There is a tunnel

at the end of the path you walk with Ed. As you approach it, you grab his hand even tighter than before. You are afraid. Deathly afraid. Because you see nothing but horror awaiting in its shadows.

This tunnel is recovery.

Those who you thought loved you push you closer to its grinning, black mouth. You fight them. You scream for Ed to save you. You reach out to grab for him once more. You want so badly to be back in his comforting embrace. The only comforting embrace you have known along this journey.

Family, friends, doctors, people who are supposed to be of aide to you drag you closer and closer to the certain doom that awaits beyond the tunnel's threshold until finally you are ripped out of Ed's arms and shoved into darkness. Cold, empty, darkness.

You feel demons and temptations all around you. You feel so alone. More alone than you have ever felt. More alone than you ever imagined you could feel.

You brave one step and trip on jagged rocks. Hot tears stream down your face. The pain discourages you and you wearily glance back to see Ed's beautiful face beckon for you to return to him. He smiles at you; the most precious smile you have ever seen.

Strength suddenly returns to you and you rise, determined to make it back to his loving arms. Determined to escape this evil place they forced you into.

As you make one step back to where you came from, back to where Ed awaits, they swarm around you again. Your mother cries out to you to turn around and venture back farther into the tunnel. Doctors shove Ed out of reach.

Trying desperately to trust them, you turn around once more and face the harsh blackness again. You feel blind and stumble again and again. You call out to Ed and he begs you to turn around, to come back to him. You call out to your family and they beg you to keep going.

You see no light at the end of this tunnel. You are so afraid.

All along the way demons bite at you, pull you to the ground, curse you. They call you disgusting names. They laugh at you and mock you.

Horrified, you reach out and feel the hand of your mother and warmth returns to you-the same warmth you once felt with Ed-and you soon remember how comforting these gestures once were. You soon remember how it felt to love and be loved other than by Ed.

You smile and suddenly a small light appears at the end of the tunnel. It seems so far away. But you know that it is there and some hope is restored. You grab your mother's hand tighter and pick up the pace, for your life is waiting for you in that light.

The evil of the tunnel senses your confidence and tries harder and harder to break you down once again. Demons scratch at you again. They shove your mother-your guardian-away and try to devour you.

You scream and cry and look back toward the place where you were forced to leave Ed. But instead of seeing Ed standing gloriously in the light, you look around you and realize that he himself is in the demons clawing at you, trying to kill you.

Just as you begin to lose all hope of making it out of Ed's fatal grasp, your mother returns to you. She pours her comfort over you like the sun you so desperately miss and Ed pulls back. Now he is the coward fleeing from the light of your mother.

You now realize the evil in Ed that you had been so blind to before. You even realize the purpose of the tunnel to which you had been so blind. And you dash toward the light at the end of it. You feel as though you are flying as you get closer and closer.

The sweet sound of happiness can be heard echoing from the light. You can recognize voices of friends and laughter. You can feel the energy of the light, the warmth, the love.

And finally, you break through from out of the tunnel; and the light and the sun and the sounds and the love of this magnificent place wash over you.

And you're home again.

Supposedly people like me die.

I wish I could stop.
I wish I could control it.
I wish I could not care about some things.
But care more deeply about others.
I wish I could scream and blame it on someone. Some thing.
I wish I had a valid reason to feel the way I do.
I wish I didn't feel the way I do.
Sometimes I wish I was alone.
Yet I hate feeling so lonely.
I wish he would leave me alone.
I wish I believed with some people say.
And ignore what others say.
I wish I wasn't so selfish.
And that I cared about myself more.
I wish I didn't have to see "triggers" everywhere, every day.
Sometimes I wish I was dying.
Or dead.
So I wouldn't have to live like this anymore.
So I could start over. Perhaps happier.
I wish people understood.
I wish I understood myself.
I wish the world would stop what they don't even realize they are doing.
Perhaps they do realize it. And don't care.
I hope to one day change that.
If only I could change myself first.

