This memoir is an uncomfortable thing to read. Partially because I understand her struggles with loving food, wanting to lose weight for society and for yourself, but accepting who you are. I understand these things as someone who had binge-eating disorder. I empathized with her about seeing anorexic people as having more willpower, as I once thought the same.
But that understanding and empathy started to ebb away the more I read. I wanted to shake her shoulders and say "Will you please get help? You are an amazing writer and a powerful voice but you are self-destructing!" I cannot imagine the mental and emotional scars that being gang-raped at 12 leads to, but I do know there's help out there. And by the end of the book that was all I wanted. For her to get the help she needs, not so that she fits into society's skinny world, not so that she loses weight, but so that she finds some semblance of peace.