My Addiction

I have an addiction. 

Some are addicted to drugs.
Some to shopping.
Some to gambling.
My addiction is to numbers
That fall downward on a scale,
To bones that protrude,
To ridges,
To hollows beneath collarbones. 

I feel so much discomfort
In a body padded with fat.
I miss the ridge that forms
At my cheekbones.
I long to press my fingers
Into the spaces
Where fat now resides. 

I am a girl addicted to thinness. 

I don't write these words for sympathy,
Or for attention.
I wish to delete them,
To destroy every word

Like the torn pages of journals

I once dared to fill. 

I write these words
To bring understanding,
To help you understand 

Why some of us,

Become addicted. 
Prisoners to anorexia,
Or bulimia,
Or some combination of both.

Our neural pathways have become
Rigid and scarred
With the damage of starvation.
Food has become the enemy.
It brings immense fear.
Our heartbeats dance with sharp irregularity,
And our minds spin with self hatred

With every bite we take,

And with every glance in a passing mirror.  

You are fat.
You are ugly.
Disgusting.
Pathetic.
Selfish.
You have no self control.
You are shoveling food
Down a throat already raw

From your addiction. 

You're losing the game 

You thought you once played so well. 

So you long to purge.
And may be,
You do. 
Even after months
Of mind numbing boredom
In a hospital bed.

Somedays,
You just can't tolerate
This immense pain. 
The pounding of your chest
Brings you to your knees. 

Mom.
Dad.
I can never hide from you.

Even when I am strong,
You will still fear.

For now you will always wonder.
Suspicion is now the lense
Through which you see me.

And now the world knows my

Once tightly held secret. 
I hid under smiles 
And eyes that blinked back tears.
I would laugh,
And brush off your concern.
I'm fine.
I'm better.
Don't be so dramatic.

I miss having secrets.
It was easier to play this game
When you didn't know the rules. 
Now I can not hide so easily.

I can try.
I can roll my eyes.
I can smile reassuringly.
But now you know this game I play.
And now I feel the pain
Of disappointing you.
Of causing you to worry.
I'm so sorry that I stumble.

 

All I can do now,

I guess,

Is try to explain.
I can try to expose the cold,
Ugly shadows of this disease.

If I must suffer with this,
Let it not be in vain.
I will write so that you can understand
How I got here.

How a little girl,
At the age of twelve,
Began to hate her body. 
And counted sticks of carrots

While she calculated calories in her head.
How at thirteen she did 200 jumping jacks
After food touched her lips. 

I need you to understand 
Why her hands turned purple in winter,
And she no longer wanted to go outside. 

Anorexia changed her.
And it still plays tricks in her head.
No one chooses this addiction,
This disease.
It is not fun.
It hurts.
And sometimes it numbs,
But it always ends in pain
And terrifying loneliness.

All I ask is for you to try.
Try to understand
This strange affliction,

This misunderstood addiction. 
Please try not to hate me

When the voice inside my head
Won't let me sit beside you
At the dinner table,
Just know that the prayer I utter before meals
Is much different than yours.

Let me dampen your sweater
With salty tears.
I am so tired of walking this alone.
Please don't punish me
With angry silence.
Please just hold my hand.  

Please just try to understand. 
This inglorious addiction. 

My birthday.

God wanted me to see today. 

35 feels strange. 

This day forces me to reflect 

Upon the life 

I have been granted.

This life I live,

With each day a battle,

To nourish,

To eat,

To feel.  

I remember the dream

As I so often do, 

I remember 

It's heaviness,

So clearly. 

I fell and could not wake up

I passed from this earth

In that moment,

And it felt so real,

Yet so strange,

My heart beat loudly,

Erratically,

In my chest. 

I wasn't ready. 

As much as a part of me 

Wished to disappear. 

God wants me here today. 

I don't know all of his plans 

For my life now. 

I just know that

I have been given

A second chance..

To live. 

The future brings anxiety,

But also a tentative,

Breath of hope,

A small shiver,

of excitement. 

I am still struggling. 

I still long to crawl out of my skin

After meals. 

I still find pleasure in numbers 

Decreasing on scales. 

I still hate the thick liquid of ensure. 

I sometimes miss the 

Security of a hospital bed. 

Where I have little opportunity 

To obey the lies

Of anorexia. 

It is scary somehow,

To write from the heart,

While I am outside of 

Sanitary hospital walls. 

I feel exposed,

Afraid to admit my flaws,

And the truth

Of how many times

I fall each day. 

But I will not give up. 

Each day is a gift. 

And moment by moment,

I remain present 

On this earth. 

Kept here to learn,

To breathe this air,

To interact 

With others,

To join hearts,

And to hold hands. 

God please guide me. 

I stumble. 

And I fall. 

But carry me forward. 

Lift my eyes 

To what I am meant to see. 

Open my heart

To what I am meant to feel. 

I am here for a reason. 

I trust you 

For keeping me here. 

You give me the courage

To type these words 

In a warm bed 

I do not want to leave. 

I am alive today. 

I have fat beneath this skin,

Nutrients 

Keeping my heart beating,

And my mind alert 

And aware. 

I am here today 

And I will not give up

Or give in. 

I have things left to do

People left to see,

And moments left to live. 

Ghosts.

I'm out of the hospital. 

I'm back in a house,

Where my demons nearly destroyed me. 

I find myself staring in utter sadness

At the photos I took towards

What felt like the end. 

This is hard. 

This is painful. 

I'm devastated by my eyes,

The pallor of my skin,

In those photographs. 

When I was in the hospital

Just last week,

I forgot. 