Love, Megan

I was eating

a bowl of Cheerios (with fat-free, lactose-free milk) and planning out the coming week.

Stats test tomorrow. Oh, and of course Calculus. Doctor's appointment...again. I sighed to myself.

And suddenly my thoughts began to trail off and my "anti-Ed" voice called out, What if they discover you have cancer or something, Megan! What if you only had until that date to live?

I looked at the milk carton. The date read 03:03:10.

What?! Why would you even think that?! I thought back to myself.

Well, what if? What would you do?

Hmm, I pondered the question, I would eat whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted it. And I smiled.

Why is that, Megan?

I thought hard again and finally answered, I guess because I would want to be happy until the day I die.

Perhaps thinking of death will help me live.

To my very good friend, Joshua

Do you know how much you hurt me? Do you know you made me cry? Do you realize how you encouraged Ed to echo your words between my ears for the rest of the day?

I feel as though I have come so far. I have been on a journey you know nothing of. Hardship and pain you know nothing of. If you did know the struggles, the conscious decisions I have to make every single day, maybe you would take your words back. Words that jabbed me like a knife...or, rather, like your fingers poking and prodding at my fat as if it were your place to judge.

I still feel your hands pinching my "love handles" or poking the belly I am very aware that I have acquired. Ed makes sure of that each and every day. He makes sure I realize how big I'm getting. He pokes and inspects every inch of my body. Every. Single. Day.

So, thanks, but I think I got the physical critiquing covered.

I know you may not realize how deeply you are hurting me when you make these seemingly insignificant gestures. You think nothing of it but, then, you cannot see the battle I am fighting within myself. You cannot see how hard it is for me to combat the ridicules made by Ed.

Every day I am getting stronger and better able to ignore these criticisms. There are days when I feel like the goddess my amazing boyfriend insists I am. And then there are days when people like you feel the need to share their opinion of me.

I have hid my emotional insecurites regarding my body from many of those closest to me. Perhaps, until Ed is long gone anyway, it would be considerate of you to do the same.

Love,
Megan

Thanksgiving: an anorexic's favorite holiday

Maybe today would be an appropriate time to give thanks to those who have helped so much.

So, first off...

Thank you for putting things in perspective for me when he had twisted my thinking so much. And thanks for being tough on me and allowing me to see the insensibility of my actions.

Thank you for trying to ignore the problem when it seemed as though I needed you the most. You knew coddling my "disease" would have only made things worse.

Thanks for letting me cry and forcing me to look deep inside Megan and know the difference between her thinking and his. And for defending me against those who don't and shouldn't understand. Thanks for letting me feel halfway normal and for knowing how to handle people like me.

Thank you for introducing me to food again, in a friendly way of course. And for reteaching me how to treat myself. Thanks for allowing me to see myself as more than a number on a scale.

Thank you for being as crazy as I am at times and understanding that life never turns out the way we wish it would. Thank you for laughing and making me feel comfortable with my flaws and reassuring me that I can overcome them even if I don't believe that I can. And for always having advice even if I only wanted to listen to him.

Thank you for loving me. And for not giving up on me. And for getting angry with me when I wasn't being rational. Thanks for countering him and telling me I'm beautiful and perfect. Thanks for reminding me that I'm more than just a body, fat or skinny; that there are so many other things to love about me.

Thanks for taking his abuse so gracefully. And for continuing to do what is necessary, for not listening to him anymore. And thank you so much for forgiving me. Thank you for being strong when I was not.

And finally, thank you for turning me into this so I can find the strength to fight it and become a better person in the end.

I'm only crying because I got three hours of sleep

"A wise man once said that you can have anything in life, if you sacrifice everything else for it."
-a quote of a quote from Grey's Anatomy



Tonight I went with my mother to a Pizza Hut right around the corner from my house for dinner. Ed, disgusted at me already, told me that the only way he would allow me to eat such trash was to go for the lesser evil-"The Natural" made with all-natural ingredients and a multi-grain crust.

