see how far you are from your goal. And still, you are lucky. For what you eat you should be at least double. But you somehow keep your weight cutting from your meals.

Diet, diet, diet. You can refuse food, but you give away for snacks. Maybe if you were eating better you wouldn�t feel the crave for snacks all the time. But who are you kidding? You know why you need to binge. You�re bored, sad, alone. Mostly bored. If you were going out instead of sitting in your room, maybe you wouldn�t need chocolate so bad. Plus you�d be doing some activity and burning calories. After all you eat to kill time and soothe your depression. You read once that starch and sugar raise serotonine levels in your brain. Food is like a drug, and that�s exactly how you use it.

You don�t eat to stay alive, but to relieve tension. And console yourself thinking that it�s a healthy habit �much better than smoking. Chocolate is like a prescription-free antidepressive pill. And you can find it in every (forgive the expression) drugstore. It�s not your fault. If you weren�t depressed you could stop. You�re not addicted, you�re just terribly bored.

Excuses. You know it�s all a lot of junk �but you need to believe it.

At times you manage to get really angry and back off a bit. You pull all your will power and resist for one whole day without eating. The next morning you�re very proud of your progress, but this never lasts for one whole week. Soon you can�t take your fast anymore and end up heading for the drugstore again �to get your drug.

You know this yo-yo playing with your weight isn�t healthy, but you don�t care. You only wish you could lose pounds without putting them back on. You rush to buy new clothes only to see them not fit after a few days. And you hate it. You hate your weakness and your bad luck. It�s all just a matter of luck. After all your best friend eats as much as you do �more even, and she looks great. Slim waist, tiny bottom and firm legs. She complains that she is fat �she is so ridiculous. She? She! Fat! What you would give to have her almost flat belly. Yes, maybe she would kill to have your breasts, but you figure that isn�t so important. After all, when you flip on your telly all you see in the show world are skinny women with tiny little breasts. It�s more important in this world to be thin than have curves.

In a way it seems unfair. She was more blessed by Heaven. She�s prettier, thinner, luckier than you. True, you�ve more money, but perhaps that is exactly where all your troubles begin. If you weren�t able to afford so much junk food you�d probably look better. And then you�d be rained with dates too. She has a gorgeous boyfriend �tall, blue eyes and cool body. Of course you wouldn�t want him for yourself, knowing how lazy, irresponsible and cheater he is. She does nothing but complain about him and how much they fight. You know exactly what she�s going through since your ex was exactly the same and you still remember well why you left him. But you know that if she dumped him she would find a new one in a snap, while you... here you are, after all this time still alone, still unwanted, still sitting in front of the screen munching on your popcorn. And you�re not allowed. Damn popcorn, tomorrow you�ll be a whale again �after how much effort you put into losing this pound, now you�ll put it on again before you even have time to buy new clothes.

You know if you had something else to keep you busy you wouldn�t need this popcorn, or that cheesy movie, you�d be having fun and food wouldn�t be in your mind. You feel like calling your friend to make plans, but you know she�s busy tonight with her loser. Probably having sex. That�s all that keeps them together, you suppose, since there�s nothing else good about him �her words! Your ex wasn�t good either, but at least hers is good in bed. No wonder you dumped yours �who wants a loser that�s not even good in bed. At least if he were you could use him while you get a new one. You�d be much better having sex than eating. Sex would keep you in good shape.

You miss sex. You wish you could do it right now. If you call your ex he�d be there in a flash, but then you�ll never be free of him. It costed you a lot of effort to get him to stop calling you and it�s been almost a whole month since you last heard of him. It�s been almost five months since you gave him the boot. If you were to call him tonight it will take another five months to get rid of him. Besides, why would you call him? You want to be kissed again �but not like that. You miss good sex, done the right way, not that pathetic, piteous poor excuse for sex you had with him. You miss the kind of sex where you actually feel something. Over your dead body �you�re not calling him, even if your house was burning! God forbid you should ever call him again. The last time you were separated you had to call him when that thief was forcing the door and you still haven�t heard the end of it. You knew why you didn�t want to call him then. You knew the price it would cost and you�d never done it if the police had been at reach. Next time you�d better get raped or killed in your own bed rather than ask for his help again. No, you won�t call him now, no matter how lonely you are. Chocolate is better company. Besides you�d rather die than let him see you naked again �just to hear again how fat you are and how big your behind is. No thanks. For better or worse there are toys in this world.

It seems too pathetic to use a toy, it makes you feel like a dispairate woman, even though you know it�s perfectly normal. You don�t feel a bit awkward about it, but it�s boring... A toy... Turn on the buzzer and get off. Pathetic. You don�t want that. You don�t want sex �you want all that comes with it. Your toy may be very efficient in bringing you there in five minutes, but it can�t kiss you, or hold you, or caress you, or speak to you. And more than anything right now you want to speak. That�s why you eat: to keep your mouth busy.�

You envy your friend a little bit �she�s being held right now. They may be the arms of a loser, but they�re arms anyway, and human warmth is better than a sappy movie. Of course, if you had him, you wouldn�t get into a serious relationship like her. You�d take it as a fling and nothing more. You can�t get serious with a loser. You did and it worked out dreadfully. The last thing you need right now is another man with no job and no brains. For that you�re a lot smarter than your friend: she�s totally stuck on him, for no reason. She�s so much better than him, but just can�t see that. At least there you�re way more clever. You can see who doesn�t deserve you. You can take measures.