I was focused on the heaviness

Of a body I now inhabit. 

I wanted so badly to shed layers of fat

And with it,

Layers of shame. 

But now I lie,

Alone in a bed,

I slept in months ago. 

The memories are painful. 

I am so lucky to be alive. 

I feel terrified. 

I truly do. 

I'm in a new body

But my mind can still revisit

The thoughts,

The darkness,

of those frightening 

And torturous days. 

I am reading my first entries

As if i was not the one

Who typed these words 

Into the small keyboard

Of her phone,

Several long months ago. 

Tears fill my eyes. 

Sadness pierces my soul. 

I'm afraid. 

I can never go back there,

If I truly choose life,

I can never go back there. 

I have two options today. 

Life...

Or the path I took before,

The one that carried me

On a slow descent to death. 

I'm in shock 

It seems. 

I forgot this place. 

And now I'm home.

I'm lying in a room

Haunted by the memory,

The horrific pain,

Of those last days. 

I look in the mirror

And then look at the photos

And I am so afraid. 

I can't go back there. 

I have two very different paths to choose. 

One is life. 

The other death. 

I forgot for a moment,

During those boring,

Long and dragging 

days in the hospital,

How incredibly 

Lucky 

I was to be saved. 

Dear God,

Give me strength. 

Show me the determination

I need right now,

Please slay the ghost

Of anorexia 

So I can move forward 

Toward a future 

That is bright 

And full of promise. 

Help me to have compassion

For that sick girl

I was,

And for the recovering

One that I am today. 

Heartache

_{http://www.cbc.ca/beingjann/images/heartache.jpg}

The days are long. 

I am now trying to maintain this weight. 

No longer meant to be gaining. 

Instead I must learn 

That this number on the scale...

These jeans that will not fit,

If I dared tried them on,

Is okay. 

It's healthy, 

they say. 

As if the words do anything more

than make me cringe. 

Healthy has never been the goal. 

Thinness. 

Whisper thin so that no one 

Could ever say that

I take up too much space. 

The heaviness feels unbearable. 

It truly feels like my heart is sinking 

With the weight of my body. 

Once again,

I find myself wishing,

Longing,

To see my bones protrude. 

I glamorize the past 

As if I was happy

At that place. 

These days are hard. 

They are long. 

They hurt my heart,

And my soul cries out 

To be heard. 

I need a hug,

A strong embrace. 

A hand held tightly,

In your own. 

Please wrap your arms

Around me

Without boundaries

That must be maintained. 

These sterile white walls,

These fluorescent lights,

The nurses that guard the trays 

Before meals,

They all serve to make me feel alone. 

Separate. 

A patient. 

A number. 

A last name on a chart. 

I've been struggling 

More than I thought I would. 

Being housed in this body 

Still feels so foreign and strange. 

Once again,

I find solace in knowing 

That prayers have been sent up for me,

Prayers to help set me free.

Free of this disease. 

My body is healing,

It is nourished and full.

My mind has yet to catch up,

Please send up more prayers.

This journey is long,

And my heart is aching 

To be healed. 

The Pretty Ones.

feelgrafix.com

The pretty ones,

With gorgeous souls,

All these girls,

So beautiful. 

Anorexia has a type. 

She haunts the girls

With intelligence,

With compassionate hearts,

And sensitive souls. 

Anorexia lies in wait,

Then slowly she makes herself known.  

She whispers the words

That are poison to their entire being,

So that they feel like empty shells

Walking through life,

Controlled and handcuffed

To this ugly shadow

That follows their every waking moment. 

The pretty ones 

Have pain in their eyes,

If you look too close

You will see deep sadness there.

They carry these chains

Wherever they go,

Slowly they become 

Accustomed to the heaviness,

That follows behind with 

Each step they take.  

The pretty ones,

They are held captive,

Slaves to this disease. 

They believe the lies,

And so it feels natural 

To follow anorexia's commands. 

Peace is impossible. 

For every moment,

Every breath,

Feels like shame. 

Guilt plagues their every move,

They are resigned to their post in life,

Prisoner to a disease 

So few will understand. 

And so the loneliness sets in. 

She hides away,

She ignores the ringing of her phone. 

Hiding, 

Chest pounding,

When there is a knock at her door. 

She holds so much shame,

That it feels easier to hide away.  

Somedays she might briefly see 

A pretty girl in the mirror,

But anorexia will not allow 

This moment to last. 

Glimpses of the truth,

Last for but a second,

Until she remembers the chains

Tied to her ankles,

Each step heavy and loud,

Her legs feel like tree stumps,

So much heaviness upon her limbs.

She sees them watching her. 

They must think she is disgusting too. 

Why must they stare,

Do they hear the sounds from 

The bathroom stall?

Do they see her splash her face 

To rid her eyes of the tears that appear

From forcing food up her throat?

If I had one wish,

I would take their pain away. 

I would carry the burden 

Of anorexia for all these girls. 

To set them free,

Would make my suffering 

Feel worthwhile. 

I pray for them to see their beauty,

I long for them to know their worth. 

Dear God,

If I can lighten their burden in any way,

Please show me how. 

My suffering can not be in vain. 

So even while the chains 

Are tied to my own limbs,

I will gladly carry more,

If even one burden

Will leave just one soul. 

The chains feel lighter now. 

I am not the girl I was

Two months ago. 

I feel braver,

More free. 

The chains remain,

But they are lighter somehow. 

Perhaps all my wishes 

On dandelions have been heard. 

