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. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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.