I am afraid of taking up space. I am afraid to breathe too much air. I like being small. I would really like to be invisible. Or at least almost invisible. Insubstantial. Is this what lies behind my insane relationship with ED – this drive to be teeny? To remain unseen? Is it all about ED, or is there more to the sordid story.
You know ED, right? ED, my roommate. ED, my constant companion. Who whispers in my ear, telling me I’ve had enough food. Too much food. Need to get rid of that food. And I listen. To the whispers. Because I want to get to that magical point of being so small that no one will be able to see me any more. So small that I don’t need. So small that no one notices me…and if they don’t notice me, they can’t judge me. Or reject me. I want to be walking bones. Bones that never inconvenience anyone or disrupt so much as a particle of dust or a tiny atom in my universe.
ED likes my goal, to be smaller than small. To take up so little space, I’m almost a black hole. He APPROVES! I bask in his approval.
I get horribly hungry. And then I eat. ED laughs because he knows; he knows. He knows that no sooner do I consume everything I can get my hands on, I’m going to be running to the bathroom as fast as can be, bowing to the toilet, expelling every last drop that I can possible expel. Working hard at it. Getting everything OUT. Until I’m starving again and fighting not to give in to my hunger.
Have to get it all OUT. Get it back to right, to normal, to empty. Then everything is good again. Then ED is happy.
If only it lasted longer…everything being okay. If only I could be happy too.
So yeah, ED laughs. He watches and roars with raucous laughter. I don’t. Laugh. At all. I lean against the wall, weak, weary, confused, wondering how I got tricked into being in this place again. And I ponder my life. The fact that I don’t have one. I lean against the wall with the heaviness of it all. Trying to shake off the weight. Trying to flush it. Trying to find some sense in the ritual, but there is no making sense of it. I am a slave, unable to break free. My only hope of escape is to keep getting smaller. To take up less space. Until I am nothing but dust. Until my bones don’t walk any more.
My life is consumed with not consuming. Every second of every day is occupied with concern that I am not small enough, that I might gain a pound, that I put a little too much fat-free sugar-free creamer in my coffee, so I’m going to have to compensate by not eating 2 of the 10 low-cal crackers I allow myself to eat during the day. It is all strictly regulated…my allowed intake. ED watches. He checks, calculates, balances. It’s a delicate line. A fine line. A thin line. Thin. Nearly invisible. Everything, it would seem, is about being thin and invisible.
And about not needing. Because needing is painful. Because needs create chasms that can never be filled. Emptiness. I am all about emptiness. On so many levels. In so many ways. I am not yet able to map the intricacies of all the routes emptiness has taken through my brain. All of the paths it has carved in my soul. I only know my stomach must echo the bareness of my existence. It must remain hungry. Unfilled. Because that is my lot in life. I will never matter. To anyone. Not really.
There is only one way for me to have value. Worth. Love is out of the question. For it is evident now that there is no path that leads to love…not for me. The most I can hope for is to have some kind of value…to at least be worth enough to be deemed human. My only value lies in my smallness. It is only when I become nothing that I am something.
And that is the most cruel joke of all. To have value, I cannot have weight. ED is laughing hysterically. He loves a good joke.