Perhaps God is lifting my burden

So that I can someday 

Have the capacity to help

The pretty ones to see

Just how beautiful they are

From my eyes. 

For you.

I love you

Yet I unconsciously used you. 

My heart aches with regret. 

Instead of being grateful 

For hours of freedom,

I used the time to be without food. 

Why do we hurt the ones we love the most. 

Why does anorexia seek to destroy me

And my relationships. 

For with anorexia in my soul,

I can not truly love or be loved. 

I become a slave to her

And I hurt you

By hurting myself. 

I finally had freedom

To be with you

Without restrictions

Or nurses watching over. 

I messed up. 

I did not eat. 

I gave in 

To the selfish voice inside my head. 

I can't lose you

As I've lost so much 

Because of her. 

Please forgive my actions

And know that I was operating

Under the control  

Of something that I must defy now. 

You deserve a fully present partner. 

I told you I would get better for you. 

And I failed this weekend. 

My heart aches. 

My spirit cringes. 

Recovery will be the hardest thing I've ever done. 

But losing you would be the hardest thing I ever lost. 

I know what true love means now. 

It's loving me when I am blind 

And can not see what is in front of my face. 

It is trusting in you

When my mind won't stop its chatter. 

True love is letting go

Of what is holding me back

Even when the shackles drag behind 

My feet. 

Someday they will fall off 

But only if I let go

And be strong for you. 

The ocean.

_{www.onegreenplanet.org}

Baggy clothing,

The only thing keeping me sane right now. 

It's hard.

I can hardly bring myself to write. 

I'm scared of the words that form

When my mind is in this place. 

I am pained by so much heaviness. 

No one told me

That all this effort 

Leads to so much discomfort. 

I knew it would be hard,

But this is more than I wanted 

To know or to feel. 

I miss the emptiness.

I truly do. 

I hate to confess my weakness, 

But I am unable to pretend. 

I am close to tears

At any given moment,

That I hear the voice

That follows me throughout each day. 

I feel the tightness

Of bracelets on my wrist. 

I feel the outline of denim

Hugging tightly to my hips.  

Why do I care so much,

I wonder.

Is thinness worth this much to me?

Think of all the people 

Rooting for me,

Praying that I win this fight. 

I feel selfish. 

I feel ashamed. 

Honesty is hard for me today. 

It's easier to sit in silence

Without putting words to a page. 

But it's also more difficult 

To pretend that

I don't exist,

That I don't feel,

Or have my name 

On a hospital wristband

That digs into my skin. 

I'm not giving up. 

Or giving in. 

But I do feel afraid. 

Afraid 

That I am weaker than this voice. 

Yesterday we imagined that our mind

Is the depth of the ocean. 

It is peaceful and quiet there. 

The thoughts that enter the silence,

Are just sharp reminders

Of a life destroying disease. 

The thoughts are not me. 

The thoughts are a lie. 

I'm trying to be the depths of the ocean

And not the ugly words

That enter. 

It's calm and beautiful 

At the bottom of this ocean.

Fish don't feel their weight

Or stare into mirrors. 

They dance in the water,

Unaware of the space that they inhabit.

They just exist 

In happy surrender,

Surrender to the life

That they were given. 

I long to be the depth of the ocean.

I long to just be..

Like the fish 

With no judgment,

No pain,

No fear. 

Just peaceful. 

Just quiet. 

Just calm. 

Confessions.

I read an old journal entry, 

From the second day I slept in a hospital bed. 

I can't deny that some twisted part of me, 

That anorexic, self deprecating part of me,

Longs to be back in that moment. 

Because this moment hurts. 

This moment pains me. 

I feel that the weight of the world

Is in the pit of my stomach.

I long to crawl out of my skin. 

I ask God why I have to feel this way. 

Why do I hate my body in its nourished state. 

I don't understand why recovery has to be this hard. 

I am pleading with God to lighten this burden. 

I feel so much guilt

For calling my mom in these moments of heartache. 

She can't rescue me from this heaviness I feel. 

So why do I call?

Why do I have this need to hear her voice,

When I know she can't make everything okay. 

I gave in to anorexia these past few days. 

I purged. 

I ate. 

I purged again. 

And yet it only caused me more pain. 

The heaviness feels more unbearable now. 

Anorexia lies.

Bulimia lies. 

The heaviness can not be lifted by giving into this disease. 

God, please forgive me for losing my way. 

With all the frustration I felt over locked bathroom doors and suspicious nurses,

I need this control again. 

I'm not able to tell my psychiatrist just yet. 

I'm not ready to purge my soul

Of this guilt just yet. 

I need to turn this around before I can confess. 

A girl from the program passed away. 

She was known by many girls here. 

It makes the dangers of this disease feel so real. 

Anorexia kills. 

Bulimia kills. 

We are playing Russian roulette with our bodies. 

Dear Father,

Please grace me with some release from this prison. 

The burden feels too cruel. 

No one should have to feel so much disgust for their physical being. 

I pray that I can lighten my burdens. 

If I keep writing,

If I confess my weakness,

I can move forward,

Rather than allowing my behaviours to have power over today and tomorrow. 

I may have fallen,

But I will crawl back up this valley. 

I will taste the softness of sunlight again.

I just need to believe. 

I just need to trust. 

Imagine.

_{www.notable-quotes.com}

I observe myself,

From above and not from within. 

I'm gazing at the girl inhabiting my body. 

She wrings her fingers, 

She taps her feet,

And grinds her teeth. 

I can see the anxiety 

Overtaking her body. 

I tell her that it's going to be okay. 

She has gained weight,

But she is still thin.

