A festive reunion

"Try again," Ed ordered and I stumbled back into the bathroom. He was over for dinner: 6 pieces of toast, organic mac & cheese, rice and beans, apples, string cheese, anything we could find. But our meal was much less appetizing spilling into the bowl of my tiolet, half digested.

It was hard, it hurt. Tears clumped on my eyelashes. But Ed was back and furiously taking his vengeance for my straying behaviors over the past few weeks. I should have known better than to act like that. I should have known Ed would come back in a rage, digusted with me. And he had every right to be.

What is this "middle ground" my nutritionist speaks of? There is no middle ground with Ed. It has always been all or nothing. That, I know, will never change. It doesn't matter what crazy number diet plan my nutritionist puts me on or how strong my own personal desire is to take back control, he always creeps back into my life in one form or the other.

I had never imagined myself battling with the other Ed. I was smarter than that. I knew better than to ruin my body that way. And mostly, I didn't think I would ever build up the courage to experiment with diet tactics of the impulsive. But, not surprisingly, I was at that point of overwhelming frustration and just plain anger at myself, my parents, my doctors, everyone.

And so, I found myself crouched over the tiolet bowl with Ed screaming in my mind about how awful a person I was for sneaking back into the cupboard to grab that second...third...fourth protein bar.

You've lost it, he laughed, I never thought you would give up your precious control. I'm very disappointed, Megan. I reached down my throat again, perhaps trying to find what little self worth I had left. Instead, all that came up were the remnants of mac & cheese...organic...but Ed didn't care.

I will take back that control, I vowed, and I returned to the cupboard even more a slave.