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.