by Danah Khalil
Ed has already taken over.
I will become fat and unfit from all of the food and lack of exercise.
The pain will prove too much for me.
I will ever discover the answers I need to help heal my body and mind.
My mother is disappointed in me.
I will ever be allowed to run again.
I will have to spend the nights away from home at the hospital.
My self-confidence will be shattered from the weight gain.
I am causing the stress and worry of others.
The demon is always right.
I will remain a strong athlete.
My father is scared and confused.
I will ever be healthy again.
The therapists at the hospital will understand.
I will learn to have a balanced diet.
I am overthinking everything.
I will be forced to drop all forms of exercise.
I can trust my friends enough to ask for their help.
I will overcome my fear of food and weight gain.
I will eventually break all of my new habits.
There will be at least one moment to enjoy this summer.
I will cry more than I will smile.
My body image is distorted.
I am too bony.
I will be yanked deeper into the hole.
My friends will talk behind my back.
I will be monitored 24/7.
I have lost all authority over myself.
I will be weighed daily.
My mother cries herself to sleep because of me.
I will spend one day without the worries or stress of my eating disorder.
I will become even more depressed and anti-social.
My mother feels guilty for ruining my summer.
I will be able to be a regular kid again.
Everyone is exaggerating.
I will ever be fast enough to run away from the demon.
This journey will become increasingly difficult.
I will have to stay in the hospital program for a long, long time.
I will get my period back.
I am still losing weight.
I will have to quit soccer.
My life will ever get back to normal.
I will purge for the first time.
I will ever escape from the hole.
I can eventually find balance between diet and exercise.
Suicidal thoughts will cross my mind again.
I will ever find recovery.
Anyone can save me from myself.
June 20, 2012
I was feeling quite nostalgic on my birthday yesterday, so I decided to flip open an old childhood photo album of mine…. Little did I know that I would be absolutely appalled – and frankly repulsed – by its contents.
I really was the fattest baby I had ever fucking laid my eyes on. Suddenly, the rolls on my arms and legs and the chubbiness of my cheeks that I once found so adorable were now frightening me; making me worry that any baby who grew up with such a round, overweight body must be destined to have a slow metabolism for the rest of its life.
Jesus, now I really am fucked. Why did my damn parents have to have such a fat fucking kid, anyway? My sister was never that large.
Do not worry, baby, you still win.
You are far smaller than she is now.
June 22, 2012
Skeletor.
Skeletor.
Skeletor.
Skeletor.
Skeletor.
Skeletor.
Skeletor.
Skeletor.
Skeletor.
Skeletor.
Skeletor.
Skeletor.
Skeletor.
Skeletor.
Skeletor.
Skeletor.
Skeletor.
Skeletor.
Skeletor.
Skeletor.
The word rang in my head, over and over and over again, until tears finally began to pour out of me. My friend quickly spun me around so that my back was facing the rest of the team. She took me far away from everyone.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” she replied comfortingly. “But honestly, fuck him. He is a dick. He is an insensitive, oblivious, heartless dick. Seriously.”
I continued to blubber until finally, words managed to escape my lips. “God, I am just so angry – even more so than hurt…. Like, I thought he was my friend. Friends don’t go around calling each other Skeletor. He knows I have a serious problem!”
“So you know what you have to do tonight? You have to channel all of that anger and just play your heart out. Every time you go in for a tackle, pretend the ball or the other player is his big, stupid head.”
I couldn’t help but smile, as I brought my friend in for a long hug, before we both returned to the warm-up.
I wish I could have made my friend – and myself – proud tonight by going out there and playing my hardest like I promised, but I didn’t. I played for five minutes, and then I crawled behind the bench to stretch for the rest of the game like the pathetic loser I am.
June 25, 2012
“Danah, we need to talk about something,” one of my closest friends says, as we walk around the field at lunch. The fucking second the words cross her lips, I know exactly what this talk is going to be about. Still, I ask anyway.
“Is it bad or good?”
“Uh,” she replies with an awkward chuckle, “let’s go with bad.”
She opens a piece of paper that has been folded small, as if it were a top-secret mission or something. This only confirms my suspicion that the talk will certainly be about my eating disorder.
“So, you know, my mom really cares about you, and she really just wants to see you get better and eat. So she would really appreciate you taking a look at this letter she wrote for you.”
Hesitantly, I take the hand-written letter from her and shove it in my pocket, before mumbling, “Thanks.”
This girl has some fucking nerve, eh? Her and her damn mother! Okay, sure, it is extremely thoughtful and all of her to write this letter to me, but does she really think her bullshit advice will help? All she did was emphasize what I already know: I need to eat or else I will be put into a hospital.
