Updated: Aug. 13, 2016
Originally Published: Aug. 13, 2016
What do you do when “Ed” shows up at the dinner table?
I thought I’d locked him out for good—twice. But here he is again.
My first encounter with Ed was at the tender age of 18. It was as if he sensed my loneliness and chose to become my companion. On a late-night stroll back to my dorm, he approached me and, rather than feeling fear, I felt an unsettling sense of comfort. Over the years, he became a constant presence. Together, we’d spend countless hours at the Off Campus Deli, where I would nervously pick at my turkey sub, contemplating life while he silently supported me.
He’d accompany me through the campus streets until the early hours, ensuring I never felt alone. I thought it was sweet—his encouragement pushed me to run 10 miles a day, 7 days a week. While my friends indulged in pizza and beer on Friday nights, Ed wrapped around me, whispering sweet nothings. But as time passed, my world shrank. I felt suffocated, unable to exist without him, so I finally asked him to leave.
Years later, at 37, we crossed paths again by chance. Now adults, we had both evolved, yet the familiarity was undeniable. He would sit quietly as I sketched or wait in the car after therapy, eager to share his insights. However, his stories always echoed the same theme—that he was my lifeline, as if I needed him to exist. The irony was hard to ignore, so I once again asked him to leave.
My time with Ed was paradoxical; it brought me a sense of control in the face of trauma—like the aftermath of being raped at 18, or escaping a terrible marriage at 37. He was my confidant, but ultimately, he nearly led to my demise. I realized that his true intention was to consume me.
Now, at 48, Ed has made an unwelcome return, this time at my dinner table, and he’s targeting my 18-year-old daughter. I watch her as she picks potatoes out of her clam chowder and removes the crust from her grilled cheese—meticulously arranging her plate to create the illusion of having eaten. I can almost hear his voice whispering those same sweet nothings to her, just as he once did to me, and it terrifies me.
As I walk the streets late at night, searching for answers on how to protect my daughter, I find myself lost in thought. I wander past Parker Street and Main Street, questioning what to do when Ed comes to dinner again tomorrow. Strangely, the thought crosses my mind: what if I just lost a little weight?
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In summary, my journey with Ed has been tumultuous, filled with moments of comfort that have turned into suffocating despair. As I now face the possibility of losing my daughter to the same fate, I understand that the battle against this insidious force is far from over.
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