I didn’t want abs. I didn’t want any kind of topography in that region of my body. I wanted my stomach to glide seamlessly into…well, into whatever was below (I was pretty disassociate from that, if not all, parts of my body). Essentially, I wanted the build of a ten year old. And perhaps a ten year old boy, at that. Flat stomach, no hips, no hint that either had ever been or ever would be part of my physical form.
Not that it really matters, but for the sake of full disclosure I’ll tell you that I was only briefly considered chunky, as many kiddos are at the start of puberty. Really, I ought not have been too unhappy with the frame bestowed upon me. By fifteen I had settled into the body type I retain today as a twenty-seven year old — the kind where people will comment on how “tall and thin” I am. (PSA: These comments make me cringe.) This build I have is due entirely to the metabolism I inherited from my father and a decade long eating disorder. Nothing more, nothing less.