My Demon's Name is Ed

by Danah Khalil

  Eat fewer animal products, but still eat in bulk!

  Continue to improve in volleyball!

  Read and write every day!

  Project a better attitude!

  Be grateful for everything you have!

  BELIEVE YOU CAN BEAT THE DEMON AND YOU WILL DO IT!!!

  January 12, 2014

  I do not want to be hasty or melodramatic, but perhaps Ed has snuck back into my life, only in a different form. Yes, Ed has taken on the form of social media again – Tumblr, to be exact. Lately, I have been spending an absurd amount of time scrolling through the glorious yoga and health food blogs. Tumblr was a mutual friend of ours before, for it is what initially introduced me to Ed, only that encounter was extremely negative. I am using Tumblr in a positive manner this time around, I swear! My excitement is growing daily as I brainstorm new recipes and attempt new and challenging asanas, but I fear that perhaps my excitement is becoming obsessive….

  Oh yeah, like how?

  Stop exaggerating.

  Well, for one thing, I have started to plan out my meals again – usually at breakfast, as that is where I have most of my new and exciting ideas.

  So?

  Who cares?

  Plan all you want.

  Planning is organization.

  Organization is good.

  For another, these “ideas” are preoccupying my daily thoughts….

  In class.

  At home.

  E v e r y w h e r e.

  I don’t want to head back down into the hole; I want to steer clear of the downward spiral that is the disorder. I want Ed to let me enjoy these beautiful blogs and bloggers, whom I idolize without any risk of losing myself again.

  January 20, 2014

  Haiku to Ed

  I plan to attack.

  I must take the demon down;

  Kill you in your sleep.

  January 28, 2014

  My body flowed with ease, lightly and beautifully. From one delicate lift and fold to the next, I was creating a story with each asana. I had never felt more confident about my yoga practice until today, when I nailed the basic – monumental for me – crow pose. I felt lovely and strong. I now have a new reputation to create for myself this New Year: the yogi.

  February 1, 2014

  I was feeling amazingly strong and sexy at gym today, squatting and bench pressing, until suddenly, a blonde bombshell walked in and drew the complete attention of all the males in the room. The few pairs of eyes that had actually been on me immediately turned to stare at this glorious new figure. And while she was a new face at this gym, she was clearly experienced in the weight room, with her sculpted back muscles, toned arms, and firm butt. She was beautiful, to say the least, in that deep-cut tank top and patterned workout leggings.

  My

  Heart

  Sank.

  I looked in the mirror in front of me, and analyzed myself with my ratchety top bun, baggy Nike shorts, and volleyball T-shirt. How embarrassing. I left without even finishing my workout, too ashamed to be seen in the same room with someone like her.

  That’s okay.

  You know I will make you finish up at home.

  Don’t even think about complaining or procrastinating.

  You want to be as fit and striking as she is, right?

  Well, let’s get to work!

  February 6, 2014

  A doctor’s appointment is approaching, and what do I do best in these situations? Stress, of course. I launch directly into complete panic mode; I ponder the thousands and thousands of questions related to my weight, period, and mental well-being.

  Have I lost weight?

  Can the doctor see right through me?

  Will there be consequences for not having my period back?

  Would I ever be considered for readmission into the hospital?

  DO I NEED HELP AGAIN?

  While I have increased the quantity of my three already extremely loaded meals, I have decided to practically eliminate snacks from my diet again.

  Why have I done this?

  Was this my choice, or Ed’s?

  How has this affected my weight?

  IS IT THE RIGHT THING TO DO?

  If I were to say that I never get hungry between meals, and that is the reason I am skimping on the snacks, I would be lying. I really would be. I don’t enjoy having to wait for the next meal, even as I hear my stomach growl, but a little patience never hurt anyone…right?

  Right.

  The growl of your stomach is music to my ears.

  But what does it sound like to me?

  As much as it kills me to admit it, I feel like I need help again.

  Do I take the chance of asking for it, and risk pissing off the demon?

  February 10, 2014

  I was frantically rifling through old photos in my albums in a last-minute attempt to string together a friend’s birthday gift when suddenly, I stumbled across a photo from about two years ago that I had tucked into a small pocket at the back of the album.

  I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget the appalling sight.

  I can remember the moment I discovered it as though it were yesterday. My mother had forced my sister and me to pose for a photo before we all left for a sushi restaurant with some family friends. I was wearing a fitted floral dress, while my sister was wearing a simple striped T-shirt dress that hugged her curves in all of the right places. The differences between the two of us were outstanding. My sister appeared to be genuinely happy; her cheeks were flushed and full of color and life, her smile shone brightly, and her outfit had the perfect amount of sex appeal. The second I looked at myself, however, a shriek escaped my lips. I was utterly terrifying to look at; pale as a ghost, sickly thin as a skeleton, and lifeless as a vampire. I shoved the image back into the pocket and vowed never, ever to allow myself to look like that again.