She is still the same person,

Only with a healthier body,

One that is not in danger of falling apart. 

Anorexia has been inhabiting 

my mind for too long.

I can not trust her perception,

For what I see through anorexia's lens, 

is false. 

Logically my weight is still low. 

But to anorexia, 

Logic means nothing. 

Anorexia thrives on misperceptions and lies. 

She warps all mirrors,

And tricks her victims into believing 

That they are worthless if they aren't 

On a fast decline towards death.

I watch myself from above.

I see my foot tapping more slowly,

My breathing eases into regularity,

As I begin to see the truth. 

Listening to anorexia these past few days

Has only brought me pain. 

I have forgotten that 

I am so much more

than a number on the scale 

or the size of my clothing. 

I was so caught up in grieving her,

That I forgot to live. 

Anorexia thrives in darkness.

She hates the white glow of hope. 

She fears all things that diminish her ability to survive. 

Anorexia is greedy,

She likes to have me all to herself. 

She wants me to wander alone,

Irritated by the chatter of people around me.

She loves it when I avoid eye contact,

She thrives on a mind that plots sneaky ways to self destruct. 

Anorexia loves it when I'm held so captive,

That I begin to obey commands. 

Restrict.

Take diet pills. 

Take laxatives.

Go up and down those ugly hospital stairs twenty times. 

Today, I can distinguish anorexia from reality. 

Today I am defiantly arguing anorexia's insults. 

Today I took the elevator,

And ignored the desire to retreat within myself. 

I did not crawl into my cocoon,

Instead I stepped outside.

I allowed myself to breathe the air,

To nourish my body,

To believe that I am worthy to dance in the rain.

I am so much more than a disease.

I am so much braver than anorexia ever could be. 

Imagine how much better life could be if I left anorexia behind, 

What could happen if I ignored her ugly cries of desperation,

And decided to live.

Imagine how it would be to be free. 

Imagine.

This disease.

_{Clayzmama.com}

It feels like I've been awakened from a dream.

I am in a body that I do not recognize, 

With a brain that feels so much the same.

I quickly circle my wrist with my fingers. 

I feel for my hip bones,

But they are covered in a layer of flesh.

I can hardly stand to be awake right now. 

I want to fall back asleep,

Back into my dreams,

Where I was still thin and my bones 

Jutted out reassuringly. 

Anorexia is ever present. 

I no longer receive grave looks of concern,

No one fears that I will slip away,

But my mind is still spinning

Around and around in dizzying circles. 

This is my fate it seems. 

To be victim of relentless disease,

That so few understand,

That not only destroys your body,

But also your mind. 

It distorts your thoughts 

So that you fear health 

And worship sharp edges. 

None of it makes sense,

But your disease doesn't care. 

They tell you it gets easier 

When your body is at a healthy weight,

Your brain supposedly becomes healthy too.

I'm still waiting,

Still not quite there,

But if it's true,

If this burden becomes lighter...

I can barely imagine

A life without this heaviness. 

My shorts are digging painfully

Into my skin. 

They fit. 

But anorexia says they're too tight,

She tells me it was better when they were hanging off my bones,

She taunts me with every glance in the mirror. 

This voice,

This disease,

Wants me dead. 

This program,

This food,

This weight gain,

Wants anorexia dead. 

I want her to leave my body 

And exit my mind. 

I need patience

And prayers

I need love and support

Because this place I'm in,

Feels like pergatory. 

Somewhere between sick and well. 

With a healing body,

And a mind that is rebelling. 

Dear God,

How much more suffering

Must I endure,

To get to the other side?

Will I ever smile again?

Right now all I feel is pain. 

Forgive me for my ingratitude. 

I am blessed to be here,

In treatment,

But I can not pretend

That I am happy or free. 

The fat overwhelms me. 

Dear Lord,

Give me strength

And even one moment,

One breath of peace,

To remind me that it is possible,

To be free

Inside my mind 

And within this body. 

The irony of anorexia

The world carries on without us. 

We become self centered here,

Cocooned in a place where crying at the dinner table is business as usual.

So when you arrive for a visit,

Your bad mood is upsetting.

I wasn't prepared for this.

Today was supposed to be fun and perfect. 

When so much control is taken from us,

little things,

like fresh air, 

sour gumballs, 

and feeling normal for a few hours,

becomes hugely important in our minds.

We might forget to ask how you are holding up. 

I'm sorry if you think that I don't care. 

I'm sorry I've worried you.

I'm sorry that the stresses of life

are very real to you now,

and you are struggling too. 

Just in different ways. 

Please don't hide your pain from me.

Yes, 4F4 is my world now,

And I'm sorry that I vent to you. 

I want to hear about your pain too.

Human suffering happens on so many levels.

Tell me about your pain.

I want to be here for you,

as you've been for me.

The irony is that we don't

want to be a burden, 

We don't want to be selfish,

So we go deeper,

finding ways to be perfect by being thin.

Being thin was supposed to make you love me more. 

And yet anorexia lied,

You didn't love me more when I was at my thinnest. 

Instead I became more of a burden.

Please forgive me for the messed up nature of anorexia. 

In reality,

we feel very very deeply,

and this is why we often turn to our disorder

to numb the pain and hide from our fears.

So we do come off as selfish and self centered. 

But we don't mean to tell you that your life is less important than ours.

We just got things majorly mixed up,

by trying to fix everything,

with the avoidance of food

and the number on the scale. 

I hope one day I can be okay with myself enough,

not to need anorexia

to keep me safe from rejection,

Because with anorexia,

we are in no danger of rejection, 

for we have already rejected ourselves. 

