Originally posted on Huffington Post Dear Eating Disorder, I can't erase you. You are inextricably linked to my past, uncomfortably tied to my heart, and unpleasantly weaved into what used to be. I close my eyes, but there are reminders everywhere. A friend points to her stomach and says she's getting fat. Her voice begins to fade as I remember. I spend a few too many minutes looking at my reflection, trying on clothes, fussing with my hair. I walk away as I begin to remember

44 days, 88 nurse shift changes, and two babies later. In the beginning it wasn’t so bad. The concept was still novel and I remember thinking, “Hey, this isn’t the worst thing that could happen. I just get to lie here all day and let people serve me food. I’m tired of coming up with dinner ideas anyway. Win!” Clearly I had never experienced hospital food before - or being confined to an uncomfortable bed for nearly two months. It wasn’t long before reality set in. One room. O