The first time I met remission
She was the warmth of a lover's arms
A stream of sunlight amid the fog
A snowflake in the desert.

The first time I met remission
Was the first time I sat in health class
And talked about dieting
Without feeling like the target
Nor the antithesis
Of the conversation.

The first time I met remission
I no longer felt like the "fat girl"
I embraced the fact
That fat was not a synonym
To my worst fears.
Fat not ugly
Fat not worthless
Fat still beautiful
Fat always beautiful

The first time I met remission
I knew exactly who she was
As these were not conscious thoughts
That I had the ability to switch off
Just as my bulimia
Did not function as a series of buttons I could control
At least not in the throes of it.

The second time I met remission
I felt my knees hit the bathroom tiles
My spine broke into the floor
But I was physically sick
And I did not get flashes of memory
Of the glamour and horror
In which my disorder used to manifest itself
Daily.

I continue to meet remission
I talk to her on a regular basis.
She showed up a year and a half into my recovery.
She is the guardian angel
I never knew I needed.

I continue to meet remission
She reminds my that even this
Is not the end.
She tells me that even the chapter of my life
Characterized by binging and purging
Characterized by acting inhumane
Characterized by hating myself
Is like ash in the water now.
She reminds me
That just because one chapter was unbecoming
My story isn't over yet.

You asked me "What's wrong?"
I asked you to count with me
One
One day you just stopped coming around
Two
Two days have passed since my last meal and I'm still staring down the toilet hoping to empty whatever is left of me
Three
Three words repeated over and over I love you I love you I love you I love you
Four
4:00 a.m. showers letting the bathtub flow over hoping to drown the girl I hate because that's the girl I have become
Five
Five bottles down moving onto number
Six
Six daisies making a chain around my neck like a noose holding the measurement hoping that I'll at least be pretty when I die
Seven
Seven days every week I didn't want to get out of bed because how could I try and stand on solid ground when I'm sinking and everyone else around me is flying like
Eight smoke rings escaping my lips as I wish that maybe my last breath will float up with it
Nine
Nine hours I should be sleeping but instead I stare at that pill bottle did you know that
Ten out of Ten doctors will prescribe you with pills if you're even the slightest bit imbalanced in the brain
Nine
Nine years of prescriptions piling up ignored in fear of becoming a monster like the one they're trying to create
Eight
Eight cancer sticks at the bottom of my bag because addiction is addiction because it hurts the same
Seven
Seven minutes I count over and over did you know that's how long it takes to die by hanging I know because of
Six words you said
Five years ago "Why don't you just go **** yourself"
Four attempts in one month why can't I just die
Three
Three hours spent sobbing on the bathroom floor with
Two bullets in
One gun shot bang!
Zero
Zero chances left

Sometimes while looking in the mirror, I think to myself
I'm okay being me
I look alright
I am alright
And this is all I need
(It's not all that I want)
(but this is all that I need)

Oh ‪rose‬,
gentle ‪flower‬ spirit-
in these moments
i imbibe our singularity,
for I feel your delicate petals
blossoming from my ‪third-eye‬,
roots wrapped betwixt my ‪‎heart‬-
your scent whispering ‪Rumi‬
as I ‪dance‬ with you
in this delirious ‎springtime‬ tango
I cry out
"oh magnificent beings,
rejoice!
For I have found ‪us‬!
We're all together
in this moment!"
But the rose simply giggles coyly,
her dance continues
as if this was a secret she knew
all along.

...jesus answer the phone
....just answer
I know you are lying there naked flipping the record to side b
I know you sense this swallowing of pride
dialing this number again
Written down in my head
We are not friends
Why don't I  cut myself open
Bleed on the outside for a change

Restrained
Unrestrained
Grazing fingers in the dark
I burn up skin seared
Arcing through your atmosphere

, your skin tasted like negative ions
And you scorched the back of my throat
Even the pain felt right
Can I put my hand in your flame again
Ive come back just to hear your voice
On the phone

"*******"