Why I’m Mad

The title read “5 Reasons to Date Someone With an Eating Disorder”. I saw the post while scrolling on Facebook and no, this was not satire. I barely glanced at the sexist and frankly ridiculous article but rather decided to share a link leading to a beautiful spoken poem about this very article. Because of my comment, I received a notification when a young man left a comment on the same thread.

“Why are you all so mad?” his comment read.

Huh. Let’s think about that for a second here.

Maybe I’m so mad because when I was twelve, I hated my thighs for touching. At an age where I should have been playing basketball with my brother or staying up late at sleepovers with my friends or stuffing my face full of popcorn at the movies, I was wondering why the scale read a “whopping” 140 pounds when all of my friends barely weighed 100.

Maybe I’m so mad because of that time I was at a runway show and a producer told me to put my sandwich down because I “just barely fit into my dress as it was”.

Maybe I’m so mad because of the time my dad told me I was out of shape when I ran down the street and was panting. But I was panting because I hadn’t eaten anything all day and I was exhausted.

But mostly, I think I was mad because of my beautiful friend who hurts herself by refusing to give her body the nourishment it needs on a regular basis because she thinks she’s fat. When I look at her, all I see is beauty and strength, but she doesn’t, and I think I was mad because she’s being hurt because of a society that thinks like the author of this fucking “article”.

Eating disorders are DEADLY. In the USA, 20 million women are currently suffering from an eating disorder – that’s more than double the amount of men.

Widely, society still portrays women as weak both physically and mentally, and this article did nothing but advertise this fact to men, trying to convince the men of this world that they should want a docile and sick partner. No man should ever want that.

So ask me again why this article makes me mad. Ask me why it makes me mad to see nine year old girls on diets because they want to be skinny. Ask me why it makes me sad to watch my friends pick apart their bodies in a mirror.

Ask your daughter one day when she’s in her preteens why she suddenly no longer eats desserts. Ask your girlfriend while she lies in her coffin why dating her wasn’t as easy as this article had made it seem. Ask yourself how you could love a living skeleton.


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