When Ed is around, my brain abandons all logic and thinks like this: If the Chinese government won’t allow anyone with a BMI of over 40 to adopt their babies, then I should be less than half of that. Preferable 18 or under. (Although, given that I take two kinds of antidepressants plus a mood stabilizer, I’m so not in the running for a kid anyway.)

This scoundrel, Ed, translates compliments from my mom (and other people) like “you look good” (meaning healthy and happy, not skinny and shaking) into fat alarms (Alert! She is saying you’ve gained weight!), and he delights in hearing things like “I’m concerned–you’re getting too thin” (Score! I’m on my way to looking emaciated!).

But if I know it’s Ed who is talking, then he loses much of his power over me. Because eating disorders are part of my larger problem–a relative of depression (residing in the obsessive-compulsive, perfectionist suburb of the mental illness city). Which means many of the techniques I apply to my mood disorder can help me tame Ed and the other demons inside my head.

I have four major demons of self-destruction:

Ed (eating disorder)
Debi (depression—bipolar disorder)
Al (alcoholism)
Cody (codependency, or severe people pleasing)

And here’s what each says:

Ed: You’re fat, ugly, unattractive, and unlovable. You’re not in control of your life. You lack all will power.

Debi: You are stupid, lazy, and self-absorbed (some of my readers might agree with her). You suck at writing. You are a horrible mother and wife. You would be better off dead.

Al: Knock yourself out–it’s better to be numb. Booze is the only way you can shut off your overactive, dysfunctional brain–a little buzz is just what you need to find some peace and quiet. You used to be fun. Now you’re a prude. Yuck.

Cody: The world might end (at least it will feel that way) the day you disappoint someone. It’s always best to take care of another’s needs before your own–because you’ll hate yourself otherwise. You suffer far less when you give, give, give. Even when you have nothing to give.

So, as soon as I hear a statement like the above, I identify which one of my demons I have to thank for the compliment, and then I go to work on some killer cognitive-behavioral techniques.

This involves determining the kind of distorted thinking (or weapon) that the warrior-demon is using–usually a blend of all-or-nothing thinking, overgeneralization, and magnification (all of which make a mammoth wound out of a paper cut). And then I demand the bad boy to kindly surrender his lightsaber (you know, from Star Wars) by using one of the 15 ways to untwist distorted thinking that David Burns describes in “Feeling Good: The New Mood Therapy,” and “Ten Days to Self Esteem.”

For example, I tell Ed the same thing that I would say to a friend–”Yeah, you’re ten pounds heavier, but you’re still in great shape.” Or I level with him a little and say “You’re not any heavier than you were three years ago, and some people would say that’s a feat.” Or, I might “examine the evidence” and say, “Your weight is in the average range, which is good and healthy. Stop fretting, and learn to be normal.”

Most of the demons hate that kind of rationality, especially if it’s nuanced and compassionate and sensitive; they loathe sensible logic. So if I need to shut them up in a hurry, I throw a load of common sense their way. And they quiet down. Until the next round of “Name That Demon,” anyway.