Sometimes I miss it
But I know it's a bad thing,
Destructive, deceitful and sometimes even
Deadly

And I've secretly been planning,
All of this time,
To go back to it,
In a way that no one will notice,
So that I can get away with it
Without hurting anyone for a little bit,
Only that can't happen now.
Plans have changed so that
I'll never be able to hide it,
And I don't want to feel the shame
When people find out.

More still,
They'll send me to more counselling,
Maybe they'll be more intense this time,
If I did it properly, perhaps they'd send me away,
Sometimes I think I don't
want to ever leave my house again.

I know what they would all be thinking,
See we knew it,
She's completely ******* up there,
That's why her body doesn't work properly,
We told you there is nothing physically!

I shouldn't be admitting it.
None of this,
But really it started with a question
To myself:
Is this a relapse?
Of course not!
You see, I don't do that!
Although, I'm not sure if you're aware,
But I never really tell myself
That I've had a relapse,
Unless it's the good kind.

And that makes me sound sick.
There is no good kind,
It's just the one I'd rather be found doing,
Except I wouldn't.
I never want you to hear me gagging, crying, frantically getting rid of the evidence in the bathroom.
And if you insinuate this at any other time,
I'll sound surprised and maybe even offended,
It's all a lie.
No one knows about all those times,
Not too many, but still,
It is still my secret,
That sometimes I wonder if I'll accidentally take to
The grave, my eventual grave.