thank you
for the time you dedicated to me
even though it ended in a **** show
thank you
for the reassuring words that you offered
when i couldnt offer them up to myself
but
i will never thank you
for the betrayal i felt
when you canceled on me
or wouldnt let me leave the psych hospital,
lied to my face,
told me one thing, then someone else another
and when you gained my trust after i TOLD you it was so hard for me to give away,
and you ripped it to shreds
i will never ever ever thank you for the pain i felt when you gave up on me
or didnt respond to my pleas
my cries of help
when you told me i was seeking attention
and when i looked at you dead in the eye with a pain greater than both you or i know, and you never spoke to me again.
i was running down that street and you called my name, but you didnt tell me to stop.
thank you for your kind eyes
the way you tried to understand
and often, you did
but ******* for all the times your kind eyes werent so kind behind closed doors
when you went home to your lover at night and didnt think twice of me
for the times i needed you and you couldnt provide it to me
you didnt give me validation
because when something is on fire and you want to put it out you throw on water, but you added fuel.
the fire kept growing
i burnt.
and you watched.
so if you committed arson and werent caught, did it ever even matter in the first place?

Ideally,
9am
I would wake up and weigh myself.
Hopefully have gone down a pound.
I would have a 16oz cup of mint tea, maybe green to boost my metabolic rate.
No sugar, of course.
Maybe a handful of grapes, 60.
10a
Breathe in the morning air and stretch, feel my ribs, my hip bones, my chest and collar bones.
10:30a
Put on my workout clothes and go for a morning run.
1,
2, 3, 4,
5, 6, 7 miles.
11:15a
Drink a big cup of water.
Take a cold shower, it burns calories quicker.
11:45a
Have lunch.
Lettuce, 5
Tomatoes, 22
Cucumber, 8
Dressing, 120
Cut that in half. 60.
95 calories.
12:30p
Go out with my friends.
They tell me I have a perfect figure and should try on clothes with them.
"No, I don't really want to buy anything. I will just watch you guys try things on."
I start to become anxious because it's almost time for my afternoon workout.
3:15p
I throw my items onto my floor and jump into my workout clothes.
I run in the scorching heat, feeling like my lungs are going to collapse, panting and wheezing.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5 miles.
5p
Dinner.
Minestrone soup, 90
5:30p
Do some yoga stretching while watching some TV.
Drink diet coke and munch on sugar cubes.
8p
Final run of the day.
I must put on reflective gear because this is my longest run of the day and I will be out running late.
Okay. I got this. My legs feel weak and I am exhausted but I can do this. Slow pace. You got this.
1, 2, 3,
4, 5, 6
7, 8 miles
I collapse on my front lawn.
Panting, nearly feeling dead. But I did it.
Can't wait to do it all again tomorrow.

It is so nice being on your own.
No one to help you with anything. Not like you need it.
No one to tell you not to do that self destructive thing to yourself.
No one to make sure you get out and do something everyday.
You don't have to be social, you can just isolate!
Isn't it so nice?

They persuaded her into selling her soul to give them what they did not deserve.
She ripped it from her insides and said, “Here. Take it. Throw it away and let it be known that I am your slave.”
A slave to the unnerving earth that wept as she walked and fell to the ground, curling into a ball of loneliness and despair.
A slave to society that when she curled into that ball, kicked her until her ribs broke and she bled from her nose.
A slave to a mind that told her, “You are wanted by nobody, you are just a tool for them to use.”
She would chase her anti depressants with whiskey and brush her teeth with tequila.
Only to see the reflection staring back at her with a black hand wrapped around her neck, making her beg for air, and another hand over her mouth forcing her to silence.
A black hand attached to a body, and a face, and a mouth that whispers to her, “You are mine. You are my slave.”
A slave to sadness, that makes her mutilate her smooth skin to choppy waters in a storm.
A slave to her co workers, because she feels like her male comrades have power over her and have a right to push her around.
A slave to her lover who forces her to love him, despite his violence.
She does not know her own name.
She only knows what they tell her to feel, when they tap on her shoulder and she slowly turns her head to look.
Only one word.
"Darkness"

