Body image is hard for me. I look in the mirror and I hate what I see, I hate the bloated, distorted version of myself I see cackling back at me. She’s practically mocking me. Not practically…she IS mocking me. She tempts me back to bulimia, hoping my shear disgust will translate into 500 sit-ups or a 6 day fast. Maybe a binge, maybe some laxatives. She hates me.
And I hate her.

In defiance, I’ve hung at least one picture of my daughter in every room of our home. Seeing her reminds me of the purpose of my fight. Seeing her smile makes me do everything I can to keep that grin in place. My eating disorder will only steal her smiles and I know this.

I can’t kill Eden’s mommy. I cannot. Eden would much rather have a slightly overweight, but happy mother than a thin, frail, depressed one. I know this, but my reflection still yells at me and I still struggle to ignore her pleas. Some days are worse than others, but no day is without it. Maybe, someday it’ll happen– my mind will leave me alone. Maybe.

Until then, I’ll continue the fight, and keep my face from showing it. My 2 year old has no business seeing my pain, lest she become embattled with her reflection as well.

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