        *****************************

I breathe in slowly. Food is life. I exhale, take another breath. Food is life. And that's the problem. When you're alive, people can hurt you. It's easier to crawl into a bone cage or a snowdrift of confusion. It's easier to lock everybody out.

But it's a lie.

Laurie Halse Anderson, Wintergirls

It's not about the ensure.

I'm struggling.  

It literally hurts to eat sometimes. 

Today I sobbed over ensure. 

It's so irrational and I'm aware of this logically,

but anorexia isn't rational. 

She has rules and ideas,

about what is and is not acceptable. 

I went into full meltdown mode. 

I had to retreat to my room after half a bottle,

Wiped the mascara running down my face,

and tried again. 

The tears fell. Again. 

But I finished the damn bottle. 

And then ran back to my room,

letting the tears sink into my pillow. 

I hate crying in the dining room. 

I'm worried that I'll trigger someone. 

And it's embarrassing.

And the more you try to hold it in,

the more the tears flow.

I can still feel the thick liquid,

lingering in my throat. 

Anorexia is hating it. 

I keep seeing the numbers,

on the side of the bottle.

I so desperately want to purge. 

But I won't. 

And I can't. 

I can not allow my disordered thoughts,

to direct my behaviour right now.

It's getting harder with every day

the number goes up on the scale.

I want to flee my body. 

I don't want to do this anymore.

My brain is tired from trying

so so hard...

to hold it together all day. 

But the tears were a welcome release. 

I can only run from my emotions 

For so  long before they overwhelm me. 

This has been an important reminder,

My thought distortions

are still alive and well.

I've been sick too long,

to expect to be over the small things,

after six weeks of treatment.

Last week I overheard a nurse say, 

She was very sick when she came here. 

It felt strange to hear. 

I felt like she was saying, 

"She's fine now. "

I wanted to say,

I'm doing better,

I've gained some weight,

But I'm still sick. 

Still struggling. 

And it's going to have to be okay for now. 

I'm still fighting this disease. 

But I will not give up this time. 

life with anorexia is harder than this,

lonelier than this. 

Recovery hurts like hell,

But I'm around people who get it.

My lovely roommate Emma 

gave me the kindest hug 

and the nicest "I love you". 

It's so nice to have your feelings 

validated sometimes,

Because to someone

without an eating disorder,

Ensure plus would not result in,

full blown meltdown. 

I realize that there are people 

starving in this big world of ours. 

But this does not make the 

pain of anorexia go away. 

It may sound selfish and indulgent,

But...

Please remember,

This isn't really about food.

It's about so much more.

Our eating disorders 

become our safety nets.

And when all our usual comforts...

Our diet pills,

Our calorie calculators,

Our scales,

Our rituals,

when they are all removed,

we feel naked,

exposed,

alone.  

I will always be grateful for this place. 

Despite how much I hate the ensure,

seeing the kind eyes of the other girls,

really touched me.

These girls understand that

it's not about the ensure.

They understand the 

deep seated pain in my heart.

We are united in this battle. 

Thank you.

Today. 

I am indescribably sad. 

It hurts. 

A visceral state of sadness. 

This is the grief of saying goodbye  

to anorexia,

It feels surreal,

That I'm spending my summer in the hospital. 

I allowed anorexia to take over,

dictating my thoughts

and my actions. 

To the point that I nearly gave her my soul. 

My heart feels broken. 

I have never learned to love myself.

I have spent years and years,

Loathing my body,

Trapped beneath a thick layer of shame.

I sought out love from men,

Men that loved me for a time,

Until I could no longer hide 

the shadow following close behind. 

I organized my life in compartments

of thinness. 

I used to long to go back to before,

To a time when I was thin enough. 

But I forget that there never is a thin enough. 

I proved that this year. 

I also proved that 

there is no happiness there. 

Anorexia can only 

glamourize your perception

for so long,

Until you see and feel

the sharp edges of bones,

and realize that you still feel unworthy. 

Today I admittedly

miss the scary days

towards what could have been my end,

I wanted to go back there. 

To be in that emaciated body again.

To feel the weakness in my bones. 

To imagine my muscles wasting away. 

To wonder how far I could push

My body to the edge. 

It's completely illogical

To long to go back there.

Nothing about anorexia is logical.

She distorts our perception

And warps our memories. 

So I continue to grieve her,

Despite the hardship she has caused,

Because at least it was a hardship

I was accustomed to. 

I miss the emptiness. 

I'm so tired of carrying secrets. 

The shame has nearly killed me. 

I feel so much sadness,

and right now the best I can do is cry

and later ask for an extra yellow pill. 

I feel the prayers 

Deep in my soul,

And know that I am loved

by so many amazing people,

That believe in me.

I will continue my grieving,

Knowing that eventually,

I will get to the other side,

And fly away free from this prison. 

I will never be able to express

the gratitude I feel,

for those who have loved me

and prayed for me,

when I couldn't do so for myself. 

The flaxen haired girl.

 

_{(Source: Illustrationage.com)}

The flaxen haired girl,

She sits at a table alone. 

A looming figure stands and watches

from a short distance. 

She is in a room full of other girls,

They laugh at times,

Smile at times,

But mostly,

They are quietly focused on the food. 

The radio plays some upbeat music

And occasionally the girls laugh and sing along. 

The flaxen haired girl just observes. 

And then she begins the painful activity of eating. 

She begins to arrange her food 

in odd patterns on her plastic white plate. 

She takes tiny bites, 

And pauses in between. 

