The "You're Not Fat" Campaign

"Have fun at camp, okay?" Rick says. I press my phone against my ear, wishing I could slip through the phone lines and land in his arms.

"I will," I reply.

"And remember to just focus on other things when you start freaking out."

"I will."

"Okay. I love you, Laura."

"I love you too."

We hang up without saying goodbye, because goodbye is awful. Goodbye means going away. Goodbye is forever.

I am going to camp for a week, just like I do every summer. This year will be different though. This year is my last year as a camper. And this year I am having these... attacks.

No, this year you're fat.

"Did anybody ASK you?" I snap under my breath as I fold up my tank tops and put them into my suitcase. Then I blast some music and dance around my room, singing along loudly and off-key. Anything to keep that stupid voice at bay.

The more I think about it, the more I think I'll be okay at camp. We do a lot of exercise-y things there, and the food portions are controlled so I won't feel like I overeat or anything. I have friends at camp, and I am always exhausted because it is constant movement.

I will distract myself and think about other things.

I will ignore it.

I will not give in.