I have a lot swimming through my mind everyday.
Recovery.
Relapse.
Restricting.
Eating.
Work.
Relationships.
Family.
Friends.
Appointments.
Body image.
Self image.
Future.
Past..
All at once.

But when I'm at a concert, a live performance, whether that be a symphony or a rock concert, I am free. It's when I'm full emersed in music, that when I don't feel like I'm drowning in anxiety. Standing up and dancing and head-banging to my favorite songs, or sitting and watching colors and designs sprout in front of my eyes as bows vibrate strings.

The only thing on my mind in those moments, is the music. Singing and dancing along, not a care in the world about what I look like or sound like. Who thinks I'm going overboard. Because the thing is, when I see other people dancing their hearts out and screaming the lyrics, it fills my own heart with such joy and love for them. They're having the time of their lives,


and I can too.

"They're going to see how fat you really are if you eat in front of them. "
  no, they'll know I'm working on recovery.. this is recovery
"You didn't eat breakfast, so the day is already off to a good start. Why ruin it?"
i need to eat... food is good for me. it is fuel
"Food is fat. "
youre wrong
"Am I?"
...
"When you were in that awful place and they made you eat you gained, didn't you?"
yes but..
"You. Gained. Weight. "
my heart was in trouble
"They were lying. You weren't even underweight yet. We haven't reached our goal. "
maybe..
"We can still reach our goal. "
i don't know
"See? That wasn't so hard. Like old times, a lie here, a lie there. It's nothing. "
nothing..
"You're doing much better. "
i feel so tired
"That's from carrying all that extra fat on your body. "
they want me to go back to treatment
"NO. Everything we've worked for would be RUINED!!"
i don't feel good
"You're fine. You're beautiful. You're thin. "
my chest hurts
"You just need to do more cardio"


"Hello?"

"We reached our goal my love. Congratulations. You're all bone. "

Possible
Traumatic
Stress
Disorder?

Certain things trigger thoughts and emotions, in me.
Almost like memories but not quite.

I imagine myself in the situation I just saw (whether in a movie or TV show) and I am over come with the urge to scream and cry. To hit things around me.

But I don't know why. I can't figure out what it is, why I feel a connection to it. I role play online the situations, and I fight like hell.

I don't know why.

I don't know why I want to play these scenes out, why I want to fight. Why I want to feel like I'm in it.

I don't understand.

Nothing has ever happened to me. Nothing like that. I'm hurting and

I don't know why.

It's funny that something that could **** you
Something that probably will **** you
Can be so comforting

It's the one reliable thing you have
It's easy to fall into the patterns again
It's easy to hide it (to a point, but by that time you're too far gone)

Because it feels so good
To have your body disintegrate
To have your head swim and hands shake
It's better then the alternative, at least

I don't want to feel like I'm losing myself
But that may be the only way to go
Until my bones, my veins, they show
Because the alternative is **too dangerous

I am not comfortable in my own skin, I am not comfortable looking at my own body.
I hate that my body is often looked on by others, it makes me feel *****. But I love being touched. I love kissing.
I hate when they say my name, though. It sounds like a bad word. Something that doesn't fit. But I love my name. I love how it sounds.
I hate hearing from a mans mouth, it comes out tainted. I hate feeling squeamish when anyone compliments my body. I hate that I immediately want to cut into my skin when someone tells me I'm beautiful, or that they love my curves.

I put walls up made of cinder blocks
Each one a lie uttered by a former love

There was a gate, covered in keyless locks
But soon even that was a weakness to the doves

So I build another line, cement and glued together thoughts and painful sensations
It was an ugly wall, but all the better to keep things away

Each time someone chipped a peice away I would it was replaced without hesitation
"May I come in?" You call, "Maybe another day"

this isn't what my life was suppose to be like

i did not want to grow up to be who I am today

   it's hard to think of being different, though

    my whole life i've been counting objects, dates, everything

     when I was little and had a stomach ache i'd count the tile on the ground

      when I was a little older i would count the days my brother was gone

       i would count the trees and posts on the drive up to the hospital

        i would count the minutes while waiting for my dad to pick us up

         there came a day when counting the days became too much

         my brother was gone, and was not coming back

          so I started counting steps, i counted calories

           i counted how many times I chewed something

            and i counted scars and red lines on my body

             i learned to count objects and things I could control

              like how many spaces before a paragraph starts

               because I knew that I could not count ON anyone