The looming figure tells her to 

stop with the patterns...and the pausing. 

I'm seated at a table in this room,

Observing the flaxen haired girl 

as I drink my chocolate ensure with a spoon. 

I feel emotion overwhelm me,

And tears threaten to fall down my face. 

I see the deep sadness in her eyes,

it is the vacuous look of anorexia. 

She is one of the haunted ones.

The emptiness covers up her sadness

for a time,

But she's so young,

I don't want her to suffer as long as I have. 

I don't want her to be 34,

And still holding the cold, 

clammy hands of anorexia. 

After her meal,

She must sit at the nurse's desk. 

She has been warned.

To gain weight,

One must eat,

But just as vital,

One must not purge. 

She is seventeen. 

She's been haunted for a long time now.

Anorexia has little tricks 

to sabotage her progress.   

Anorexia pretends that she cares,

But she is lying and deceitful,

And steals all peace. 

She pretends to be a friend,

And may be she has been. 

Anorexia was there when she felt so alone. . 

Anorexia has been a source of comfort,

But also a source of so much pain. 

We go for a walk in a small group 

after post meal supervision. 

The flaxen haired girl walks slowly beside me.

She tells me that she is probably going to miss her family trip at the end of July. 

She hasn't been gaining weight,

She's found a way to trick the system. 

Her plane ticket is already booked. 

She smiles as she tells me this,

But those green eyes betray her. 

I feel lost for words,

I need to reach her,

But I feel like such a hypocrite. 

I'm twice her age,

And I am still fighting this disease. 

This awful disease. 

I tell her to be strong,

To stop fighting the program.

To eat what is prescribed,

To gain weight,

No matter how painful it feels. 

I tell her to use the trip as motivation. 

That it won't be so bad..

And then we both laugh,

Because fighting anorexia is so fucking hard. 

If you're reading this,

dear flaxen haired girl,

Please give yourself permission to let go of 

The cold hand of anorexia. 

Anorexia is not as strong as you think she is. 

Perhaps she really needs you more than you need her.

She is scared to leave your side. 

Because deep down,

Anorexia knows that she is all alone,

if you choose life,

instead of this false friendship. 

You are much stronger

than this cruel disease,

I know this because living with anorexia

is a living hell,

and you've survived that. 

You deserve better. 

You deserve so much better.

You deserve to go on family trips,

And truly enjoy them without anorexia 

tagging along. 

She will kick and scream as you defy her. 

She will be persistent, 

and use any tactic she can find. 

But eventually her voice will only be a whisper in the wind. 

Know that when I wish on a dandelion,

I wish for you to be free too. 

Neverland

This photo was taken almost a week after my admission to 4f4.  My mind is trying to reconcile how at the time, I thought I looked good, healthy even. I remember wondering if I was thin enough to even be here.  My perception was messed up. 

Today, my nourished brain is amazed that my perception has changed so much in less than a month. How is it possible to see something with completely different eyes from the ones I saw through a little less than a month ago? 

Today, looking at this photo, all I can think is, I look awful.  I can see the starvation on my sunken face, in the hollows beneath my eyes, in the white of my knuckles and the purple of my skin. Yet, at the time I thought I looked GOOD. 

How must I have looked before this pic was taken, before I was pumped full with IV fluids and electrolytes and having eaten three meals a day for a week straight. I truly did not understand that I was that sick at the time.

I knew I needed help, I knew my psychiatrist told me that I was lucky to be alive, but the severity of my body's condition never felt all that real to me.  

It's like I was talking about someone else. It wasn't me who was saved from death in the emergency room that day. It wasn't me who then arrived as an inpatient on an eating disorder unit. I was in a fog and just going through the motions, allowing porters and nurses to take me where I needed to go. 

Just how ill I was is sinking in heavily now. That photo haunts me. My head is far too big for my body, my eyes sunken, my skin so pale. Do I really want to go back to this?  

I feel sadness for my present self, the one that sits in her hospital bed and types these words from her phone, this present me that really does sometimes (often) misses sick me. I hate the fullness of my stomach, I hate the extra flesh on my legs, and I hate gaining weight. I miss the comfort of feeling each sharp edge of my ribs, wrapping my fingers one and a half times around my wrist, and staring at the loose skin where fat used to be.

A part of me wonders if in a month from today, will I shake my head at the thoughts running through my mind at this point in my recovery? Will my brain continue to heal, and along with it, will my perception shift even more than it already has? 

I am slowly beginning to feel more and more gratitude for this opportunity to become Erin again, without anorexia and her dark shadow following behind. 

What struck me about this photo is how childlike I appear. I am a doll-like version of myself in that photograph. I've always run from being an adult. I cried on my thirtieth birthday. My favourite colour is pink, I listen to Britney Spears, and I have the voice of a ten year old. I'm still scared of "growing up". So often I don't feel like I am strong enough to take care of myself. 

So in retrospect, starving myself to adolescent size, shopping in the kids section, and not being able to meet the very basic need of feeding myself...was perhaps an unconscious grasping at childhood. I was ultimately asking for someone, anyone, to save me from myself, to hold me and not let me go. 

I'm in love with the song, "Lost Boy." I play it on repeat and imagine that I am the lost boy and anorexia is Peter Pan taking me by the hand and leading me away from reality. 

