We will be taking a break from our series on "What to expect at CCED" to share a unique piece written by one of our clients. We will resume with "What to expect at CCED" next week.
Ed has been with me for 14 years now. I met him in the second grade before a school fashion show. He criticized my outfit, and told me I looked rather rotund in it, to put it nicely. But instead of thinking That Jerk! I believed him. I continued to take his unsolicited advice. He’s right, I thought. I continued to feel in such a way for years to follow, until we became so intertwined that his thoughts became my own.
As an eighth grader at a small Catholic school, we became an “official” couple during lunchtime in the cafeteria. You know how those grade school romances are – short-lived and oh so dramatic. But there was something different about Ed, something comforting and intriguing. Ed was much more attractive than Chris or Nick or Zach. He seemed to promise me everything I could ever want (seemingly better than Britney Spears tickets), and always made me feel safe and secure.
Weekly dinner dates gave way to daily luncheons, and soon we were connected at the hip. He soon had me convinced that I needed him, and him only, in my life. Before I knew what was happening, I became his next victim, joining the ranks of so many other that he had seduced before. I was naïve to his hefty abusive record, and so there I went blindly falling deeper and deeper into danger. But Ed made me vow never to make a peep about what had been really happening; for if I did, he would become that much more vicious.
Perhaps I should start from the beginning, Ed.
You told me I looked chubby in my pink flowered overalls and made me go on a diet. You put me on the scale only to make me feel ashamed of the number and tell me I was fat. When I finally lost a few pounds, you made me feel a temporary sense of relief. I was seven.
You made me swing for hours in hopes of fitting into a smaller clothing size. You showed me an “8 minute abs” video only to disappoint me when I looked at my reflection 8 minutes later. It didn't change, and neither did you. I was eight.
You made me suck in to feign a hollow stomach at dance class and gymnastics practice, since you had convinced me I was not thin enough to excel at either. I was nine.
You told me I looked pregnant with a face much too round and made me cry at my own reflection. I was ten.
You made me feel embarrassed to eat in front of others. I was eleven.
You told me my hips looked way too wide in my cheer uniform. I was twelve.
You began to steal my lunch and make me starve, finding more flaws in my reflection. I was thirteen.
You convinced me that it was best to exercise and not eat anything at all, leaving me sick, pale, withdrawn, and absolutely consumed by your demands. I was fourteen.
When I tried to fight back, you left me feeling hopeless, inferior, and never good enough. I was fifteen.
You tried to convince me I could not live without you, and would tease me by leading me into a vicious cycle of letting me eat one week, and starving me the next. I was sixteen.
You told me it was okay to eat, as long as I stared at your face in the white porcelain bowl after. But, you said, my feeble efforts were still not good enough. I was seventeen.
You assured me that I was far too large for my prom dress and my dance performance costumes, and slowly but surely lured me back into your endless demands. I was eighteen.
When I lived in abroad, you forbade me from ever indulging in the famous cuisine. Even the scent of food in the winding streets caused you make me feel guilty, only to send me running into the rainy night. I was nineteen.
You starved me for months upon months, sucking the life out of me one meal at a time. You sent me running in the snow and ice, regardless of injury or sickness. You locked me up in my room and never let me go out with my friends, leaving me with four walls and a scale. I was twenty.
You made my best friends worry and my family cry. You ripped my hair out, wiped the color out of my face, and cut my heart rate in half, dragging me out to the middle of nowhere and leaving me for death. You made me fear food and crave exercise. You controlled my every waking moment, turning me into a miserable shell of my former self. I am twenty-one, and I want myself back.
You tainted my childhood innocence, corrupted my teenage years, and kept me from leading a “normal” college life. You robbed me of my natural enthusiasm and joie de vivre. When I look into the mirror, it’s not myself I see anymore. It’s you, Ed. You’ve permeated my whole being and left me with no concept of self. It is because of you that I base my entire self-worth on my reflection and the number on the scale. It was because of you that I feared to sleep alone, afraid that my heart would stop in my sleep. It was because of you that I had to forfeit a dream internship for a summer spent in treatment. But, I am not giving up without a fight. I want to feel the true love in my life that surrounds me, not just the omnipotent allure of your filthy, deceitful presence and empty promises. I have dreams to reach and hopes of children to raise. I have people to meet, family to love, lessons to learn, and memories to form. I have lazy mornings to be spent content beneath crispy white sheets, cookies to bake, and champagne to drink in celebration of my emancipation from you, calories included. I want to have my wedding cake and eat it, too. I want to learn to love and accept myself for the unique and productive vessel that I am, instead of destroying the only body I have which was created to be much more than an ornament. I want something more substantial in life to hold onto than the once sharp handles that were my hip bones. I want to live. I have too much to live for, whereas the only thing I can attain while embracing you is another statistic, another victim, another stone slab atop hollow ground that reads, And here lies a girl who wanted to be thin.
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