But you�re not happy. She�s happy in her blissful ignorance: in love and living in a dream. Lucky her. Always lucky her. Of course she has a gorgeous boyfriend if she has a gorgeous looks. It�s not fair. She eats so much more than you. You so carefuly pick your calories, you chose the lighter foods, you rationate everything, but you still won�t lose weight, while she can eat anything she wants and looks like a doll.

She drinks a lot of water and thinks this may be the secret. You couldn�t stand to drink so much water in a week as she drinks in one day. She�s always thirsty and drinking water. All the diets you followed (and failed) advised to drink lots of water. This must be her secret to keep in shape. How lucky she is. Her body is so perfect �so much better than yours. She can eat anything she wants, she can eat all the candy she wants and still keep in shape. What�s more, she loses weight all the time. Seems like every week another pound goes off. How lucky. You wish that whatever her body does to be so thin could happen to you, so you be free to eat chocolate all day and still lose weight. Lucky her. Damn you. You feel miserable. And you need to relax. There�s only one way to relax: go to the kitchen. How you hate it! But you do it again.

The next day you feel such guilt, you almost cry when you enter the bathroom and step on the scale. You put on that pound again. You had barely lost it and you put it on again, after so much effort! Back to work, start from zero. Today you�ll fast, fast, fast. Skip breakfast and run for work before you have time to get hungry. You�re so angry with yourself you can�t get hungry. But at midday boredom �not hunger!- gets the best of you. You crave for a snack. You know it�s not a bit healthy to cut back on food and live only on candies, but since you can�t avoid candies it�s better to give up something to keep your balance. So you down a pack of cookies. Fast, furious, dispaired chewing, hurried swallowing, as if you thought fast eating won�t harm you that much. As if eating all up in five minutes equals eating less of it. You feel so stupid wasting money on things that you don�t enjoy. If only you could enjoy that chocolate, those cookies, those chips, but for you they�re tasteless. The forbidden fruit was sweet, but yours taste like guilt, regret, rage, shame, fear of your expanding shape. And still you know you�re not fat. It�s only ten pounds over. You fight and struggle for ten miserable pounds. Ten! Two inches over your ideal size. You feel so stupid, but those pounds bother you so very much.

Your friend has a perfect body but you don�t. So unfair. You go and have two glasses of water, maybe you can get like her.

Maybe someday, when you find someone that loves you, you�d learn to love yourself. But this is a shallow comfort: you know if you had prince charming calling you beautiful you wouldn�t believe him. How many men told you you�re hot before and you never believe them. But then, you have a magnet for ugly men. It must mean something if only ugly men fall for you. Your highschool nickname was �Freak Magnet�. If there�s a freak anywhere around he�ll go for you. Your friend is rather a �Looser Pig Cheater Magnet�, but she�s happy. Or not. Anyway she�s lucky for having a perfect body. A shallow consolation in this world full of material stereotypes. She can pick a new boyfriend any time, for her that�s not a problem.

Anyway, you just spoilt your diet again, so it�s time to take action. You call your friend and make plans for tomorrow. It�s time to visit the disco again. Maybe some dancing would help burn a few calories. At least to lose that pound again. You made a vow to have a killer body by summer �and show off a new bathing suit. But you�d had the same goal for the past 5 years and still haven�t accomplished it. Damn it all �damn whoever started this commercial fake image of the woman. A normal woman ought to have curves �a normal woman ought to look like you, but instead a �hot� woman has to be flat, skinny and tall like a lamp post. All because of commercial images that fill your society. Somebody comes up and says beautiful means this and shows a picture and overnight, you need to match that picture to feel like a human being. And if you�re just a little bit over that line, you can�t even find clothes that fit because all the stupid companies produce size 6 that �stretch�. Now really, you don�t want a stretched out blouse on you, you want it to hang, like on the window doll. But the other side is too much �clothes for fat girls. Way biger than your worst nightmares. It�s horrible to be an in-between.

At least tonight you�ll go dancing. You managed to eat only once yesterday, to pull back that pound. If you can fast the whole day, you�d be one whole pound lighter tomorrow. You know it�s not right what you do to yourself, but you�re well in control: you need to lose ten pounds. Only ten pounds, and as soon as you reach that weight you�ll stop dieting. This time you must keep your will. No snacking, no binging. You had your last chocolate. You�re always having your last chocolate.

At noon you receive a call from your friend. She can�t make it for tonight, such a bad luck. She has to go to the doctor. She has diabetes. You can hardly believe it. You tell her you�ll go see her right away and rush to meet with her. And suddenly a thunder strikes.

Shame on you! Shame on you! You thought she was free to eat all the candy she wanted? You thought she was lucky for losing weight. Shame on you �you wished your body worked like hers and got thinner every day. No wonder she had so much water. You�re not even surprised: you thought her thirst wasn�t completely normal. You feel so sorry for her. And so ashamed with yourself.

You wished your body was perfect like hers, and now you realize the perfect body is yours. You have the healthy one. And you destroy it every day �starving yourself, stuffing junk in your mouth, getting sick �shame on you! You vow to stop right now, to eat three times a day, to have a balanced diet, to never fast again and cut back on your binging.

Noble pursuit.

But you�ll do that as soon as you finally lose those wretched ten pounds.