My Demon's Name is Ed
Page 14
I don’t have the strength to support myself in the arm balances as long as I used to. I don’t even have the flexibility I once had. Even worse, I don’t have the passion to practice and to breathe like I used to.
And yet, you cannot stop.
February 28, 2015
Lately, I have been intrigued by the idea of getting a tattoo. I know, most teenage girls at one point dream of some sort of a stupid heart or infinity symbol on their wrist or hip. But the idea I have is far more meaningful and tender. After all, a tattoo is permanent—
As permanent as my presence—
so I must be comfortable with it for the remainder of my life. Although I fear it will inevitably remind me of Ed, I am hoping that it will remind me even more of how far I have come from this experience. I plan to have the beautiful recovery symbol from the dreaded 8th floor of the hospital tattooed behind my ear.
The design is simple, and yet, as I passed it every day on that glass wall before entering my usual room to step on that scale, it meant more to me than anyone could ever know. It is what got me through that summer. It is what I hope will get me through the rest of my life.
I was extremely reluctant to share this idea with anyone, for it is clearly very personal and secret to me. But then my sister approached me with her silly tattoo idea. I felt as though I had no other choice but to get it off of my chest and into the air around us. I needed to open up to someone…even if that someone was my selfish bitch of a sister.
I could feel the tension the moment I said it. She simply didn’t know how to respond. I guess I can’t blame her. If I was in that same scenario, I would be hesitant to respond as well. I think it was the simple fact that I said it in the first place that made all the difference. I think it means that I am beginning to get more comfortable with the idea of talking about my past.
Yes, it happened.
Yes, it was painful.
Yes, I will surpass it.
Yes, it happened.
Yes, it was delightful.
Yes, you will surrender.
March 3, 2015
“You really have not eaten much this entire weekend.”
BLAH.
“Glad to see you finally eating, Danah!”
BLAH.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like any?”
BLAH.
“Promise me you already ate?”
BLAH.
Suddenly, I am transported back to my grade 8 self – fatally skinny and mentally ill – as the soccer moms questioned my eating habits. Certainly, I eat far more than I did three years ago, but it scares me deeply to experience this sort of questioning again. It makes me question my ability to detect the demon’s presence. Maybe others have the power to do so even before I can. Is it more obvious from afar? Or am I too sick to see him sneaking up on me? Is he starting to awake from his slumber; preparing for battle?
Oh, baby, I was never asleep.
I do not have the strength or the determination to battle him again. Really, I don’t. The fight has been far too long and excruciating for me to handle. Normally, I eat plentifully at tournaments, only this weekend, it is difficult to convince myself to eat as much as my teammates. They are playing and working it off, while I sit on the bench for the entire fucking tournament. The resemblance to my final soccer season is alarming. And the worst part is that they expect me to eat McDonald’s! They are all insane.
And unhealthy.
Good for you, baby.
Do not be afraid to stick up for yourself.
I am grateful for their consideration, but I know what I am doing now; I do not need anyone’s help anymore. After all, no one would know how to help me, anyway.
I AM THE ONLY HELP YOU NEED.
Yeah, yeah, whatever.
The irony of this entire situation really is quite comical. All I truly wanted in life – and essentially, what triggered my eating disorder in the first place – was to be a strong, impressive athlete. But as this weekend proved, I am the complete fucking opposite. I am a joke. I am terrible at all sports. I have zero talent. I have decided that that dream will be NO MORE. I am giving up on these fucking sports and the second this damn volleyball season ends, I plan to invest all my time and energy and passion in the weight room and the yoga mat.
March 4, 2015
I distinctly remember the expression on my sister’s face when I told her how I plan to be vegan once I am out of the house.
“Are you retarded?” she snorted, ignoring my strong distaste for that word. “Veganism is practically killing you!” she continued.
“First of all, you don’t know anything about a vegan diet or the nutrients humans need. Second of all, for someone who cares so much about the environment and the animals, you sure don’t mind eating a good chunk of them. Being a vegetarian is pointless. Why choose to kill some animals and not others?”
“Why choose to kill yourself to be vegan?”
We argued on like this for hours, and those hours turned into days, and those days turned into weeks. For now, nearly every time she brings up how she “does not eat meat,” I roll my eyes and scoff, and the ranting begins again.
Now, Saint Mother Theresa over here speaks non-stop about how badly she wants to go vegan, or about how badly she wants to save the environment, and frankly, I have had enough. She needs to stop stealing my thunder, my ideas, my lifestyle. Now I will look like the copycat, since she will surely leave home before me, and what is the first thing she will do?
“Be retarded” and go vegan.
Fucking hypocrite.
March 12, 2015
Even with all the weight training I have been doing – five times per week – I still look in the mirror and see the same, scrawny girl from two years ago.
Why am I not gaining muscle? It can’t be that I am not eating enough, because if that were the case, I really would not know what to turn to. Protein supplements, perhaps?
Never.
Those are far too loaded in chemicals and fat.
I want to be big.
Big?
Yes, big.
I want to resemble a personal trainer or a professional athlete.
