Famous Last Words

"I just wanted to prove to myself that I could still do it."

So that crooked manipulator in my head has been trying all kinds of tactics to horn his way back into my life. I had been doing pretty well coming up with bulletproof rebuttals. He'd say, "Look at your kids' friends' moms, they're thinner than you," and I'd respond with, "My kids need a mom who's present, attentive, and affectionate, not a mom who's skinny." He'd say, "You're giving up the only thing that makes you special," and I'd respond with, "Millions of people have eating disorders. I'm the only person with my unique personality and gifts." He'd say, "You'll be in danger if you give me up," and I'd respond with, "I have a great support system, I don't need you anymore." He's a persistent little bastard, though, and finally he got to me with the one thing for which I had no dispute: "I think you just can't do it anymore. Anyone can eat 'normally,' anyone can eat and throw up, but you used to be able to live on air, and you don't have it in you anymore." Damn.

So I thought, I just want to show myself I CAN still do it. That I haven't lost the knack. That I can still do what most people can't. I'll just cut a few things out, lose a little weight, and then I'll get back on track. It's just an expiriment, really. Just a test. No big deal.

"What's going on?" People started asking me. "Nothing," I'd claim, "You're just over-sensitive. I'm FINE." A little lie here, a little one there, after nearly eight months of brutal, unnatural honesty. Heading full speed in the wrong direction.

But then something funny happened. In the midst of the cacophony of weights and calorie counts and paranoia in my head, a little voice piped up. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" It said. "You're only hurting yourself. Do you really want to throw it all away? You made your point, you showed yourself that you can go back any time you want. Now cut it the fuck OUT, before you've passed the point of no return. You're smarter than this, you're stronger than this, and - most importantly - you deserve BETTER than this." And miracle of miracles, I agreed.

So I started copping to my misbehavior. I started admitting my mistakes. I started taking responsibility for my actions and my life, in an attempt to show that sneaky devil in my mind that the biggest challenge of all - kicking his ass - is more important to me than a number on a scale ever will be. I need accountability, friends. I need to be reminded again and again to keep my eye on the prize: a long, happy, healthy life.