The battleground

I woke up today with a question tugging at my mind…why do I hate myself? 

I closed my eyes and lay in the bed. Trying to sort through my thoughts, feelings, and emotions.

I imagined a battleground. Though there were others milling around us, I knew this fight had to come down to a war between me and Ed.

I saw Ed rushing me, sword thrust forward for a harmful blow.

And then…

I saw me. I was wearing chain mail and little leggings and a long sleeved top. I was on my toes, ready and waiting. And I saw myself block Eds attack and slash his throat.

I didn’t see the aftermath. I know how this story ends though. 

I win.

I have to.

Yesterday I had an appointment with my dietitian. I knew the day was coming when I’d have to seriously get back on track.

Holidays are looming, and I’m so scared. Because last year felt like a dream. I ate and celebrated. I even had a slice of pie.

This year I already feel the struggle. I gave some power back to Ed. He sweet talked me into unlocking the padlock on his cage, and though I have some armor on, some tools in my belt, Ed is so sneaky.

He tells me I don’t have to eat a meal just because everyone else is. That I don’t really want that food anyway.

This past week has been tough. I’d like to blame it on my hormones, and though I’m sure some of my emotions are being dictated by that, I know I have to take some of the responsibility.

I don’t feel good. And I’m really struggling with knowing who I am. I don’t know who I am supposed to be, and I am afraid.

Why do you hate yourself?

I countered this with the query: do I hate myself? 

If I don’t fully know who I am, how can I really, truly, hate myself? 

When I asked myself these questions, I listened to my heart. 

My heart answered that I don’t hate myself. I hate how Ed makes me feel, and I am afraid of finding my true self.

I am not constantly thinking negative thoughts about myself, rather, if you were to approach me and ask me how I really felt about myself, deep down? 

I’d say I don’t really like “myself”.

I’m realizing how many of my emotions can be connected to fear. I am afraid, no matter how much I try to convince myself that everything is ok.

I am constantly reminding myself that I am safe. I am constantly feeling like I am in danger.

This leads to anxiety, which causes me to think of food, instead of really feeling my emotions. I drown out the feelings of fear with concentration. 

I count more, I question more, I listen to Ed more.

It’s “easier.”

Than what, you ask?

Than feeling my true feelings.


I know what I need to do.

I know how I need to do it.

My heart is beating a million times a minute. As I crest the grassy hill, I catch the first glimpses of Ed’s army.

I remember this place.

I tighten my grip on my sword, and square my shoulders. 

It’s time for war.


3 thoughts on “The battleground

  1. This post reminds me of this poem:

    The fighting spirit

    I fight a battle every day, against discouragement and fear;
    Some foe stands always in my way, the path ahead is never clear!
    I must forever be on guard against the doubts that skulk along;
    I get ahead by fighting hard, but fighting keeps my spirit strong.

    I hear the croakings of Despair, the dark predictions of the weak;
    I find myself pursued by Care, no matter what the end I seek;
    My victories are small and few, it matters not how hard I strive;
    Each day the fight begins anew; but fighting keeps my hopes alive.

    My dreams are spoiled by Circumstance, my plans are wrecked by Fate or Luck;
    Some hour, perhaps, will bring my chance, but that great hour has never struck;
    My progress has been slow and hard, I had to climb and crawl and swim.
    Fighting for every stubborn yard, but I have kept in fighting trim.

    I have to fight my doubts away, and be on guard against my fears;
    The feeble croaking of Dismay has been familiar through the years;
    My dearest plans keep going wrong, events combine to thwart my will.
    But fighting keeps my spirits strong, and I am undefeated still!

    by S. E. Kiser


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