Updated: Aug. 13, 2016
Originally Published: Aug. 13, 2016
What do I do when my unwelcome guest returns to dinner? I thought I had shut the door on Ed — twice. Yet, here he is again.
Our journey began when I was just 18 years old. Ed seemed to sense my need for companionship. During a solitary late-night stroll back to my dorm, he approached me; instead of fear, I felt an odd sense of comfort, as if he were family. For countless hours, he kept me company at the local deli while I nervously picked at my turkey sub, pondering life’s complexities.
He would walk beside me in silence until the early hours of the morning, guiding me through the campus streets, ensuring I never felt alone. I appreciated his thoughtfulness at the time. With each mile I ran, he pushed me to go faster. I was running ten miles a day, seven days a week. While my peers enjoyed pizza and drinks on Friday nights, Ed would lie by my side, whispering sweet nothings that made me feel special. But as time went on, my world shrank. I became unable to go anywhere without him, and his presence made it hard to breathe. Eventually, I had to muster the courage to ask him to leave.
Fate intervened when I turned 37, and I crossed paths with him again. We had both changed, but the familiarity was striking. Ed resumed his role, waiting for me outside therapy sessions to share his opinions and stories while I anxiously pushed food around my plate. The irony was crushing; he made me feel as though I couldn’t exist without him. So once more, I asked him to depart.
My relationship with Ed felt strangely productive. He offered a false sense of control over unthinkable circumstances, like the trauma I faced at 18 or the painful divorce at 37. He was my confidant through it all, yet his ultimate goal was to destroy me.
Now, at 48, this relentless specter has found a new target: my daughter, who is just 18. He lurks at our dinner table, enticing her as she meticulously picks potatoes from her clam chowder and removes crusts from her grilled cheese, attempting to make it seem as though she has eaten. I can almost hear his familiar whispers as he attempts to ensnare her into his web.
Nights spent walking in silence have returned. I wander through town, contemplating how to save my daughter from this insidious shadow. I find myself retracing old paths on Parker Street and Main Street, desperate for a solution when Ed returns to dinner tomorrow. As I ponder this unthinkable situation, a troubling thought crosses my mind—what if I just lose some weight?
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In summary, my struggle with Ed, my eating disorder, has woven its way through my life and now threatens my daughter. As I navigate this painful reality, I remain determined to protect her from falling into the same trap.