"Hey, I heard about your dad, hope everything is ok?"
It's not ok.
Of course it's not ok.
Nothing is ok.
My dad is lying in isolation in intensive care.
Although he doesn't look like my dad anymore.
He's so ill, even my uncle who's a doctor is crying.
I'm scared for him.
I miss him.
Even when he awake he's not really there because he's so confused.
I miss my dad.
I want him back.
He's not ok.
I have to get my work done otherwise I'll fail my course.
But I can't do it.
I can't say this to anyone.
I just can't open up because I'm scared I'll be seen differently.
That's not ok.
Everything is out of control.
That's not ok.
So I'm controlling my food and my weight.
But it's so stressful.
I want everything to stop.
I want everything to be ok.
"Yeh it's all good thanks, how are you?"

It's been a back and forth motion:

losing
  gaining
losing
  gaining
losing
  gaining
  maintaining
losing

for nearly a decade.

I can't seem to find* my way back up from this downward spiral
and I'm losing more than mass as I descend.

I don't have anyone close enough to stop me. Not that I'd let them anyways.

I'm going to keep
losing and
losing and
losing.

I'll turn sideways and disappear.
Shrivel up into .nothing.

And maybe then,
   just then,
I might feel valid.

(*correction: I can but I refuse to.)

you were young once
bright eyed
you put the raspberries on each finger and then ate them off
one by one
then, older
you took a bus home from school
kept to yourself
playing 80’s and 90’s hits you would later work out with
as “Shout” Turned to “Oblivion”
you would fall to the floor
and pant
get up
walk to the kitchen
look for something, anything
One
Small
Raspberry

I am a walking corpse---
A living dead girl.
It feels good to rot.

When I look in the mirror,
I enjoy the hollow figure.
It feels good to rot.

Some people don't like it.
Often, they fight it.
But for me---
It feels good to rot.

I feel alive when I'm dying.
I promise I'm not lying.
It feels good to rot.