  I really had no clue that my appearance had been that alarming. All this time I thought that my case really wasn’t that serious. But the picture literally made me look as if I might drop to the floor and fucking die at any moment.

  And judging from the expression on my face, it seems that I wouldn’t have minded if that had happened.

  February 19, 2014

  126. 126. 126. 126. 126.

  126. 126. 126. 126. 126.

  126. 126. 126. 126. 126.

  What does this mean?

  Well, to me, it means you are at least 36 pounds too FAT.

  But on the bright side, it also means you have lost two whole pounds!

  Okay, okay, okay, but only dropping two pounds is not totally devastating and life altering, right?

  Wrong.

  I sank lower and lower into the chair in the doctor’s office as she threatened to strip me of my home workouts, yet again.

  “I would like to see you reach that 130 mark, Danah.”

  “I don’t want to see you slip back into your old habits, Danah.”

  “I would like to hear that your period has finally returned, Danah.”

  Since when do we care what that bitch thinks, anyway?

  MAYBE I SHOULD START

  CARING WHAT SHE THINKS.

  I AM SCARED AND LEFT

  WITH NO OTHER OPTIONS.

  I CANNOT GO BACK TO THE HOSPITAL.

  I CANNOT.

  I CANNOT.

  I CANNOT.

  I CANNOT.

  Jesus, who knew two measly pounds would put you into this much of a pickle.

  I should have known.

  I should have known not to trust Ed

  with disguising himself as the “harmless” food blogs.

  I should have known.

  I should have known not to trust Ed

  with creating longer, more intense wo
rkouts for me.

  I should have known.

  I should have known not to trust Ed

  with convincing me to eliminate snacks completely.

  I should have known.

  I should have known not to trust Ed

  with loading my plate with only fruits and veggies.

  Fuck you, you little bitch.

  You take that all back RIGHT NOW.

  I AM trustworthy and I AM your friend.

  Please understand, I only want what is best.

  That is pure bullshit, and you and I both know it.

  Anyhow, I reluctantly told my doctor I would try my hardest to gain four pounds and reach that goal weight. She nodded her head in support, but I could see the disapproval and doubt in her eyes. I could hear the doubt in her voice as she replied, “You have six weeks to do it.”

  At this point, I was practically in tears, fighting the urge not to run from the room and cry in fear, anger, and confusion. I couldn’t even find the strength to ask her just what exactly I should do to satisfy her in six weeks. What should I add? What should I eliminate? And most importantly, when would this battle finally end?

  I thought I was permanently at peace.

  February 22, 2014

  “Danah, come on. Have some of my big cookie from the cafeteria. You used to love these last year!” my friend exclaimed at morning break.

  “No, it’s all right, I have my three water bottles.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want a snack?”

  “Yeah, don’t worry. I have to drink my water to feel full, anyway.”

  I remember that brief, yet significant conversation clearly. It was the conversation that really pushed my friends over the edge because I completely exposed myself as the girl who had an eating disorder. The next day I was called down to the guidance office to address my “issue.” The next few months were the toughest of my life.

  I still find it difficult and rather awkward to reflect on that bitter time, but it’s interesting to see the major differences. It is almost comical how I was so reliant on water back then to satisfy whatever cravings I might have encountered during the day. Now, I find myself consistently dehydrated. The only time I ever drink is after I exercise, or if I bother to fill a small cup to go with my meals at home. This may seem like it should be enough, but clearly it isn’t. My frequent headaches, fatigue, and dark-colored pee are proof of that. I know that water is vital to one’s health. Trust me, the vegan blogs I follow constantly remind me of that, but for some odd reason I cannot just reach for a glass, even when I am thirsty. In the back of my mind, I fear that by drinking too much water, two things may occur:

  The obvious; I will have to go to the bathroom far too often.

  I will use it as a way to fill myself up once again.

  March 8, 2014

  “But Madame, don’t you ever just crave meat? Like, don’t you just want to sink your teeth into a nice, juicy cheeseburger?”

  I glared at my idiotic classmate.

  He looked back at me, amused. “What?” he mouthed, as I rolled my eyes at how truly ignorant some people could be. Didn’t he know better than to tempt a vegetarian or a vegan like that? People make their life choices for a reason. Who was he to challenge her?

  Madame chuckled awkwardly, clearly feeling uncomfortable.

  “Non, non…. Really, I just do not like eating or cooking with animal products. It is as simple as that,” she replied before trying to change the subject. “And now, class, let us correct last night’s homework, yes? Page huit dans le cahier, s’il vous plaît.”

  But the stupid boy was not willing to move on.

  “No, but like, seriously, Madame. Why would you not want to eat meat and cheese and fish? Like, your life must be so boring!” When the class burst out laughing at this, I had had enough.

  “What the hell does it matter to you? Honestly, I just don’t understand what business it is of yours. Yes, Madame is vegan. Get over it!”