"And then one night , as I closed my eyes,
I saw a shadow flying high
He came to me with the sweetest smile
Told me he wanted to talk for awhile
He said, "Peter Pan. That's what they call me.
I promise that you'll never be lonely."
And ever since that day..."

http://youtu.be/58TBZnvyGwQ

But anorexia lied. It is lonely in Neverland and there is no freedom there. True freedom is liberation from the chains of anorexia. It is being able to go out for dinner with friends and not having to panic over what I will eat or keep down. True freedom is loving my body when it is healthy and not having to fit into a size 00. True freedom is finding joy and happiness in reality.   

It's time to leave Neverland and rediscover the world outside, without her dark shadow trailing behind. 

Weight gain.

lifewithaneatingdisorder.tumblr.com

Triggered. 

The doctor is pleased with my progress. 

He smiles and I almost expect a high five. 

The nurses are being far too nice. 

I've restored weight. 

They almost trust me now. 

It feels too fast. 

I feel completely out of control. 

I'm consuming a ridiculous amount of calories, 

And my body is now soaking it all up,

In the form of fat cells on my legs, my stomach, my thighs. 

I don't feel like these limbs belong to me. 

I feel the heaviness,

Like sinking... slowly...torturously...

Into some deep, ugly pit. 

I'm reaching out for someone to save me,

But no one is willing. 

They tell me that I'm meant to be sinking.

That this is a good thing. 

It makes no sense to me. 

This place make no sense. 

So I cry and I panic. 

I feel I am again outside myself as I watch a girl mechanically bring food to her mouth. 

I can not be present. 

I am someone else,

Some random girl on a psych ward,

Obeying orders and eating all the food off her tray. 

My mind keeps fighting to silence the voice,

But anorexia is with me now, 

Sighing in disgust at my full stomach. 

Anorexia has been harassing me since I met with the Doctor.

I feel trapped between two realities that are both painfully unbearable. 

I'm just so tired and exhausted. 

I wish I could burn calories with the overthinking. 

If I wasn't in a hospital,

Listening to the monotonous sound of a tubefeed in the bed beside me,

If I was not an inpatient on 4f4,

I would be empty right now. 

The good kind of empty. 

There is absolutely no way that I would have eaten that supper. 

There is no way I would have allowed this food to remain in my stomach. 

I am terrified of being discharged too soon,

And at the same time I am terrified of this place. 

I feel safe here, and yet so frighteningly alone. 

I feel like no matter the path I take,

I have no control. 

Anorexia versus this unbearable reality. 

Nothing makes sense today. 

I burst into tears when nurses reassure me

With a pat on the back,

And I ask for an extra yellow pill to sedate me. 

I hate the accolades we get for gaining weight. 

Yay. You can't see my bones now. 

Yay. I'm beating anorexia. 

Or am I? 

Why then do I miss the emaciated girl I was when I first arrived here? 

I'm feeling triggered by the memory of me, the fragile girl that arrived here one month ago. 

How bizarre to miss the girl who sobbed and called her mother every two minutes wanting to die? 

This is a different kind of pain. 

It is the pain of a mind that is healing slowly, but still wants to be lost to anorexia. 

I've had to fight all day to defy her.

It feels like I'm losing everything. 

Control. 

Thinness. 

My constant companion. 

My security blanket has been torn from my hands. 

If you've never had an encounter with anorexia,

You may judge progress by the number on the scale.  

We are weighed everyday here. 

We stand with our backs to the numbers, 

The nurses know we can't cope with daily reminders. 

The scale is synonymous with mental torture. 

Yet, someday, at some point, like today,

A doctor or a nurse will congratulate us for our "restoration". 

We won't be prepared for this. 

I'm not sure we ever will be.

Anorexia is cruel and abusive. 

My stomach is distended with food and fluid. 

My body is covered in a layer of fat i haven't seen for a very long time. 

And there truly is nothing you can say to ease my pain or calm my panicked mind. 

How desperately I long to leave this place. 

More accurately, I long to leave this body. 

It does not feel like it belongs to me. 

I eat because I am expected to.

I do not purge because I don't want to face the consequences of not following the rules. 

I've always been a model student.

But to anorexia,

I am a failure. 

Hate the disease.

_{(Source: Daniabny7 via Pinterest)} 

Please don't try to save me. 

You are not my one-person treatment team.

I desperately crave your love and support,  

Not your anger and frustration. 

You say I've changed. 

I say, so have you. 

I used to see kindness in your eyes,

Now I only see the dark

Glare of anger there. 

There are moments when you look at me 

With the tenderness you once held,

But the moment is so fleeting,

It seems to hurt even more now. 

You know how sensitive I am,

Everytime you raise your voice,

Or slam a door,

When you curse under your breath,

I feel anxiety well up in my chest.

You can't bully me into getting better. 

If it was that easy,

You would have saved me by now.

Everytime you call me stubborn, 

Or selfish,

Everytime you roll your eyes,

Or talk behind my back,

Is like a knife to my heart.  

You believe I chose this. 

You tell me I'm weak and childlike. 

You begin to despise me for my tears. 

But don't you get it?

Don't you see that you can't possibly say anything More hurtful than I've already told myself?

Anorexia has destroyed my self worth,

You don't need to help her along. 

I already have a voice inside my head

Who thrives on putting me down.

My self worth has been shred to pieces 

Years ago by this disease. 

Sometimes I feel like you are anorexia's voice, 

Reflecting back to me in physical form. 

You are the voice of my father when I was young,

Angry and furious when I could not eat. 

You are the hatred of past boyfriends,

Hating me for wasting away before their eyes. 

You believe this is all my fault. 

I've become the scapegoat for your own pain. 

I'm here to tell you that this is not okay. 

I do not accept that this is what I deserve.

My mind is healing,

And with healing, 

Comes painful realizations. 