Not really quite sure where to go...
I could extend my hand to the right,
to the left
not at all.
I could take the path to the right,
to the left
or straight ahead.
I don't really know where I am going
I crave a known that I cannot get
A desire for a knowledge of where I will end up next.
I can never force the future,
nor really the next day.
Direction,
direction,
direction.
Where do I go from here?
I don't really know?
I feel so vulnerable thinking about where to go,
but I feel even more vulnerable not having a plan.
Not really quite sure where to go...

Once I drank so much I threw up and blacked out.
I vowed I wouldn’t drink again until I was 21.
Two weeks later I drank again thinking maybe it would make someone care.
It didn’t.

How does the world expect you not to **** yourself?
I do not understand why we are put on this earth.
We are born and we already have expectations put into us, then we are put into school by the age of four.
Forced to stand in line like some militia.
We get 30 minutes of free time then are summoned by a whistle and teachers go down checking to make sure we are all aligned.
Tell me how that sounds moral!
We are in school for another 14 years after that, and it just gets harder.
Soon, teachers start choosing favorites and start telling you that you're not good enough, smart enough, or quick enough. You try to do a sport you love only to be told "somebody else was better."
Your friends start to leave you to go join a different group of friends and all you get is a subtle wave and half smile as you walk down the hallway.
You graduate high school and move onto college.
Another four years of school.
Maybe nursing, maybe education, maybe psychology.
Whatever it is it's preparing you for a job that you have to have the rest of your life.
You don't get to have fun everyday.
You have to work, and though they say "the right job is fun." The right job is stressful. The right job is hard. The right job is still a daily struggle. The right job is still a constant battle!
Why were we put on this earth only to continue working, and making our life into one big unhappy nightmare?
Yet, when someone say they want to **** themselves, everyone replies, "oh but the world is so wonderful."

i am not here
i am not yet born,
i am in a crate
i am not sure
i am not what i thought i was
i am still
i am lost
i am not yet grown
i am going
i am going
i am going
i am going far
...far
......far
.........far
downhill
i am sure

I am going... to try.
Not for you, but for me.
I will go downstairs and I will eat dinner.
I will wake up tomorrow and I will have breakfast, I will have lunch, I will have dinner. I will eat my snacks.
And if I cannot do all of it, that is okay.
I can try again the next day.
It's alright if I make mistakes. I can do that.
But I am going to try.
It's not cool when people care about you because you made yourself throw up.
It's not cool when people care about you because you can barely walk or stand without being lightheaded.
It's not cool when people care about you because you are sitting at meals staring at your food like it's some sort of foreign object.
It's not cool when you receive attention for your vitals being so bad that you faint.
It's cool when people applaud you for the hard work you have been putting in.
It's cool when you've made progress and people tell you they are proud.
It's cool when you get to go outside everyday because you've earned privileges.
It's cool when you get attention for doing well and having someone put their hand on your back and say, "hey, I know today was hard. But you made it through."
My eating disorder is not cool. In fact it's proven to be incredibly uncool.
I used to hate when people told me they were proud of me, but as I got told today how much I was loved and how proud everyone was of me I realized how cool recovery was.
I am not going to give up. It's going to be incredibly difficult. And some days, it may feel impossible but no matter what,
I am going to try.


