To my eating disorder,

You’ve grown with me. You’ve evolved as I’ve evolved and you’ve never left my side. As my goals changed, you changed shape, too. But you fought me tooth and nail. You made me weak and strong at the same time - a dichotomy I can’t fully comprehend.

You’re trying to tell me something, but I think it’s lost in translation. You’re trying to protect me, I really do believe it. Misplaced, maybe, but I believe that under this confusing chaos, your intention is pure.

How could it not be? As a part of my make-up, it simply has to be pure. You cause my anxiety and you cure my anxiety. It’s not all your fault, but the ways you’re helping don’t suit me any longer. They never really did. I don’t remember a time I lived without you, but I know you were born as a coping mechanism. A self-soothing shield against trauma I didn’t realize was happening.

Sometimes I don’t even think you’re real. Did I dream you up as a distraction? Are you the culmination of years of criticism? Were you passed along as a gene, like a fucked little gift from my mom’s inner demons?

Before you can swallow me whole again, I need to rid myself of you. And it will probably need to happen before I’m able to decode your message. It will be like a breakup without closure and that terrifies me. Leaving our storied relationship with a small, “well, we tried” doesn’t seem safe enough for me. Without knowing your inner workings, I have a constant fear that you’ll come creeping back.

Maybe it’ll be on a good day when I’ll have the strength to laugh at the ridiculously firm grip you once had on me.

But what if it’s in a moment of weakness? What if you shape-shift again and I don’t recognize you at first? You might first visit me in the form of a friend when I need one most. I’ve fallen victim to your slithery games before. What makes me think I’m above it this time?

Just when I think I’m out of the cycle, you blur the lines between healthy and obsession. You are the most competitive part of me, but no one is challenging you.

In fact, when you’re good to me, I like the consequence of our control together. When a man says he likes how my hip bones feel, I thank you for the work you’ve done with me.

It’s when you turn on me that it hurts so badly. You twist the steak knife that I thought we both agreed we wouldn’t be using. When I can’t allow myself to enjoy a nostalgic meal with my family without scoping out the nearest sound-resistant restroom, I resent you.

When a jog to clear my head turns into a 10 mile run past exertion, I’ll know you’re visiting me. When my eyes get stuck on my imperfections in the mirror, I’ll know you’re visiting me. When I compare my body to someone who I fully know is photoshopped, I’ll know you’re visiting me. I’m getting better at recognizing when you’re with me. But how will I know to expect you before you arrive?

I’m closer now than I’ve ever been. I can feel myself on the cusp of kissing you goodbye. I’m not sure what my life will look like on the other side of you, but I’m ready to find out.