We can pretend that your anger is merely your Lack of understanding,

But we both know you prefer to remain in ignorant bliss. 

I doubt my judgment now more than ever. 

I ignored my intuition. 

I convinced myself that you were my knight

in shining, imperfect armour.

However, I know now,

I can only save myself. 

I sometimes wish I had a different disease.

If I had cancer, 

I doubt you would feel the way you do. 

You wouldn't grow to hate me,

You would simply hate the disease. 

So why do you see anorexia 

As an extension of me?

I never asked for this.

I never chose this prison,

For that is what this is to me. 

Your voice is loud and shouting now. 

I make myself smaller beneath the covers,

I hide from your rage, and this only serves 

to make you hate me more. 

You think I'm a scared little child. 

I would not disagree. 

In this moment I feel like the little girl 

With her ear to the floor,

Listening to the chaos from downstairs. 

I am twelve again. 

I am helpless and no one explains what is going on. 

The scales are falling from my eyes. 

I am starting to hate you as much as you hate me. 

No one is forcing you to stay by my side. 

Leave anytime you want.

I give you my permission,

To run the other way. 

And I give myself permission,

To be unapologetically me. 

Silence

Something has shifted. 

Flowers smell sweeter,

Blankets feel cozier,

I can get through a phone call without breaking into tears. 

There are these small bursts of happiness,

And it feels so foreign and bizarre. 

I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror. 

Big brown eyes look back at me curiously. 

Today I observe a thin girl, 

She actualy appears too thin. 

She looks like she is recovering

From some kind of illness. 

And there is a small sparkle in her eyes,

That had left some months ago. 

Anorexia, where are you now? 

I'm staring in the mirror,

And I can't hear your voice.

I make wishes on dandelions and watch as the soft white feathers dance in the wind. 

I have been floating on a cloud all day. 

It's new and strange...

And freeing.  

And so I make more wishes,

Look up at the sky and I whisper gratitude,

And warmth fills my heart. 

I can almost hear the prayers,

Like whispered words carried by the wind,

From others who believe in me,

When I don't believe in myself. 

Perhaps it's the new yellow pill,

That is lifting the shadow of this disease,

Smoothing the sharp distorted edges of my thoughts. 

I would never have predicted 

That this little yellow wafer,

That I once gave to so many patients,

Is now dissolving on my own tongue. 

I don't even care. 

I hold no judgment here. 

I am simply grateful,

So grateful, 

To feel just that much more alive. 

The silence of anorexia 

Is freedom from pain. 

To see my reflection,

and not recoil in disgust, 

Or to feel the absence of my once constant companion,

Feels surreal. 

I'm scared to trust my reflection. 

I don't want this to be stripped away.

Please don't let me become the hollow shell

I was when I arrived here. 

That very sick girl seems like a dream,

and yet so very real at the same time. 

I can't look at the photos I took of my emaciated body and empty eyes. 

I wanted proof at the time,

That I was that far down the rabbit hole. 

I can not deny that I have been sick,

Very sick,

The majority of my life. 

I'm letting the world into this shameful disease.

It feels good,

But it is also terrifying.  

What if I fall again? 

What if I starve again? 

I pause from my thoughts. 

I hear nothing. 

I look again into the plastic hospital mirror,

Still nothing. 

For just this moment of silence,

I am grateful. 

Anorexia, where are you now? 

I'm staring in the mirror,

And I can't hear your voice.

Secrets.

I've lived my life telling little white lies,

The smaller pieces of the shameful one that has become my cross to bear. 

Every relationship I've had,

Has been coloured by the secrets that I keep. 

In blood soaked pointe shoes,

I move across the stage.

All you notice from your seats are the graceful movements I've performed a million times. 

That's all you are meant to see.  

You become entranced by the dancer on stage,

And l become entranced by the dance. 

I make a wish on every falling star. 

I scribble a prayer on random notebook pages, 

on scraps of paper,

and mess up the pretty pages of journals. 

Between the drawings of hearts and faces, flowers and butterflies,

Are my heartfelt pleas. 

They are the same desperate words I've written too many times,

again and again,

over and over,

year after year. 

Dear God,

I long for a warm chest, 

Where I can whisper all my secrets 

And rest my weary head. 

Please give me strength,

Release me of this shame. 

I'm so so tired Lord. 

Men fall for her, 

They fall for the carefree girl,

The pretty one with the big brown eyes. 

She laughs and smiles,

And you see kindness there. 

I sometimes wish you could see inside. 

I would take off some layers for you. 

And may be, just may be,

you would stick around. 

But I'm pretty sure you would run. 

And I wouldn't blame you.

I would run from me too. 

If you get too close,

You will notice the blood on my toes. 

The lights will come on as you rise from your seat. 

The crowd will applaud and rush to get back to their cars and the warmth of their homes. 

These hours of watching me dance,

Eventually come to an end.

You grow weary of seeing me after the curtains have closed, 

When my makeup is off and my costume lies in a heap on the floor.

It's never the same as it was. 

If you come too close,

You begin to see my scars,

And the pain in my eyes. 

I look into yours, 

And I wonder if you'll stay. 

Will you run when the tears inevitably stream down my face?

Or will you hold me close?

Will you wrap me in your arms,

and fight for me,

Even after the curtains close 

and I am laid bare. 

I didn't want to tell you lies. 

But I couldn't let you in too close. 

I kept secrets to protect you from me. 

Now that you know,

Will you run, or will you stay. 

I hope you stay. 

(http://www.buro247.hr/local/images/burohr/nybalet7_jpg_1355241176.jpg)