Well, NEWS FLASH, LADY: I already am admitted to the hospital, so I guess you are just too fucking late.
June 29, 2012
Please help I ate a deep-fried taco downtown I did not know that it would be deep-fried and I need help I feel so fat and bloated it had cheese and beans and tofu and I did not know it would be deep-fried please Ed don’t be mad I didn’t know I did not know but now I have to go to the gym even though I already did my home workout this morning but I wonder if that will be too much exercise please help I do not know what to do but I know I hate feeling this fat and tomorrow I will barely eat anything at all.
July 2, 2012
My first trip to the 8th floor of the hospital left me suffering, with no choice but to suck it up and to start trying – trying to gain weight, trying to increase my heart rate, trying to achieve true health, trying to cleanse my tainted mind, and trying to recover.
My heart rate was so dangerously low that they threatened to lock me up in the hospital that night, but after countless tears – mine and my mother’s – were spilled, I was granted another chance…. I have been given just one week to improve my weight and heart rate; otherwise I will be admitted to the overnight program. The very thought of that sends shivers down my spine and concerns buzzing through my mind. What if I’m not allowed to do my daily abdominal exercises and have to be fed through tubes!? It’s all so damn horrifying.
Of course, “eating more” isn’t t
he only requirement. I am now forced to cut nearly all exercise from my life, including my hourly walks with the dog and my home workouts. One thing that I refused to sacrifice was soccer. Not because I am incredibly passionate or talented or anything like that, but because I know that my sudden absence in the middle of the season would cause everyone – parents, teammates, and coaches – to come to their own conclusions…. The drama and the bullshit would never end.
Despite my promise to really begin to try, I have secretly been disobeying their orders behind everyone’s backs.
That’s my girl!
You sneaky thing….
Yes, every day I continue to do my quick workouts, especially on days with no physical activity. That should be allowed anyway, shouldn’t it? I am an athlete; they can’t take away all of my exercise! I have to stay fit and toned. I must have a six-pack. I must work hard daily.
Good girl.
My second appointment tomorrow will determine if overnight hospitalization is mandatory. I don’t believe I have ever been so terrified and anxious in my entire life. It is hard to say whether or not I have gained weight because my mother has hidden her bathroom scale. My body image and perception of myself are just so fucked that looking in a mirror tells me absolutely nothing. I only see through the eyes of the demon. And he sees my entire body with fat needing to be lost.
Despite all the extra food that I consumed this week – three granola bars, Boost, and fairly large meal portions – could I somehow have lost weight?
That would be excellent!
The third option, of course, is that I have maintained my weight. I wonder what result that would have: hospitalization and punishment, or encouraging words and greater freedom?
July 3, 2012
I felt an overwhelming amount of anxiety and anticipation as I entered the elevator and walked down the 8th floor hallway. My heart was beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings, and my palms were wet with perspiration. Dizziness made my head spin so that I could barely read the EATING DISORDERS sign above me. It was as if I were dyslexic.
After a urine test and many shaky prayers, I stepped onto the scale. When I finally opened my eyes to see what my fate would be, absolute relief washed over me.
I
Gained
Five
Whole
Pounds.
Seeing the number 102 on the scale released such an astounding amount of emotion that I bawled like a baby, crying from relief and happiness.
No, you cried from sadness and fear.
You cried because you knew that I would punish you severely.
Despite my tears of joy, fear hit me hard as my mind snapped back to reality. Conflicting emotions and questions resumed their race to the finish line in my head. My biggest concern of all: how much farther must I go? How much more weight do I have to gain before I am considered healthy? I know that the doctors don’t want to give me a specific number of pounds, but I must know what their magic number is…. Will it be when my period returns? Or when my heart rate increases substantially? Or will it be when I simply appear healthier? What exactly is needed for me to achieve recovery? I do not want to be back where I was before – at 125 pounds with poor eating habits – so maybe just a few more pounds will do and everything will be okay again.
Nothing over 105, that’s for sure.
Unfortunately, the final magic number is not up to me to decide.
You are quite right. It’s up to me.
Judging from the ridiculous amount of Boost that my mother has recently bought, it looks as though she thinks I need a weight goal of more than 125….
But—
But—
But that’s FAT!
YOU WILL BE FAT.
FAT.
FAT.
I am honestly not certain I will be able to keep up this weight gain for another week. I am so deeply trapped within the pit, connected to a demon who refuses to loosen his tight grip on me. Separation from my eating disorder is the key to becoming myself again, but both separation and recovery appear to be out of my reach at this point. Despite the small weight gain and shaky step up the first rung of the ladder, I find myself still staring into the darkness and into the piercing eyes of my demon. How will I ever attain complete separation from the voice that has taken complete control of my entire being – mind, body, and soul? The disorder still occupies its reserved seat inside of me. It continues to override my thoughts and actions.
