Content Warning: eating disorder, self-deprecation, fat-phobia, mental illness
Dear Eating Disorder,
I used to think you were my God.
Used to.
The most evil thing about you is that, even after I conquered you, you somehow came back and made me trust you all over again. You’re like a stalker, always out there, and I can never feel completely safe because you’re just there, lingering, waiting for me to go to a weak place so that you and your snake self can attack.
Looking back, I was stronger this time than last time. After falling into your spell, I woke up. I just didn’t do anything about it because you told me it was too late. You told me that I would get fat again.
I figured you out, Eating Disorder. I figured you the f**k out. I know your tactic. You use my fear of being fat, so I know that in order to get rid of you, all I have to do is get rid of that fear. I was a little closer this time, so, each time you strike, I’m only going to get stronger. I’m going to be able to see you’re an Imposter sooner. So the next time, once I figure it out, and you tell me I’ll be fat again, I won’t believe you. I wish I could say I had that capability right now, that I could defend myself against you, but I can’t. I’m not there yet, but I will be soon.
I’m modern-day Medusa. You are my hair. You are only part of me, not all of me.