- thoughts after being kicked out of treatment

I always told people, "I don't need no man. I am an independent woman, I'm never getting married."
I don't want a boyfriend because I just well, I don't need one.
It's funny. I may not need one, but sometimes, just sometimes, men, they'll sneak up on you, and the words "hello" suddenly sound so intriguing.
I am a ticking time bomb and maybe that's why I am so afraid of relationships and commitment and you.
And maybe that's why I again, don't want a boyfriend because I know it will never work because I'm going to **** some **** up and I'm going to ******* up and I'm going to make everything go wrong and I'll say something and your face will do the thing where your eyes stop shining and I just can't deal with that look of despair because it will strike me to my core.
But.
Right now.
I look at you.
And, you, you're. Something, draws me to you, and I can't put into words what it is about you but when I touch your skin, I feel it pulse through me and suddenly the winters cold is the hottest day of summer, like a California heat wave.
And when I look into your eyes I can't speak, I lose my train of thought I start to lose my words.
I have to focus because I can't think of anything but your dark, dark eyes.
And when we embrace I feel like I'm home. Everything stops for a moment. Nothing else in the world matters, I feel safe, in a world that stabs me repeatedly day after wretched day and throws me to the ground you rise me up and I don't know what to do because I'm falling in love with you so hard and so fast and I do this
I can't because I can't deal with this attachment because I'm not always around.
Meaning I can't give you my heart because I can barely give it to myself.
Meaning I cut my skin and I don't know how much of it I will have left one day.
Meaning I go in and out of hospitals and treatments centers and I don't want you to see me like that and every time someone asks "hey man, wheres your girl?" you have to make up some lie to protect me.
You're so supportive but sometimes there's only so much you can say.
You feel like home but sometimes I have to leave the house.
You're older than me and wiser, I sometimes wonder if you feel like you're in this because maybe you feel like you need to take care of me.
Maybe I like being taken care of.
But you always hold the door for me and the way you look at me it's like I am your world. And I want to tell you that we can't do this.
As if I won't destroy you and that's why I'm afraid.
I don't want to **** this up like I **** up everything else.
Because this time this feels right and every time anything feels right it always,
it always goes wrong.

don't tell me it's going to be okay
when all i've eaten today was my own fingernails and a smoothie
but i want that ******* cupcake---
when i eat it though i dont even enjoy it, i force myself into hating treats so that i dont win.
so i take a bite and i just want to cry
don't tell me it's going to be okay
when no other treatment center will accept me anymore
and my insurance barely covers me because they're so fed up
i've left AMA twice and have been kicked out three times
now it seems im about to go to my seventh round of residential and people are saying i have control over it
"the eating disorder is not a separate entity" they say
then why do i want to eat but i'm literally being forced not to
then why do i want to say sorry to everyone i've hurt and every person i said "im not eating" to that has just wanted to help me, but the eating disorder tells me to focus on myself
then i must be the dissappointment,
then i must be a ****** person
don't tell me it's going to be okay
when i want to go home and just be with my mom
when i'm scared my dog is starting to like my mom more than me and it makes me want to crumble in agony everytime he follows her and not me, and won't sleep on my bed anymore any time im home. because all ive done to him was leave him for treatment
i understand if he hates me
don't tell me it's going to be okay
if all i want to do is isolate
and nap
and cry
and cut everyone out of my life,
even the ones i love dearest
dont tell me it's going to be okay
when i see my weight go up not even a pound
and i want to rip my skin off
and throw myself in front of a moving vehicle
not quite die but feel the pain i believe i deserve after gaining
don't tell me it's going to be okay
when i THRIVE off the look people give me when i say i havent eaten all day
or have thoughts of harming myself
and everytime someone says "gee you look sick"
i feel like im doing something right
don't tell me it's going to be okay
when i couldnt even get through a semester of college
without nearly dying
and am supposed to be going into my junior year but i've only got enough credits to be a first semester freshman
im a failure in all aspects
don't tell me it's going to be okay
because it wont be.