I want people to look at me and automatically be intimidated.
Careful, darling…
Big muscle equals heavy weight.
Truthfully, it is the risk I am willing to take for this new desired look. Especially because, at this point, I still feel rather silly in the weight room compared to the beautiful, strong veterans. When will I come across as bold, tough, and knowledgeable like they do? Why am I not seeing real results in my strength and muscle tone?
March 19, 2015
“I really enjoy talking to one of my co-workers about nutrition because he is also very invested in a healthy lifestyle and gaining muscle,” I said, excited to tell Mom all about the enriching and interesting conversations we have together. “He has a completely different philosophy. He weighs everything he eats and then inputs the information in this app to track his calories and—”
Mom didn’t even let me finish the sentence before she interrupted me with a dark tone and an even darker threat. “Danah, I swear to God, if you ever do such a thing, I will send you right back to the hospital in a heartbeat.”
What
The
Fuck?
Where did this come from, and how had it escalated so quickly? She hadn’t even given me a goddamn second to explain how much I disagree with his calorie counting. No. She automatically assumed that this would trigger my eating disorder. How pathetic, Mom.
Why does she not trust me, not even a little bit, not even at all?
I wouldn’t trust you when you are with me, either.
March 26, 2015
I do not think I will ever be able to shake off this bizarre habit of timing my meals. It makes
me rush maniacally – inhaling my food, not bothering to chew or to even goddamn breathe – all so that I can finish my last meal before 5:00 or 6:30 or whatever the fuck time it is. And the end result is always the same: feeling sick to my stomach and bloated for the remainder of the evening.
This is a habit I really want to kick because, quite frankly, it’s absurd to think that any major changes will occur if I finish a meal five fucking minutes later. I mean, what is the point of doing what I do?
Don’t be stupid.
The earlier you finish, the sooner you can work it off.
You have to finish by the hour; this is not up for debate.
Ed doesn’t realize that after bingeing like this, I simply don’t have the energy to move until hours later. Whereas if I had just taken my sweet time, eaten like a normal person, and actually digested my food, then I would feel a hundred times better than I do right now, with a massive plate of undigested stir-fry causing my stomach to feel as though it may burst.
I stood over the dish on the stovetop after sprinting home to make it by 4:50. I inhaled forkful after forkful until suddenly, too many noodles were in my system, blocking my airway. My heart hurt. I panicked. I was home alone with no one to save me if I really were to choke to death on the kitchen floor. Slowly, I told myself to relax, to breathe and to chew, and to breathe. Finally, the damn Chinese noodles went down.
Today’s incident was really a wake-up call.
I have to draw the line somewhere. Ed, you are not going to kill me.
March 30, 2015
What should I whip up for breakfast?
Healthified chocolate peanut butter brownies, perhaps?
No, those are too high in fat, which I consumed a lot of yesterday.…
Perhaps something lighter, like a layered chia seed pudding jar with yogurt and figs.
Oh! Or maybe a smoothie bowl with all the fixings.
No, we don’t have enough bananas.
Fuck, how could Dad not buy enough?
He should know by now that I eat at least two a day….
God, how could he be so selfish?
Okay,
Okay,
Okay.
So how about pancakes with a caramel sauce of dates and cinnamon?
No, I’ve been eating too much sugar lately, so perhaps dates aren’t the best idea.
Oh, but I adore dates so much.
Maybe I should read instead of spending this absurd amount of time in the kitchen.
I have barely read a single page all summer.
Maybe I shouldn’t use the food processor at 6:00 a.m. on Saturday.
Whatever. They probably won’t hear it anyway.
Maybe I should quit obsessing about my breakfasts of the week.
Actually, I don’t care; I love planning ahead.
Maybe I should go ask the vegan idols what I should eat today.
They give such amazing guidance whenever I am riddled with doubts.
Positive, right…?
Most of them are haunted by disordered pasts, so they are a perfect source of advice.
Maybe I should stop wasting time and do something productive.
No, wait. This is productive.
I am planning my future.
Speaking of the future…
what should I whip up for lunch?
March 31, 2015
Calm down.
Calm down.
Calm down.
Just breathe.
Just breathe.
