What do you do when your old friend shows up uninvited for dinner? I thought I had said goodbye to him — twice. Yet, here he is again.
I first encountered him at just 18. He sensed my need for companionship and approached me on a late-night stroll back to my dorm. In hindsight, I should have been afraid, but at that moment, he felt like family. For years, he quietly accompanied me at the Off Campus Deli while I picked apart my turkey sub, lost in thought. He walked with me until the early hours on Spring Street and across the Quad, ensuring I never felt alone. I thought it was so kind of him. With every mile on my runs, he pushed me to go faster, running just a half pace behind me — 10 miles a day, seven days a week. On Friday nights, while others indulged in pizza and beer, he curled up next to me, whispering sweet nothings into my ear. But soon, everything shrank. I couldn’t go anywhere without him, and his presence suffocated me. Finally, I mustered the courage to ask him to leave.
We crossed paths again by chance when I was 37. We were both adults now, having grown in our own ways. He was already familiar with my struggles, so there was no need to start over. It was comfortable and reminiscent. He sat with me while I sketched with charcoal and waited in the car to share his thoughts after therapy, as if he needed to have a say. Every night, he entertained me with stories, but the theme was always the same: he was my life source, as if I would fade away without him. The irony was not lost on me. So, once more, I asked him to leave.
My time with him was oddly productive, providing a sense of calm and control over the chaos of my life, including the trauma of being raped at 18 and the horrors of leaving a toxic marriage at 37. He was my confidant through it all, but ultimately, he nearly took my life. It became clear that he had intended to do just that all along.
Now at 48, that unwelcome companion has returned to my table, this time targeting my barely 18-year-old daughter. I watch as she picks the potatoes out of her clam chowder and rearranges her grilled cheese, trying to make it look like she’s eaten. I can almost hear his voice, whispering those same sweet nothings, as he attempts to ensnare her too.
So, I find myself wandering the streets late at night, searching for answers on how to protect my daughter from this familiar threat. Down Parker Street, Main Street, and around the village near the old Baptist Church, I ponder how to face this daunting challenge when he joins us for dinner again tomorrow. And as I wrestle with this heart-wrenching reality, I find myself wondering… maybe if I just shed a few pounds.
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Summary:
This reflective piece narrates the author’s lifelong struggle with an eating disorder personified as “Ed,” from its early companionship in her youth to its resurfacing in her daughter’s life. The author grapples with the challenge of protecting her child from the same destructive influence that nearly destroyed her.