I remember the specific desperation of trying to hide how little I'd eaten from my roommate, crushing crackers into dust in the trash so she wouldn't know. The shame was a physical thing, like a film coating my skin. I remember meticulously picking apart a sandwich, grain by grain, convinced I was fooling everyone around me, and the secret would stay mine forever. Now I know that the only person I was truly hurting was myself. Still sitting with that thought. It keeps surfacing.