The end of Ned has come. I can feel it. Any day now I'll wake to find my bed empty once more.
I should be celebrating. Should be.
Instead I'm afraid. Any doctor will tell you that an eating disorder sticks around because there is something positive you're extracting from it. I rebelled against this idea for a long time. Nothing good, I would shout. Nothing good has come from him.
But this is not true.
Ned makes me feel safe. Think about it...he literally built a second skin for me--a layer of insulation. He is my form of protection from a world that seems overwhelming and unnavigable. He has been my constant companion these past three, almost four years.
And so while I pray for his departure, I also fear it. Letting go of him feels like leaping off a cliff. What will the world look like if I'm not looking through his eyes?
In some ways my body is rebelling now. Trying to cling to a dying a relationship. Purging him up and out in convulsive spurts.
I've been bingeing more of late. Like I used to. In the old days. But these worse days lead to better days and I can feel my system cleaning itself.
But in the interest of full disclosure...sometimes I feel Ned so strongly. Moving inside of me. So strong is he that I can barely breathe. And I wonder if I allow that to happen--if I stop breathing--what will happen? Will my body learn to take air in in a new and different way? A better way?
Perhaps my skin will break open and my heart will learn to breathe.