"See, I'm on this new diet. Well, I don't eat anything. And right before I feel I'm going to faint, I eat a cube of cheese. I'm one stomach flu away from my goal weight."
Ah yes, that laughable line from "The Devil Wears Prada." The first time I saw the movie (and I will admit, I've seen it approximately seven million times since then), I laughed. I laughed uncomfortably. I laughed uncomfortably because that diet sounded eerily familiar.
You see, as a teenager, I followed a similar diet that made me many things -- hungry, irritable and bitchy among them -- but it didn't make me skinny. Sure, I was 110 pounds at 5'7, but I looked sick, I had a bloated stomach and I hardly slept.
I distinctly remember one bizarre Friday night in high school. I was at home with my two best friends, sitting in my living room complaining about some teenage drama or another. All three of us were starving, mean people, though we didn't openly discuss our disordered eating until many years later. Somehow, all three of us ended up laying on the carpeted floor in a row, banging on our own and each others' hip bones, proud of their protrusions. I think it was shortly after that that I wised up to my "thin-sanity" and started including actual food in my diet.
Fast forward some years later to the months leading up to my wedding day. I by no means had a "Big Day" -- I got married at a Los Angeles courthouse wearing a $90 dress from Macy's and flat shoes that I bought on eBay. For my husband and I, our wedding was perfect.