May 27, 1998.
It was a Thursday at 7:50 p.m.
I was one of two.
"Name her Isabella, because she came out screaming. She's loud, like her grandmother."
My sister was 10 minutes later, quiet and feeble.
Her name, Andreana.
After my father Andrew, who wasn't there. He died two months earlier.
My mom, obviously she was there. But not really.
Atleast she wasn't around.
We had Jamie, and Erika, and Ausra, and Deb.
Me and my sister had eachother, and my brother, when he felt like it. When your dads dead and your mom works full time--because that's the only way to make a living.
You're really, well you're an orphan.
I remember when my mom went on business trips,
I'd bang my head on the wall because I was so miserable,
I'd cry myself sick.
I would sleep next to my sister and we'd look at the stars, I remember we used to stay up late and wait for her to get home. She'd hold me and whisper "soon."
As I felt the tears from her eyes gather in my hair, and rub against my skin.
My mom would bring us home gifts, as if gifts could mend our broken hearts. As if gifts replaced the love and attention we weren't getting.
I got to first grade and I stole from my teacher, I hung out with the "bad girl" in class and we used to bully this boy. My mom wondered why I had anger management issues and why I would lie.
She threw me into therapy, because she couldn't solve these problems on her own.
Except when I went to therapy all I wanted to do was play with the games. I just wanted someone to play with me.
I just wanted someone to care.
My nannies cared.
But they weren't my mom.
And eventually they left.
When they left, then we had Maria.
Maria pushed me into the wall when I was having tantrums and grabbed my face, told me to "stop misbehaving!"
I hated Maria.
My mom cared. She cared a lot. Maybe that was the problem.
She got so caught up in caring and making sure we were cared for that she forgot how to love.
When all the other kids parents came to the Halloween parade, I never saw my mom. My sister and I would sit together, while everyone else would sit with there mommies and daddies. But hey atleast we had eachother.
Right?
My mom wasn't able to make it to Shoreline or state championship track meets, or award nights because she had to work. She wasn't there when I became captain of the track team.
My best friends mom gave me a hug, i closed my eyes and pretended it was mine.
She cared, but she was never there.
I still looked for her face in the crowd every time I stood at that starting line.
Most times when I didn't see it, I wanted to cry, but the few times I did, I wanted to cry even harder.

How I know you are my best friend:
Everytime something good happens I want you to know
I enjoy your company
I genuinely love you
When I go somewhere I wish you were there with me
I have an unlimited amount of respect for you and you respect me back
You want to help me and make sure I'm okay and I want to do the same for you
You actually care.
My mom loves you
You want to talk about our lives and hardships and don't care if I vent
Thank you for being my best friend. For being you.

i've been stuck and wordless for so long.
there are no words to explain how i feel.
how do i tell you i missed class today due to depression keeping me in bed?
how do i say that i keep trying so hard but it's just never enough?
how do i try to do something that is supposed to make me happy but i end up getting no pleasure from it?
how do i live like this?
like im constantly drowning
like there's "no cure"
like i am a failure and whatever higher powers are up there sure like to make sure i know that
like im unforgivable
like i throw my heart into something only to get each artery ripped out one by one
like i cannot be real.
things havent been okay for a long time.
i fake it.
i tell people im doing much better
because i look okay.
i act okay.
so why should it matter?
how can i tell you im broken hearted?
like i am trying my best but it just doesnt work
it wont ever work.

I want to hide.
I want to isolate.
I want to leave.
Because this was a mistake that I can't easily get out of.
I see myself and all i see is a disappointment.
A sad, fat, shameful disappointment.
I hate myself so much and I am so afraid because now I'm eating everyday and I can hardly stand my body.
I look in the full length mirror and I don't recognize myself.
I used to be so much smaller.
I want to cry.
What am I without my eating disorder?
A shell of a boring, annoying person.
Not special.
Not unique.
Just, Belle.
I pretend like I'm okay,
but I'm not.
Belle is useless and can't think of anything else except for when to leave and can go back to behaviors again.
I am absolutely horrible. Seven times in residential treatment and nothing has helped.
Why am I still trying?
Maybe when I leave this time the eating disorder will **** me.
Cause after this, I don't have any more opportunities.
I am untreatable, unlovable, and unseen.
I act like the perfect patient, because the more I do that-- the quicker I get out of here.
"I cant wait until I starve myself again"
Constantly repeats in my brain.
i am tired.
i am in ******* pain.
i am crumbling
i am not okay
but i am happy.
My eating disorder gives me more happiness than anyone ever has.
I am my eating disorder.
I just wish I could shrink
I just wish I could have that control
I just wish I could make nobody know about this.
I am surrounded by people who support me,
but I want none of it.
Yet I wonder why I feel lonely.
I am worthless, I am a willful brat.
Even when I am pushing so hard, I'm still just as pointless.
My family can't wait until I get better.
I can't wait until I get worse.
I don't know what to do anymore, I want to recover, but I can't. I'm too hyper focused on being thin that nothing else matters.
Nothing will ever matter.
Not anymore.

