“The Rex” is my pet name for ED (abbreviated from anorexia, in case you didn’t figure that one out). As in, “oh, she looks like she has a case of the rex”. I do not fit the criteria for anorexia by any means but this label seems to have stuck.
“Did you have another attack of the rex, sweetie?”
Yes, I did.
The man that I am sort of seeing (he is substantially older than me, divorced twice and has 5 kids one of whom is only 5 years younger than me), asked me the other day if he could call me his girlfriend. I said no. I have explained to him that I am in the middle of an epic relapse into the rex and because it is all consuming, I have no time or energy or desire to have a relationship. The fact that I am only 2 months post break up and not over it is also a contributing factor but, he knows all this. Sadly, his last serious partner also suffered from ED in various forms as does his oldest daughter (the one who is almost my age!). Poor man, I keep thinking. How does he find us?
Anyway, needless to say he was upset by my response and this was his response, “It’s ok. I guess the rex is a better companion to you than I will ever be.”
Truer words have never been spoken.