September 10, 2009
Dear Eating Disorder,
You
have been a part of my life for twenty years. You were with me for my eighth grade, high school, and
college graduations. You walked me
down the aisle at my first wedding.
You traveled with me to England, Scotland, and Spain. You watched as I signed on the dotted
line for the closing of my house. And though our relationship has waxed and
waned, strong at times, weak at others, together we remained. You have been a part of every milestone
in my life since the age of thirteen, and yet, I need to let you go.
You
are not the supportive lover/friend I need. You feed my fears and anxieties with insecurity, self-doubt,
self-loathing. You tell me I’m
worthless, ugly, undeserving, unlovable.
You beat me with an endless barrage of insults, covering me with
bruises. Because of you, I cannot
accept myself, be myself. I cannot
trust others; I cannot fully engage and interact. This abusive dance has me brainwashed, dizzily twirling in
the belief that you are the answers to my problems. You convinced me that I need only you, taught me anything
less than perfect is unacceptable, torn me from my friends and family,
shrouding me in veils of deceit and secrecy.
You
claim to love me, to want only the best for me, but you continue to abuse me,
criticize me, pressure me to believe your lies. And like an amorous lover, I believed you because at first,
everything went so well. So many
compliments, so much attention and praise were heaped my way from others. Following your ideas, your orders, made
sense. But over time, you
tightened your reign, your grip, taking things away, controlling me more and
more. And each time you beat me
with hours of exercise, you apologized: a drop in weight—red roses—for the
pain. But those thorns were too
sharp.
Looking
around, listening, I noticed the praise ending, others less supportive, me
isolating to focus only on you.
You became jealous easily and would punish me if you perceived me to
stray—more workouts, a binge, purge, cutting, fewer safe foods. The relationship became uglier and
uglier, but I was too scared to leave because I believed every ugly word you
uttered. I feared no one would
love or accept me for who I was. I
had pushed away everyone and had only you. You refused to let me escape, threatening my life. You persuaded me to believe I didn’t
deserve to escape. You held on
tight; you still, white-knuckled, feet planted firmly, muscles clenched, hold
on as I desperately try to pull away.
I have allowed you to grow too strong, become too powerful, allowed you
to usurp my own power and control over my self.
You
need to leave and leave wholly, fully, and completely. I cannot truly rely on you. Your strength, concern, love is only a
façade, a mask concealing the demon within.
I
deserve to be loved. I deserve
happiness, contentment, fulfillment.
I deserve to revel in the joy and beauty of womanhood, free from abuse,
free from constant pain, despair, and self-doubt. I deserve to feel, to live, to be. You will not allow me these quintessential human
rights. You will apologize,
romance me, and attempt to lull me into false security that things will change,
things will get better—that we can remain together, that you can remain,
however small, in my life.
I
refuse to succumb to this lie and all other lies. Get out, leave, go.
Do not look back. Do not
plead. Do not try to
negotiate. Let me go. Let me love, let me live.
--Signed,
Johnny
Stay Strong!
Cheers!
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