“It’s only a cheeseburger.” The words echo in my head as I stare at the meal in front of me. Is everyone watching me? It feels like they’re watching me. I only agreed to come here so they wouldn’t get suspicious. Am I eating normally? Can they tell that every bite is a war with the voice inside my head that says I don’t deserve to eat this cheeseburger? They’re probably wondering why I haven’t taken a bite yet. They’re all halfway done and I’m still trying to get myself to just pick it up. It looks good and smells good and I’m hungry, but I still hesitate to raise the sandwich to my mouth and bite down. I finally do. And again and again until the cheeseburger is gone, feeling proud for defeating the voice in my head.
But that voice comes back later with vengeance. The gnawing hunger in my stomach is replaced by a gnawing sense of regret and guilt. I told you that you didn’t deserve it, it whispers to me in a voice only I hear. You know you didn’t burn enough calories today for that, why didn’t you go to the gym like I told you? I ignore it and try to go about my day, ignoring the nagging and taunting voice in my head telling me that I’m not pretty enough and not skinny enough. It gets to the point that I find myself on my knees in front of the toilet, tears stinging my eyes as I try not to shove my fingers down my throat and release the voice and my guilt and my shame into the bowl. And for what? For eating a cheeseburger? I’m stronger than it this time, but in the past I have not been strong enough to ignore its hateful insults and jeers.
There was a time the voice was not a whisper, but an overwhelming shout. A sickening yell that told me how I’m not good enough, smart enough, pretty enough, and thin enough. It screamed as I pulled at my own flesh imagining what it would be like if the parts I didn’t like just disappeared. It laughed in my face as tears streamed down my face as I dragged pins against my skin. It cheered as I starved my body and became a shell of myself. It applauded me as I admired the bumps of my bones under my skin, running my fingers over my protruding ribs as if they were an award for my hard work. We both cried the day I decided I didn’t want to live like this anymore. In a way, it was like losing a friend that I knew wasn’t good for me.
I’ve quieted the voice to a whisper now, but it still comes back to haunt me. It still sometimes tells me that I’m not good enough and skinny enough. The worst is when it tells me it won’t really love me until I’m a size 0. It turned me into the weakest person I know, but overcoming it has made me the strongest. I can shut it up and eat the cheeseburger. I can shut it up and look in the mirror and point out the things I love about myself and not the things it tells me that I should hate. I can reach for his hand knowing that he loves me even though I’m not a size 0. My eating disorder once screamed at me, now it whispers. Someday I know I will silence it for good.