That would be perfect! See, and you're indulging. And you say I never let you indulge, Ed said and we took off to our dinner destination with high hopes.

Unfortunately (for Ed mostly) it turned out they didn't offer "The Natural" anymore. Instead, I was forced to order a normal...white crust...hand-tossed pizza. Ed was mortified.

For the better part of our ridiculously long wait, Ed was screaming in my head, What the hell?! Are you actually going to eat a real, fast food pizza?! It's FAST FOOD, Megan! I hope you realize this. Think of all the extra oils...and the grease and-

Leave me alone. I'm not going to get fat, I tried to make myself believe.

Oh really? And who told you this? People who don't know you at all?! People who don't care about you the way I do?! Ed snapped back.

People who love me, I said and the pizza arrived and I ate it and I waited to hear what terrible things Ed would say. But he didn't say terrible things. In fact, he didn't say anything at all. For the first time in my relationship with Ed, I waited, prepared to face his criticizing attack, and got silence instead.

I was, in no way, able to silence Ed on my own. Oddly enough that beautiful, seemingly impossible accomplishment was the work of no nutritionist, or therapist, or even psychiatrist, but of someone not in the least bit qualified for any of these fields.

But he can speak to me like no one else can. He can entrust confidence in me even when Ed is inevitably knocking it down. He makes me feel as though I am the most beautiful person in the world wearing sweats and a T-shirt while Ed ridicules my naked body in the mirror every night.

He loves me. He wants to see me happy. All Ed ever wanted was pain and anguish on my behalf.

And now I'm finally realizing what's really important. Should I be consumed trying to please an evil, superficial voice in my head that will never accept me no matter how hard I try, or should I be happy with who already adores me for who I am?

"Screw Ed," he says, "You're perfect."

Maybe if I concentrate on that long enough I'll start to believe it myself.

And a banana clip

Car rides almost always relax me. I love the gentle hum and vibrations that engulfs its passengers in such a comforting rhythm. I love how the scene changes with lights and pedestrians and other cars passing by. I love how all I have to do is sit back and watch and sometimes wonder where each of them are going and why.

I can count maybe three car rides that I have not particularly enjoyed. My driving test with the hefty middle aged man sitting two feet away, critiquing every move I made, was one. The ride to QuickCare cradling a bleeding index finger where the top of a bean can had conveniently found a clean path across was another.

The third (and probably worst) took place last night.

"Let's go," my father said emotionless. It must have been drained in his yelling and frustration with Ed and me.

Yes, Ed was visiting again. And he was beyond infuriated with my dinner. Ed and I had made a pact earlier in the day to make peace with each other once again. I would get back to my normal, emaciated self, control everything that went into (or out of) my mouth, and all would be well again. Ed had promised me this. And I believed him.

Part of this deal was to resist the temptations of my old friend: the peanut butter. Just don't do it. Not even one piece of toast. Think of the fat. 16 grams! 16! Ed etched into my mind.

I had followed Ed's every command flawlessly until the evening came and with it-hunger.

One innocent slice of peanut butter toast turned into three and four and six until Ed was screaming at me to stop, screaming at me about how pathetic I was, screaming at me until my sobs overpowered his voice and he left me for my parents to devour.

Another screaming/sobbing match later and I found myself in my car, sporting pajamas and a pink bath robe, wishing that it was only a cut finger that was troubling me.

The ride was numbing. I tried to distance myself as much as possible from my father sitting just a few feet away. I was stiff and tired. I tried to distract myself with nighttime images passing by but to no avail. My head was floating in the tension piercing through the air.

I had told them I just needed to be away, that I couldn't stand to be trapped in that house any longer. Now that they had finally listened to my pleas, all I wanted was to be back home where I could escape to my bed and try to put together the scattered pieces of my mind on my own. Alone. Away from all of this.

We rounded one last corner and there stood the sign shining in neon green lettering that gripped my stomach and stole my breath.

I wondered when I would wake up. This had to be a nightmare.