I want it GONE – the pressures, the worries, the fears, the conflicting voices, the mixed emotions – I want it all gone.
July 10, 2012
I wish I could go biking
do bicycle crunches.
I wish I could go running
do runners’ lunges.
I wish I could go swimming
do swimmers’ pushups.
I miss my friends.
I am the only friend you need.
I miss fun.
We have fun together.
I miss summer.
Enjoy the view from your bedroom window.
July 15, 2012
There was absolutely nothing interesting on television as I was secretly running on the treadmill this afternoon. I settled for a kids’ channel and watched cartoons, and for the first time in a long time while exercising, I actually felt genuinely happy as the bittersweet nostalgia hit home.
I even managed to crack a smile.
July 16, 2012
More tears were shed and more negative voices were heard at today’s hospital appointment. Despite last week’s incredible five-pound weight gain, my insecurities started to percolate and create doubt while waiting for my results. Certainly, I kept up with the same eating habits as the week before, yet my disorder kept challenging me, causing more worry to creep in.
Nonetheless, I was pleasantly surprised by the numbers that appeared on the little, square screen as I stepped on the scale once more. Another five-pound increase! I should feel ecstatic, but the voice in my head doing battle with that of my nurse confirmed that I am not even relatively close to being finished just yet. When I asked the question that had been occupying my mind all week – How much more weight must I gain? – her response was “Until you look and feel healthy. Your period is a sign of your body’s health. You need that period back.”
I tried to explain to her that my period, even before the weight loss, was always quite irregular due to my athleticism and active lifestyle. Still, she insisted that although it might take a while, my period would come back once I reached a normal, healthy weight.
On the downside of today’s appointment, my therapist suggested my family participate with me in a joint therapy program once a week. I completely lost it upon hearing this. I have already gained ten pounds all by myself, and this is my fucking reward? Obviously, I am capable of continuing this progress by myself; I do not need the rest of my family sticking their noses even farther up my ass…. I don’t want to drag them down with me…. I do not want them to catch even a glimpse of my messed-up mind.
July 19, 2012
I have attempted to explain to my therapist the root of my downfall countless times, but I feel as though she doesn’t trust that I am telling the whole truth.
Perhaps this is because you are not.
Well, how do I explain to her that on my quest for healthier eating habits and self-control, a demon has wiggled inside of my mind, shoved me into a pit, and caused a disorder that determines my every step?
I realize that I have made a grave mistake, but I have faith that I will fix it.
No, you will not.
I actually almost believe myself when I say that I am able to fix this; the ball is in my court. I will regain the healthy weight from eating good fats, protein, and clean carbs. I will become toned and remain fit. I will maintain my newly developed self-control
and healthy eating habits while feeling happy and pure. I will not suffer from the inner turmoil that the demon thrusts my way. For once – despite Ed doubting me constantly – I feel lighter…mentally, of course, since I am physically heavier.
Heavier and fattier and uglier.
July 24, 2012
Well, Ed must be feeling utterly overjoyed from the result of today’s appointment. I sure hope he’s fucking satisfied.
Precisely.
I should not have expected progress at the same rate weekly. Still, I was shocked to see the numbers actually fall three pounds to 104! Overwhelmed by confusion, fear, and frustration, I burst into tears. Concern and doubt flooded my mind with the force of a waterfall. Would they put me into the overnight program, despite my advances of the previous weeks? Would they tell my mother? As though I were a little child who had just been sent to the principal’s office, I had butterflies fluttering in my stomach.
Or was that just the growling from your lack of breakfast this morning?
Despite my mental disruption in the wake of the news, I was awfully surprised to find that both my doctor and my mother took a gentle approach in reassuring me that I am strong enough not only to gain those three measly pounds back, but to also gain more.
After all, with my body and metabolism beginning to make adjustments to all of the extra food I’ve been eating, it’s perfectly normal for my weight to fluctuate in the process, right?
You see?
I told you, it is normal to lose weight.
You must keep going.
Keep going.
Keep going? But, what if I lose more weight next week? How do I play this game – is it three strikes and I’m out?
Sometimes, it is so hard to believe in recovery. I may be gaining weight now, but what will happen in a couple of months, or in a couple of years, once I have exited the hospital program? Will Ed still be here? Will the hole trap me again? Will I ever truly heal from the disorder’s destruction?
On another sour note, I agreed to the family therapy program in an attempt to prove to my therapist that I truly desire a healthy change to occur within me. Perhaps it will not be as agonizing and useless as I suspect.