On what la does to women.

This is relative to “On Quitting.” I also achieved my dream job, but with barely enough pay to get through my rent and bills. I moved from Brooklyn to L.A., so I really don’t have a support system. Not that being skinny isn’t awesome, but I’ve shrank about 45 lbs, leaving me at about 97 lbs (I’m only 5’0, still, that’s pretty close to being an emaciated carcass.)I usually eat a couple of bananas in a day, and take a shit ton of supplements so I don’t die. They’re roughly 12 cents each, unless someone I know comes around, which is rare, and I fake it by making some pasta and sauce, (a relatively cheap meal.)The amount of work I put in from home is unpaid and though it’s really time consuming, I enjoy it, but it leaves me pretty much no time for a second job.

There’s talk of me moving up in the workplace, and calling home with my tail between my legs and asking for cash which isn’t something I’m willing to do unless dire straits really come about.

This is my career, and I’m on fucking fire, but I need to eat. What do I do? I don’t qualify for welfare or food stamps.

Who’s looking over your shoulder as you write this? My guess is a concerned boyfriend or sibling who’s been out of town for a while and come back to find you looking like you need to be sponsored by Save the Children.

You’re a model/actress/whatever who’s been making excuses all morning why you can’t afford to eat and why you’re too busy pouring over breakdowns or trying to get bookings to get a second job to pay for food, but things are great, and your career is about to take off.

Bitch, please. I can see right through you. Literally. There are entire apartment buildings in West Hollywood filled with your flavor of crazy.

Poverty is no excuse. No one with internet access and an LA dream job gets to act like this shit is Malawi. Proper nutrition is available for a few bucks a day, and no one in heels loses a third of her body weight without willful intent.

Since the only thing you’re filled with at the moment is denial, I’m gonna put this as plainly as possible: you have an eating disorder. Let me repeat that one more time for anybody else who’s there with you: she has an eating disorder, a massive one.

It sounds like you’ve been averaging less than four hundred calories a day, and to have dropped forty-five pounds, it’s been at least three, possibly six months that you’ve been living like this.

At this point, your thyroid looks like the baby from Trainspotting, you haven’t taken an honest shit since bikini season, and you walk around shivering like Paris Hilton’s dog after a line of blow. You are not healthy, kid.

I know there’s no getting through to you, but maybe, just maybe, the boyfriend or sibling who’s all up in your shit right now will see this and decide to take action.

Get some treatment. Immediately.

Don’t worry, sweetheart. This isn’t about putting weight back on. This isn’t going to threaten your career. This isn’t going to get in the way of your dreams.

This is about getting healthy. You’re doing an incredible amount of damage to your body living like this. Deep down, on some level, even you know that.

Most folks will tell you it’s not worth it. Fuck that. I’m here to tell you it doesn’t have to be worth it. You can be healthy and have your dream job, but first you have to take a little time and get your mind right.

Best of luck. I really hope you beat this shit.


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