Just breathe.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
FUCK. NO, OKAY, NO. I CAN’T JUST BREATHE. I CAN’T. I CAN BARELY THINK. I FUCKING HATE MY LIFE RIGHT NOW. ALL I WANTED TO DO WAS PHOTOGRAPH MY FUCKING BREAKFAST JAR, BUT MY FAT HANDS KNOCKED IT OVER, SPILLING MY FUCKING HOMEMADE GRANOLA – THAT LOOKED FUCKING DELICIOUS – ALL OVER THE KITCHEN TABLE AND ONTO THE FLOOR. WHILE I WAS SCREAMING AND CRYING IN THE BATHROOM, MY SNEAKY MOTHER TAKES THE OPPORTUNITY TO THROW IT OUT. THROW IT OUT! INTO THE FUCKING GARBAGE!!!!! IS SHE CRAZY???? SHE KNOWS HOW MUCH I HATE WASTING FOOD. WHY WOULD SHE DO THAT????? THE GRANOLA ON THE KITCHEN TABLE WAS FINE. I FUCKING HATE MY LIFE RIGHT NOW. I AM SCREAMING AND CRYING ON MY BEDROOM FLOOR AND PUNCHING AND THROWING ANYTHING IN SIGHT BUT I DON’T CARE BECAUSE I FUCKING HATE MY LIFE RIGHT NOW. I AM SO FUCKING ANGRY. I HATE BEING THIS ANGRY BUT I CANNOT CONTROL MYSELF, I REALLY CAN’T. I STILL HAVE TO GO TO THE FUCKING GYM TONIGHT BUT THERE IS NO WAY MY PARENTS WILL LET ME AFTER THIS TEMPER TANTRUM. I CANNOT EVEN FUCKING DEAL RIGHT NOW. I WISH I COULD GO BACK IN TIME AND SAVE THAT FUCKING GRANOLA AND SAVE MY FAMILY FROM THE FUCKING MONSTER THAN I AM.
WHO AM I?
March 31, 2015
“Danah, you must learn to control your anger,” Mother tells me as she strokes my hair. “There are far more important things in life to be angry about. There are far greater problems than losing a bit of food.” I know she is right, but I cannot change my ways.
You don’t need to change.
There is absolutely nothing wrong with being passionate about food.
Yes, passionate. That’s all it is. Nevertheless, I am extremely grateful for – and surprised by – Mom’s patience and support in the moments following my epic fit. I’m even more grateful that Father was still willing to drive me to the gym, even though I couldn’t find the voice to ask.
April 1, 2015
Haiku to Ed
I crawl and clamber
But the darkness smothers me;
Rips away my soul.
April 2, 2015
Anxious and hesitant, I stepped into the majestic church. I was too busy stressing over the communion bread as opposed to appreciating His home – a place that I visit very infrequently. How can I be so selfish? Can Ed please stop nagging me at times like this? I told myself to just breathe, and to rely on God to give me strength.
Little did I know that just two minutes later we would be exiting the church before the mass had even begun. The overwhelming number of people and the limited available seating discouraged Mom from staying. A part of me felt extremely relieved, while another felt extremely ashamed. Not only had we missed Christmas mass this year, but now we were skipping Easter too! I was the one who persuaded Mom to attend mass today in the first place, but as we turned to leave, Ed wouldn’t allow me to talk her into staying. I am sorry, God. Forgive me.
April 3, 2015
Dear my masterful Ed,
What crazy, sorrowful quests we have ventured on together! You have shown me what it means to truly be miserable and depressed. You have even shown me what it’s like to contemplate suicide. You have encouraged me to absolutely detest myself, and you have even encouraged me to cry myself to sleep almost every night. For this, I thank you. You may think you have won, Ed, but I will never stop challenging you for my release and recovery. Please, Ed, spare us both all this trouble. Please Ed, set me free.
Your submissive, yet resistant
Danah
You can never escape.
I am your disorder.
I am your demon.
I am YOU.
*****
April 19, 2016
Oh, there you are, Ed. I haven’t forgotten you are here.
It’s just that I’ve been too busy living my life to talk.
It’s strange how the tables have turned.
It seems I am in charge of you now!
I wonder where I should put you.
Did you expect me to wither up and die?
There is nowhere for me to be except in your mind;
And there is no place I would rather be, baby.
No person I would rather torment.
Don’t worry.
I have accepted that you will stay indefinitely.
In fact, I have a proposition fo
r you.
I’m listening.
If you agree to sit in the deepest, darkest corner of my being, staying on your absolute best behavior
and speaking only when I summon you forward, you can stay as long as you like.
You have that much power over me now?
I’d like to think so, Ed.
I’d like to believe that I’m a stronger person now, physically and mentally; truly enjoying exercise, as opposed to feeling obligated to do it.
I would like to believe that I am a more compassionate person now, embracing the beautiful vegan lifestyle for genuine reasons, as opposed to striving for some impossible fantasy.
Oddly enough, Ed, I have you to thank for my new strength.
Without you, I wouldn’t be able to sense any trace of darkness approaching; I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from returning to that deep pit.
Believe me, I have stumbled many times in the past year. Staying strong and sane is very difficult at times.
But I have never completely fallen since we last met.
And never will I again.
Are you sure, baby?
Don’t call me that…. I’m sure.
Now, go to the corner and sit down.
It may be quite a while before we talk again.
Whatever you say…Danah….
About the Author
Danah Khalil was inspired to write at a very young age by some of her favorite authors. This is her first novel, inspired by her own life. She continues with her journal entries, fictional novels, and poetry in hopes of inspiring others to tell their stories through writing as well. Danah lives in Toronto.
Copyright
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Khalil, Danah, author
My demon’s name is Ed / Danah Khalil.
Issued in print and electronic formats.
ISBN 978-1-927583-96-8 (paperback).
—ISBN 978-1-77260-000-1 (epub)