My Old Pal, Ana

I skipped dinner tonight.

I didn't really mean to. Not at first. It was just busy, and I didn't have food readily available.

And then things started to fall apart. My daughter got sick, and I hadn't gotten her insurance straightened out after she was assigned the wrong doctor. I screwed up big time at work, and had to drop everything to fix it. A relationship needed repair, and I felt helpless to do anything. And suddenly, the idea of skipping dinner didn't feel like an option. It felt like a necessity.

Oh, Ana. My old pal. I haven't seen you in a few years.

"Your life is out of control," she hissed, "your friend is dead, your mother is being hospitalized, your daughter is sick, you've ruined a friendship, your work is a mess, and you can't even find your desk in all the things you have to do. Let me help."

Ana has several names. Outsiders call her anorexia and say that she's about body image and being skinny. As an insider, I know that Ana, like most addictions, is about control. I'm 38 years old, and I have three children. I don't really need the tiny waistline and protruding collar bones Ana gave me. There's no real attraction in being skinny.

But control? Control is very attractive indeed.

I skipped dinner, and went for a run. My body felt light and powerful. For the first mile. Then began the heaviness, that clawing, empty weariness. All the while Ana whispered, "You're strong. You're powerful. This is what control feels like."

And as with all addictions, her serpentine whisper bears no truth. With every yes I give her, every moment I cave to her whims, she takes a piece of me. At first, she steals my confidence and self-worth, but with just a little more rein, she takes my health, my well-being, and my relationships as well.

A friend of mine was recently in a clinic, assisting someone who is overcoming a heroin addiction. He said that his expectation was that he would be surrounded with what he thought addicts looked like. But the clinic was full of people from every walk of life, from PhD's and once-wealthy business owners who had lost it all, to nuclear families that had fallen apart, leaving their children behind.

I don't have an issue with heroin. But when I feel supercilious about addiction, Ana opens her mouth and reminds me that she has no plans to leave my life. That no matter how many times she is vanquished, she is always ready to show up again the moment my guard is down.

I still haven't eaten dinner. A war is going on inside of me, and I sit at my computer, fresh from my run, feeling the emptiness and the irritation. But I will not surrender. Control is a myth, an illusion, and no promise of it will ever ring true.

(pause to go eat dinner)

Take that, Ana.