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. 

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)

They call it weight restoration.

I see the apprehension on her kind face. 

I hate to be the bearer of bad news, she says with a reluctant smile and caring eyes. 

Ironically enough, 

I was certain she was about to tell me that I am gaining much more quickly than I should be. 

Instead she wants to increase. 

Increase calories. 

Increase weight gain. 

The words sound like a sick joke,

She can NOT be serious. 

I immediately look at her in shock. 

I was finally mildly accepting the small amount of muscle on my calves. 

I was finally mildly accepting the softer outline of my clavicles. 

Now everything feels unbearable. 

I'm paralyzed in fear and utter frustration. 

None of this feels okay right now. 

I begin to beg her, like a child, 

Please not yet. 

Pleeeeeease. 

At least for a few more days...

I picture each fat cell in my body, 

Soaking up the calories like a sponge.

I immediately feel heavy. 

My entire being feels like this ugly, yellow, heavy wet sponge. 

I dramatically press my face into the soft fabric 

Of the pillow sitting on my bed. 

I try to muffle the sound,

But ugly sobs still escape. 

I feel like I'm watching myself from above,

The sad, little anorexic girl,

Crying over calories. 

I'm so FULL, always SO FULL. 

My stomach ACHES. 

It's used to being empty. 

I'm used to being empty. 

I consider this now at 3 am,

What is so alluring about the emptiness? 

Emptiness comes with a huge price tag. 

We must purge after too much has been consumed. 

We must pick at our food. 

We don't eat meals, we eat as little as tolerable, 

Or we scavenge food like vultures in the wild. 

We plan the escape route to the bathroom at restaurants before we even open the menu.

Eating is chaos,

But emptiness brings order. 

To be empty,

Seems to be worth the lies we tell.

I'm just not hungry today. 

I can't figure out why I'm nauseous all the time. 

I ate before I came. 

I have NO IDEA why I'm fainting everyday. 

The price tag is set high for emptiness,

Yet it seems worth it,

To escape the torture,

The wrath,

Of anorexia's voice. 

Ugly. 

Fat. 

Useless.

Waste of space.

The dietician apologizes.

She is sorry this is so hard. 

They call it weight restoration here.

No matter how you word it,

It means you will feel more pain,

A different kind of pain than before. 

A different kind of torture. 

You escape your self imposed concentration camp,

Only to enter a now foreign place 

With a language we have nearly forgotten. 

 

(_{source: http://bonfire--heart3.tumblr.com/)}

We all agree to come to this place,

Because we can no longer manage our lives 

with anorexia, 

or bulimia, 

or some combination of both.

Illness has become our normal,

And we are very weak and very very ill. 

We know that we will be expected to weight restore here. 

We are well aware that we will be expected to eat, but we just can't prepare enough for this. 

Our brain is trained to shun calories. 

It is programmed to decrease. 

Our neural pathways are deeply set,

From years and years of training,

Even before we realized we were in training for anything at all. 

To come to terms with recovery,

We must stray determinedly from the well worn path we set that very first day, 

That day we threw our lunch in the trash. 

The recovery path has not been taken for many many years.

It is overgrown with weeds and branches that leave us bloody and bruised. 

These are our battle wounds. 

It takes courage to turn left instead of right,

To cross the bridge, 

So old and fragile.

I long for someone to pick me up,

and carry me across to the other side. 

I long for someone to catch me

When my knees begin to buckle. 

But I am a child no longer. 

No one can ease this burden for me. 

Stand up straight.

Shoulders back. 

Step by step. 

I won't look back at the well worn path 

I used to take. 

I blow a kiss,

Let a single tear fall,

And leave anorexia behind,

Lost and alone on the other side where illness resides. 

(source:  http://myfancifulmuse.blogspot.ca/)