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When the topic of conversation in class was about finding meaning in life
I struggled to find a reasoning behind why
I choose to keep fighting
the same **** voice that keeps on illuminating
the parts of my heart that don't need extra lighting
For reasons of staying safe
secure enough to keep from igniting
any other demons that make joy seem uninviting

My heart is tired of trying
to heal

My feelings boil over
like a *** of forgotten water
forcing me to clean up a mess that I did not ask for
I am tired
But still refuse to be fired from life itself

Why do I keep fighting
If my life is not something I admire

I have sisters who wage wars on their bodies too
trying to reach a place where they feel like they are somebody to some body
and not a disease
that strips them of all they were created to be
We are tired

Yet I ride waves of urges so familiar to the ocean of darkness that my heart rages
because I just want to feel free
because my future family and clients need me
because honesty is the key to living authentically
And if I'm being honest then I'm able to see
past the reality
that is my eating disorder

I desire more
which means that I am more
as my worth does not come from being the best me for others
but rather it comes from a deep understanding
that my life is my own and not my own

Realizing that my hands are strong enough
are big enough to hold
even the pieces of my soul
that fail to fit the mold
of what is normal

But why can't normal have permission to be broken
Instead of whole
I wrote this in one of my psychology classes today while discussing the meaning of life
When she looks you up and down
Like the men you cross paths with on the street
Do not cast your eyes to the floor
Stand tall; despite the heat

When your mother tells you to keep your tiny jeans
In hopes of shedding weight like snakeskin
Cut the denim in strips
And place it all around her kitchen

When she throws your baked goods away
And replaces them with everything sugar-free
Send dozens of cupcakes to her doorstep
Then proceed to eat as a hyperbole

When your mother purchases running shoes and sports bras
Walk around the house in your under-things
Lounge in the bathtub with a bear claw
Do not let her control your way of being
For myself

"Well, if it's too small, you can keep it for when you lose some weight."

Recovery is hard. You make it ten times harder.
Judgments everywhere
Criticisms you must bear
The wicked chuck you with hatred
Keep in mind, you are sacred.

Dejection and rejections
Standards set in magazines and televisions
From painful yet glorious birth
Why measure one’s worth?

Allow it not to scar your mind
Nor the voices blind
Wear the strength in your skin
Free the radiance within.

For He lavished you with gifts
His love uplifts
Behind the scene or on stage
You are beautifully weaved in His image.

I had a scrapbook deep and thick
I read it in the night
I burned the candle to the wick
A precarious light

In it there were photographs
And clippings by the score
Of every wrong and every shaft
That'd pierced me to the core

I kept my quill at my right hand
And in the margins wrote
My hourglass had lost its sand
My eyes began to float

This book was worn with constant care
The dogeared pages bent
I was constantly to share
Of those I did resent

Time came 'round to find me sick
Ailing from the frost
Of a cold poison dark and thick
I knew that all was lost

I bent closer, smelt the book
It was the book itself!
I'd recover, all it took
Was to place it on the shelf!

And so the scrapbook lost allure
I closed it with a snap
The health of soul I then assured
I placed on pen its cap

Close your books, my dearest friends
And in the end you'll see
Your spiritual health you will amend

You'll finally be FREE!

I went to a small prayer meeting yesterday.
I told them of my pain and angst
due to unforgiveness I my heart.
They told me of the analogy above.
They used just this metaphor.
You don't FEEL forgiveness.
And when unforgiving thoughts come back


I have found praying for enemies the
Single greatest tool to forgiveness.

Remember, you aren't doing it

  Jan 2016 Molly Anna Sartor
If i could, i would,
Disassemble your malfunctioning thought processes
And rewire them back together again,
With a spanner, in the manner,
That meant you were not
Classed as insane.
I'd unfold and rearrange,
The chemical imbalances
Within your brain
So that the years of disdain,
And self blame,
Where a thing of the past,
I'd put you back together,
In a way, that showed you,
You were meant to last.
And excerpt of one of my poems, for all those who are suffering or who know someone that is suffering. There is always hope.
Weekly goals written on the board
share one common thread of hope: that we would live another day, another week.

Faces of worry, guilt, and shame are universal as we verbally state where we want to see ourselves in seven days time.

"Purge free for at least one day."
"Refrain as much as I can from body checking."
"Get in at least 3 meals a day."
"Find and use positive coping mechanisms."
"Affirm myself three times for every one time that I say something horrible about myself."

While it is easy to write these hope-filled words on a board, the actual challenge is staying true to them.

Hours of therapy can only make us aware of the areas in our life that need healing.
The healing process, however, lays in our own frail, cold hands.

Living a life married to ones eating disorder is a life lived in a mirror covered box with no apparent way out.

*But mirrors lie.
***** you, Ed.
You tell me that it is wrong to look at myself the way that I do
Yet you, too, have your own toxic thoughts regarding you
You ask me if I've prayed about it and I say that I have
because prayer is the only thing that calms the voices in my head
And you are there for me when you want to be but not when I need you
Your spoken words and 'i love you's seem to pass right through
You ask me what you can do and I don't have the words to say
Again my broken record of a mind recalls what happened on the day
When I learned that my feelings have no value and that people never stay
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