  All eyes were on me, but I didn’t care; my embarrassment dissolved the moment I saw Madame mouth “Thank you” at me, before continuing with the class.

  March 20, 2014

  Tears are welling up in my eyes, waiting to be released, but I am trying hard not to cause a flood. But one by one, they begin trickling out of my eyes, and then a sudden downpour strikes, and I am sobbing uncontrollably while staring at my computer screen.

  Why can’t I stop crying?

  Perhaps it’s because I have never felt so understood or represented before, and I never would have guessed that this connection could come from the damn television show, Skins. I am Cassie. Cassie is me. The similarities are outstanding and frightening and alarming. Are all individuals with eating disorders this way? Are we all the same, from our screwed-up heads to our skinny toes?

  Cassie, like me, thoroughly enjoys touching, smelling, and arranging any food in sight, but rarely does she eat it.

  Cassie, like me, is an expert strategist who fools her rather oblivious and insensitive friends and family; she changes any subject related to food or her disorder, mixes and cuts the food on her plate, and suppresses her true emotions.

  Cassie, like me, works hard not only to fool those around her, but to fool herself. Through her constant smiles, she desperately tries to believe that everything is all right.

  Cassie, like me, spends a good chunk of her time walking around observing others and thinking deeply.

  Cassie, like me, has a brief moment of consideration that is evident in her eyes when offered food. But she knows better and never gives in to temptation.

  Cassie, like me, secretly hides food in her bedroom closet, to have quick access for binging, or to trick people into thinking she has eaten it.

  Cassie, like me, searches for comfort and reassurance from childhood memories and objects, by remembering a time when it was far easier to accept herself.

  Cassie, like me, is paranoid. She repeatedly imagines receiving texts and notes instructing her to EAT, when in reality, this is all about telling herself to do what is right.

  Cassie, like me, feels hopeless and alone, for she genuinely would like to think that people want to help and like her, but she is always disappointed by the truth.

  Cassie, like me, is faced with a goal at the clinic of gaining X number of pounds in order to be released for good.

  Cassie, like me, is so desperate to change the number on the scale while at the clinic, that she attempts to cheat the system by drinking a huge amount of water beforehand, and placing weights in her panties.

  Cassie, like me, simply wants someone to truthfully give a damn. At her friend’s urging, she bravely raises a burger to her lips, and although she hesitates for a few moments, she finally does it; she finally eats again.

  And now I am here, sobbing from happiness for her, and sobbing from fear as I realize how identical we are.

  Except, for the fact, of course, that she is a television character.

  And I am not.

  This is real for me.

  There is no director to shout “Cut!”

  March 28, 2014

  Not many people can say they genuinely enjoy the pain as much as I do:

  The heart pumping.

  The muscles aching.

  The chest burning.

  The sweat pouring.

  The heavy breathing.

  The music blaring.

  The hearty grunting.

  The fabric sticking.

  I love all of it, every sweet bit of the pain.

  I crave every juicy chunk of the workout. I used to crave it so much that it caused me to starve myself – to lose myself, to surrender to the demon’s commands.

  But I think I have begun to understand how to control my thirst for it. Sometimes, I push myself further than I have ever gone before – just for th
e hell of it, just for the thrill. But now I know when to stop…for the most part, that is.

  Sometimes, I lose control if the voices get too loud and powerful, and if I know I cannot win. That’s when I push the boundaries and break the limits.

  “One more,” I tell myself. “Just one more push.”

  Okay, so this may not be ideal for a recovering eating-disorder patient, but when I think about the reward…damn! There is nothing more satisfying than the reward.

  Your six-pack and slender legs thank me, darling.

  You are welcome.

  April 7, 2014

  I used to have so much variety in what I would watch on TV.

  Reality shows.

  Dance shows.

  Game shows.

  Comedies.

  Sports.

  News.

  Cartoons.

  Fashion shows.

  House renovation shows.

  The discovery channel shows.

  And now?

  All I watch is the Food Network.

  Top Chef.

  Cutthroat Kitchen.

  You Gotta Eat Here!

  Guy’s Grocery Games.

  Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives.

  The Next Food Network Star.

  Bake with Anna Olson.

  Celebrity Cook-Off.

  Sweet Genius.

  Chopped.

  Of course, people who do not come from a disordered background probably have no issues with watching a ton of food-related television, but perhaps this is a sign that I am developing obsessive patterns again. Is this a sign that I am making my way back down into the hole and into the arms of my demon? I pray that it isn’t, and that I simply prefer all of these food education and competition programs to the garbage I watched before.

  Will I be able to stop myself and turn off the TV when I decide that I have gone too far?

  I doubt it.

  Holy shit, child. You really are paranoid.

  You are even blaming me now for your television choices!

  When will you learn to take some responsibility, and realize that I am not the bad guy?

  I am not blaming you, Ed.

  I am just growing nervous about these shows, is all.