Rough Draft Short Story

Every year, when spring comes and I see a lot of beautiful girls walking along the street, memories of my most terrible spring pour into me.
I never wanted to lose weight. I had a good body, lovely cheeks, and a lot of optimism. When I was 17, I started college, which was in another city, and decided completely change my life. I gave up old acquaintances, easily made new ones and headlong into the young life of the capital. City twirled me around, everything seemed so interesting, I was finding adventures with the speed of a flaming match and did not think about tomorrow.
Six months were like a fairy tale: I met wonderful people, went to a lot of events, fell in love and was happy. Until the day when my sleep was interrupted by a terrible

Parents sounded the alarm and decided to take me to the country. They did not understand where their daughter's 25 pounds had gone and tried in every possible way to feed me. But I began to be afraid of food, and everyone who offered me food, perceived as an enemy and envier. Deception and lies came to my life, for which I wasn’t ashamed even a single bit. I was hiding and throwing out the most delicious dishes in the world, and if I could not avoid eating something, I immediately set off for a run. I believed that to keep my new body, my life should consist of a minimum food and maximum movement. I was in the horizontal position only during sleep, which was reduced to 4-5 hours a day. The fact that I was waking up from nightmares and could not walk to the bathroom at night did not bother me - it seemed that this was all because I was

Maybe I was lucky, but the understanding of my condition came in a second. At home, before going to bed, Dad hugged me and asked if I wanted to have children. I said that I do. And he whispered in my ear: "And I want to have grandchildren." Then, standing in front of the mirror in the moonlight, I saw what my personal death looked like. It was a little lost girl without a drop of desire to live. I had to be reborn.
The doctor gave me a lot of guidelines. I started to write a diary, which helped me get rid of anorexia. It was difficult and painful for me - in nine months of illness I lost health, all friends and even love. People who I knew did not recognize me on the street and looked at me with pity. I did not want to live or even to exist. But I managed to get back into shape in three months of work and self-control.
But not all stories are with a happy ending. This winter, my mother was hospitalized with a stroke. I spent almost all days in the hospital and had a lot to see. One day, they brought a young girl who was unconscious. She was in a coma. Her skin was black and yellow. There were rumors that she was a drug addict. How wrong they