She knows that she is not the proper weight, the weight that she meant to be. Her incessant nuisance of a mother will always keep on comparing her to the other seemingly perfect children, as if Grenda herself is not at all suitable. Her mother does not factor how she cannot stop herself, yet it is not a problem that can be solved by running on the track or starting on crash diets: now, that would not do.

Her daughter stops thinking when she eats. Grenda cannot control it though, as it is not her fault, as she only focuses on the delicious taste, the sweet foods on her taste buds, reminding her of how much she is a greedy pig. Perhaps, at the beginning, it was not too bad; she had been underweight, and didn't gain too much, staying at a norm, an average point. Sooner or later, tragedy struck, and perhaps the worst part wasn't having people point it out, but knowing that daily, she would always hate herself.

Her friends leave her soon after.

She believes that she will now begin her recovery, in a way most simple, though it could be known as the most destructive, as well.

Perhaps this name of it, purging, might have been wrong if one was speaking about the years to come, but the pounds she'd made up for the pain, the dizzying side effects. Every time she eats, it as if the food is plaguing her body, like a tumour, like a poison, and the only way to rid herself of that poison, of that tumour is to regain control. People like her, people with these weights, do not have control, as food has gotten the better of them.

Taking small steps is the way to go, but heed that those steps stay small; perhaps if somebody noticed, she would not have doubled the doses of her laxatives. This was not the control, not the things, not the life that Grenda had wanted. Her mother decides to put her on an exercise regimen soon after, encouraging her to be more like her best friends such as Candy, who strives for perfection in intelligence; they all have their strengths, whether it would be Mabel in knitting, or Pacifica in singing, and really just Pacifica being generally attractive. It was all stuck together like peanut butter and jelly toast.

However, Grenda soon begins to exercise, in any, every single possible way that she can. Eventually, she finds her mind only belonging to exercise, the obsession reaching a level so high that she'll never stop.

It seems as though she should be losing the weight, shedding it off, but every moment Grenda spends looking down at herself, she believes that her weight is only increasing, becoming consumed with weight and only weight, teetering, never able to stay still, to have control in order to not fall off the delicate balances that she has set up for herself.

In the end, she has lost weight.

She had rejoined the popular committee along with egotistical leader Pacifica, who had previously "fired" her for excessive weight, and loss of control, and they ask her how she's lost so much weight, but she just smiles slyly, laughing like her little secret never happened.

It's easier that way.

However, now she has to deal with the side effects; apparently, it is not enough that smelling atrociously, eating like a pig, and the strange looks received are also side effects. Everybody used to comment on her hair, but now it's falling out; she takes a shower, and globs of it come out with her fingers, and she sees it all over the wall.

She keeps on purging and binging, though.

It's the only way to stay in the popular gang, to maintain that level of essential popularity, popularity essential for living. It's not the end, however; her body starts acting strange, her heart is beating erratically, and she feels faint all of a sudden: she cannot eat laxatives, and every time she pukes, more and more blood spills.

She is finally gone from the world, but not dead yet, not for some time, at least.

Dry skin, blotches on her face, puffy cheeks, and a sore throat; cuts on her fingers, raw knuckles, a horrible face, but there really is no way out of this mess, except death; Grenda is killing herself for the sake of a cheeseburger, but she does not care. The food is more important than anything, and puking is just a part of the food; perhaps she quits every time.

Grenda does do that — quitting all the time. She had her face buried in the toilet earlier, but she's just quitting again, that's a nicer term. Quitting so fast that the fries she threw away are calling to her; she wishes they would just be silenced once and for all.

Now, her funeral is the next day.