“It’s called a diet,” my mother said. “Beginning tomorrow, you will cut out one piece of bread a day. And no more Good Humor Creamsicles or Chips Ahoy! cookies. You’re getting fat.” Age eleven. Article continues after advertisement Started sucking in my stomach and checking to see how flat it was every day when I got out of bed. Age eleven (still). Started throwing up to get rid of unwanted food. Age twelve. Started drinking a gallon of No-Cal diet soda a day for ten years. Age thirteen. Took hot steamy baths and ate spinach, hard-boiled eggs, and grapefruit for three days before my next physical so that Dr. Modlin wouldn’t yell at me for being fat. Age fourteen. Article continues after advertisement Limited my daily intake to three prunes, two meatballs, and a six-ounce jar of Mott’s raspberry no-sugar-added applesauce for a month. Age fourteen. We torture ourselves with food so that one day we will (lose weight and) be able to stop torturing ourselves with food.…