why is everyone assuming im so good
"im so glad youre doing well"
"you seem so happy!"
"oh this is great that you are doing so much better."
but i am not
i am crying in grocery stores
and running because i ate a twinky
i am crumbling
i am not okay
this is not okay

I feel nothing
I want to go and
run &
run &
run
until my lungs feel like they are on fire.
Maybe then...
I won't feel so numb.

She lays in her bed feeling like she's laying on cement.
Nothing feels good anymore.
It all hurts, it all feels so out of reach. Just out of reach. Everything is always just out of reach. Why is everything just out of reach?
Why does she do everything right and get nothing in return?
Maybe it's not right.
She gets her hopes up. She really needs to stop doing that, it creates unrealistic expectations and those are ideas that she just cannot get herself stuck on.
Is this the punishment for trying to be happy? She doesn't understand what she has done wrong, she doesn't understand what she needs to do right.
She no longer wants to do right.
People are belittling her.
People are telling her how she should act.
Her strings are being pulled left and right, down and up all at once.
She ripped a long time ago.
She sits there with a blank stare. No longer caring, she just has to agree with everyones orders and what everyone wants from her.
Her life is not her own.
Has it ever been her own?
Will it ever be?
Then it brings up the question, but does it matter?
She tries to speak but they grab it out of thin air and shake their heads at her.
Her words are not valid.
She is not valid.
She will never be valid.
It's no longer just out of reach.
It's completely out of her hands.
They have locked it in a box and hid the key.
She has no chance here.
She never has,
she never will.

i spoke to you again today
just a few texts
but it was enough to make me question my sanity
of leaving you
and finding someone else
no one could love me the way you did
somehow it felt right
but every time i hear from you
i dont know
its so painful.
youre so painful.
everything is so
painful.
thats why i took myself away from you
you were my drug and i was addicted
but it became too much
but just like drugs, youll want to go back
and i am questioning my sobriety more than ever.

I want to let you know that I, whether or not you believe me, do at times know what's best for myself.
And right now this isn't feeling right.
I am feeling so pressured.
I am feeling so pushed.
I am feeling like I have been given a destination that does not exist.
Or one that is not reachable.
Like traveling from here to California on foot in 2 days.
I am feeling burdened.
I am feeling both hopeless and helpless.
I asked for a blessing, for a miracle, and what I was given was middle ground.
I hate the running back and fourth.
I hate the games.
I hate the hissing of faith and pride.
When I tell you I know where I am at I need you to listen.
Because this time I am telling you that I know where I'm at and what I need.
This time I am telling you that there is a certain level of faith that I have in myself, and I DO have faith in myself, but only so much and that's all that can be given, you know.
This time I am telling you to stop telling me that you have all the faith in me because you shouldn't.
You shouldn't.
Because you will be disappointed.
You're putting too much faith into me and like I said, I have a level of faith in myself, because I know I can do it but at my own pace, not at yours.
Or anyone else's.
Mine.
Listen to me.
Stop telling me you have so much faith.
Stop telling me I can do this now and now and now and when, and at this specific point.
I am feeling afraid.
I am feeling angry.