I never suspected my cooking class would trigger my bulimia.
I guess maybe I should have, but it was never at the forefront of my mind when I was signing up for classes in the January of this past year. Currently, I am using that class as a GPA booster because I have an A everybody gets an A. But life still stares me in the face and says "*******" everyday my teacher who is crazy brings up food that sparks a memory. When we learned how to read food labels, I remembered how my parents drilled them into my six year-old brain. If sugar was listed in the first four ingredients, we could not eat the item. When we made Big Macs yes, we actually made them in class I always thought about how my sister and I were never allowed to eat McDonalds unless it was on my mom's schedule, and even then we were forced to get the smallest thing on the menu with the least amount of calories. Should we have objected to any of these strict dietary rules, we would be ridiculed on the spot. My dad made it a point to embarrass us and point out our food flaws in restaurants or, what I found to be even more humiliating, in front of my grandparents. I guess he thought shaming us out of our already established eating habits would work. News flash: it didn't.  It won't.  All it did was force me into a corner in which an eating disorder was the only option I saw fit. Once he found out? He got angry but did nothing to stop it. And I hadn't thought about my childhood in a good deal of time until this cooking class reminded me of it. Trying to enjoy any food at all now and have eating be a pleasant experience is difficult, but you can be **** sure I'll keep trying, regardless of my father's tirades.

I found some loose change in the crevices
Of the seat of my car
And it made me think of you.
How the way we used to be
Is so vastly different
From the way we are at this moment.
We used to have so much passion
We were so addicted to each other
And that evolved into a potent love story
That left two lives in shambles.
Currently, we still sleep together
Make love even though there is no love left anymore
And it seems so lackluster.
I try to pretend you are him
Because I will never feel this intimacy
With the man I so hopelessly love.
You shift all of your weight into me
So that my body is crushed by yours.
*** used to be exciting
But now it is one-sided
You-sided
And I can't do this anymore.
Neither of us are the same
For better or for worse.
I guess this is
Hm, how do you put it?
Goodbye.

I've never been one for talking.
My words have always been used sparingly
As a child, they were minimal and meaningful
But my years progressed
I lost confidence
So they became less and less.
I started to believe
That my opinion was worthless
And I could never formulate a perfect method
In which to express my emotions to others
So I began to fall into myself.
As depression hit like a crashing wave
And anxiety was the flood that followed
I looked for ways to cope.
I would attack myself with anything sharp
Sending me to the hospital was it's only effect.
An eight year battle with an eating disorder
Seldom reaped any benefits.
But through it all,
I began recording my experiences.
Not ******
But with a pen in my hand
And a cigarette hard-pressed between my lips.
I would write anywhere I could
In classes
In my bedroom
Sometimes, surrounded by nature
And it was so unexpectedly freeing.
It was as though
My words finally made sense
And flowed seamlessly, one into the next
I didn't stammer or hesitate when I wrote.
I felt esteemed and witty and self-assured
I finally had a space where I was free of judgement.
All in all,
Writing is a gift
To express thoughts and say exactly what you mean
Is beautiful.
For me,
Writing is a means of escape
Of expression
Of art.
Writing is really
The way I communicate with the world around me.

I'm not sad anymore
But I'm still struggling.
For weeks,
Being broken meant,
Succumbing to my addiction.
So I suppose being whole means
Learning to fight on.

I'm not sad anymore
But I'm still struggling.
Every time I see your face
I am sent into a panic
But I no longer let that fear
Overwhelm me
To the point where I destroy the very essence
Of who I am.

I'm not sad anymore
But I'm still struggling.
I have yet to fall back into the comfortable seat
That old habits reserve for me.
I refuse to purge again
But my thoughts make it so tempting
Self-induced vomiting was never popular
But it did give me some twisted sense of control.

I'm not sad anymore
But I'm still struggling.
I am smiling like an idiot  
Even when I should be sobbing.
Does that make me seem strong
Or does it make me insane?
Maybe they are one and the same.

I'm not sad anymore
But I'm still struggling.
Maybe that's even better
Than simply being okay
Because pain makes better human beings
And I would rather know that I have the ability
To hold on through the agony
Than to be reduced to feeling
Nothing at all.

I was lost in the depths
Of my incoherent mind
And I swore up to You
That I was done this time.

Then I witnessed
When it seemed as though
Your life would fall apart at the seams
You made it through
Stronger than ever
And more beautiful too.

When He gave you
More than you thought you could handle
Everyone would understand if you
Fell to pieces
But you're climbing
You're a warrior
And He brought you through
Oh my Lord
The reason is You

It seems like
This change is eminent
Danger is apparent
And you're falling short
On top of it.

But you are stronger than you understand
He'll be your shield again

When He gave you
More than you thought you could handle
Everyone would understand if you
Fell to pieces
But you're climbing
You're a warrior
And He brought you through
Oh my Lord
The reason is You

You're not alone
You're not alone

You are not alone
This world is not your home

When He gave you
More than you thought you could handle
Everyone would understand if you
Fell to pieces
But you're climbing
You're a warrior
And He brought you through
Oh my Lord
The reason is You

Oh the reason is You
Oh God, You bring me through
Until the waves are few
It's what You do
Now I trust in You

I went to our special spot today
With a cigarette and a pen
It was still breathtaking.

For the first time in years
I felt small.
You see,
Since I was a child
I have always been overweight.
It used to consume me
It was all I could notice when I looked at myself

Since I was nine
I stashed food and binged
While at thirteen I started purging
As an effort to control my apparent largeness.
Here, I am surrounded by cliffs, rocks and trees
That tower over me
Finally, I am the smallest one in the room
And yet I feel on top of the world.

I am sad to report this place is changing
The stream we used to splash in
Has dried up.
The log where we used to sit
On which you educated me about ***, boys and family
As well as everything in between
Is rotten and soggy.

I am not fond of such changes
Because we both changed too.
You could not shake a ****** addiction
And it eventually took you home.

I, myself, battle
Mental illness and recovery from self-inflicted abuses
That, after one particular incident,
Almost sent me to heaven, too

One more thing before I let you go
I'm sure you're busy, but I wanted you to know
That the cigarette still remains unlit
In my sweatshirt pocket
Not because I forgot a lighter
(Although I did)
But mostly because this overbearing forest
Is my only sacred memory of you
And I could never allow that to
Go up in smoke.

I thought the ***** would make me stop feeling it
But instead I just felt it more intensely.
I kissed a girl and I liked it
Not like that Katy Perry song describes.
I am not some **** straight girl with a boyfriend
Who is trying to impress other dudes at a washed up bar.
I just don't get it
Maybe I never will
How I can be some Christian child of God
And feel this simultaneously?
I will never understand
How some will continue to harp on the idea
That this whole spectrum is a plea for attention
And does not exist.
What the hell are they talking about?
Do they think I like walking around every day
With a stigma attached to my chest
Even though most people do not even know the truth?
Do they think I enjoy
Lying to my parents, day in and day out
Saying I am this pure, straight Presbyterian teen
Who's secrets are all out in the open?
There is a ton they do not know
This is just the tip of the iceberg.
Do they believe that I find pleasure in
Hiding a huge part of who I am
From my school, my church and my community?
They cannot judge me
That is God's job.
These are just a few of my classic gripes
About being a closeted bisexual
In a conservative family.