Talking to my eating disorder

I first met you when life turned against me, a mere child, vulnerable and needy.

Your skeletal, cadaverous body scared me initially, but you whispered promises of security, perfection and companionship, and slowly a friendship was forged between us.

I soon stopped seeing your sharp edges and rotting flesh with fear, and saw you as an object to strive for, the embodiment of perfection, a true friend.

And as I followed your and rules, eating only as instructed and getting high on starvation, my flesh also dissolved, revealing a frail skeletal frame.

At this point I realised I was in love with you.

When people learned of our relationship they tried to come between us, telling me you were very bad for me, but this attempt to cleave us apart only served to make us closer.

In time, slowly but surely my health began to fail.

You forgave me for every attempt to fatten me up, and was there for me once I was free from the medics and their ill-placed good intentions.

You told me I needed to try harder, be more dishonest, lie to those I loved, so I redoubled my efforts and was rewarded with more weight loss.

One day I woke up, my head clear for a change, and I thought of all those wasted years, lost opportunities spent following your gruelling regime rather than studying or hanging out with friends.

I'd pushed away countless people because you were my everything., and I'd believed everything you said.

Slowly over time I began to separate my thoughts from yours, and I loosened your tight, bony grip on me.

Over the years at times of vulnerability, such as when the black dog was at my door and threatening to suffocate me, I'd welcome you back. But I'd always leave you again in the end.

As flesh re-emerged on my body, it was like a thawing, and the world gained colour and tones it lacked with you by my side.

You would rage at me, screams of indignation and attempts to shame me for nourishing my body would be a constant in my ear, but somehow I was able to work through that.

Now you walk behind me.

Many times I've looked back in longing, and you smile sweetly and reach out to embrace me, but I look away and keep walking.

I've learned that I need to keep moving forwards, not backwards, but I have a new fear now; I'm terrified that whilst I strive to keep away from you, you will attempt to befriend my daughter.