Rebecca Madeira

Rebecca Madeira Oct 2017

I want to be perfect- not like those who let food control them. I want to be beautiful, to sprout wings of feathery white and soar away at will. I want a body made of lace and silk, not cotton and burlap and worms who open their mouths to bare their razor-sharp teeth and coil into tight, sloppy ***** of grease inside my veins. I want to live clean, but I don't want to die empty. I don't want the fate of the doily-***** girls who haunt the dusty corridors of psychiatric units, scurrying about, waiting to expire like meals hidden beneath bed frames and floor boards. I don't want to smell of mold, to have an empty heart or a dehydrated brain that can only form thoughts of calorie intake and deficits. And yet, I want to be perfect. I want to dance atop snow and leave no footprints. I want to fly high enough that the birds are jealous and wish to know my infinity. But I will not fall head over heels in love with an empty plate and a vacant body. I will not lay to waste the fertile soil of my womanhood and become best friends with a barren womb. I will not allow double digits to ****** me and dizzy blackouts to consume me. I will fight. I will fight, tooth and nail these demons that inhabit my tiny frame and play music of nightmares on the bones of my ribcage. I will honor the memories of the emaciated valkyries lost in battle before me by never letting Ana defeat me. She lies and consumes the meat of you, chunk by chunk until all that is left is your sorry, broken soul, riddled with wormholes. So no, I will not give in. I will not lose all that is good and pure in me for the promise of weightless perfection. I will feed my body and I will love myself and I will tattoo it on my ribs and the bones of my spinal cord- "I am enough."

Rebecca Madeira
2.21.16 (C)

I want

#eating #disorder

Rebecca Madeira Sep 2017

The Lioness Thought She Was a Lamb

You are forbidden from returning to my dreams. Taunting me, provoking me, torturing my subconscious mind with your narcissistic sadism. I'm no longer your *******. I'm no longer your tattered rag doll with frays at the knees and threading that refuses to hold. No longer will you find a thrill in viewing the black and blue-toned soft spots about my body, find pleasure in the fact that you created them. No longer will your fist adorn my neck and the blood you drew decorate my limbs like threats scrawled in crimson ink. I no longer live in the cage you forged specially for me to occupy. I'll never again ***** lies that have been ever so carefully ingrained into the crevices of gray matter within my battered skull. No more contracts written in blood and marrow, surrendering the black pulp of a soul that may not even exist within me. I'm now my own. I no longer retreat from battle, I storm the walls that you constructed around my heart. I am truly loved and the scars that once reminded me of terror and cowering in corners are now covered up with the finger paint that is left behind every time her hands dance across my flesh. You never won. I have reigned victorious and you'll know it when you look inside your pillowcase for that last slice of my consciousness you refused let go of. You'll know it because it will no longer be there. It's back with me, where it always belonged.

Rebecca Madeira (C)

#abuse #trauma #ptsd #narcissisticabuse #survivor

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