There was a time when I was a regular blood donor. Every other month, I would make my way to the local blood center, roll up my sleeve, and give a pint of A-positive. It was a small thing, but it made me feel good to know I was doing something that had lifesaving potential. But then things started to go awry. As my eating disorder gradually took over my life, I found myself thinking of my periodic blood donations as an excuse to binge. After all, I reasoned, a pint of blood represents hundreds of calories, so why not

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