Mona

Dear Mona, 

You are the first voice I hear every single morning, so we are going to start with you. When I first wake up, you are there sitting next to my bed, peering over your glasses. Of course you have a perfect body (everyone in your group does). You are one of those elegantly thin types. No muscle shows, but no bone does, either. You’re fair skinned — never a blemish — and you must have come from the 60s because your dress looked like the secretaries from Mad Men.

Your hair is done up tight in a bun and your makeup is perfect. You look like you’ve been awake for hours. You have a clipboard and a pencil. And you’re ready to make the list. 

“What did you eat last night?” you ask me without even saying hello. 

For a split second, I can’t remember. 

I grab my gut and it tells me. 

So I will give you the list. I list the foods and the quantities that bring me shame. It’s almost always just anything I ate after dinner. 

“How much?” you answer after every food I list. 

“Too much,” I answer, as you’ve trained me to do. 

“Exactly,” you say, as your fountain pen checks a box. “And how does that make you feel?”

“Like shit,” I say. 

“Yes, precisely,” you answer. 

Once Your list is made and the shame fills me, you disappear. 

So, Mona, I have some things I want to tell you. 

Actually, before we begin, I have a few questions for you. 

Why are you always the first one in the room in the mornings? Do you use those pointy little elbows to shove your way in? There are so many other voices and yet, you’re always first. I want to know why.