it's in the far end of my closet
hidden under piles of folded knit blankets
shoved behind years of ****** art projects
alongside broken pencils and pieces of lint

despite being concealed
it stands out like a blinding neon sign
the unseen bits of food hidden by airtight plastic
my eating disorder salvaged in one piece of me

i haven't opened the
mold-encrusted capsule
since 2018.
maybe i never will.

There's a monster
we all have inside of us.
He doesn't have a name or a face,
not a single image he uses
with his many hosts.
He instead shifts his body
to fool everyone into thinking
that he is a friend
instead of a deadly parasite.

Sometimes his name is anger.
Anger is tall. Broad.
He is handsome in a way
that makes women faint
and men envious.
Anger is loud. Rash.
He says things he may
or may not mean,
but he'll never say he's sorry.
Anger sits deep inside your chest
crushing your lungs
and suffocating you

Sometimes his name is anxiety.
Anxiety is small. Worrisome.
This would not be a problem
if you knew how strong
he could really be.
Anxiety is quiet. Concerned.
Anxiety lives inside your head,
pulling the strings of your emotions,
keeping his eyes on everything you do.
He is waiting for the perfect moment
to have everything
crash around you

Other times, his name is depression.
Depression takes many forms
He can be so tiny, so minuscule
that you would do anything for him
because you cannot see
what he is capable of.
He can be as tall
as a ten-story building.
You do as he says because
you fear that he will crush you
in his palms.
You have yet to realize
he is already doing that.
Depression is a weight
inside your stomach.
You cannot get out of bed
on days he is the giant,
and everyone thinks he is gone
on days he is as small as a pebble.

His name can be PTSD
It can be anorexia nervosa or bulimia.
Maybe for you, he’s paranoia or OCD.
Perhaps his name is Schizophrenia.
Social anxiety or DID,
Insomnia or ADHD,
Body dysphoria or Bipolar disorder

His name does not matter
He is within every single one of us.
And the only way to make him stop
is to acknowledge he is there.

So anxiety, depression, and anorexia nervosa,
I know you’re there.
And I’m taking my life back.

sometimes, i miss being sick.

i miss the feeling of my sharp ankles on the cold scale. the scale has been hidden from my judgemental eyes.

i miss the automatic caloric calculator, the blinding neon-sign. it's still there, always and impossible to ignore, like television subtitles. but i eat anyway.

i miss the feeling of my jeans becoming baggier around pencil legs. yesterday i had to go to american eagle to buy the same pair of ripped jeans, two sizes larger than what i was a year ago.

i miss the blue polka-dot Tupperware in the farthest corner of my closet that i used to erase the shame of feeling full. i can't have containers anywhere in my bedroom.

i miss the feeling of drinking so much water that my body becomes a shallow pool that my insides float in. i have a limit on the amount of fluids i can consume in a day.

i miss walking into a meal knowing exactly how to eliminate all of it, without question. now when i do behaviors i feel the shame of my whole family in my chest.

i miss karaoke nights. i can't sing any of the songs i did in the hospital. it just feels wrong.

i miss sitting in a circle of other sick girls and forgetting, for a moment. they're in different places all over the world, enjoying life as recovered anorexics.

i miss staying up late talking to my roommate and questioning whether recovery is worth it, or even possible. she's in california with her girlfriend, enjoying being alive.

i miss licking salt of ice cubes. everything is locked into safes.

but mostly, i miss you. you're gone.

.

I feel constriction in my throat
I know it's you who put it there.
My limbs, they shake
My voice doth quake
I burn from the inside out.

I feel emptiness in my abdomen
I know it's you who wants it there
I labored til my soul went brittle
You played my heart like a broken fiddle
I collapse from the inside out.

I feel heaviness in my heart
I know it's your fault that it's there
Your treatment chained me to the ground
I ******* miss you when you're not around
I disintegrate from the inside out.

I feel blood-drops in my wrists
I know it's you who doesn't care
No matter how hard I tried for you
You refuse to see what's clear and true
I dehydrate from the inside out.

Anorexia, bulimia, what difference does it make
When they're both coming out of my mouth like a big mistake?
Vile bile comes out of my mouth,
Pouring out like monsters screaming, "GET OUT!"
Maybe I developed B from A,
Both leaving me with nothing good to say.

The doctor said it wasn't healthy, my weight loss.
I told her it was just from vacation.
I told her I was just worried over nothing,
She gave me a hug and said she'd listen.
But, I didn't tell her anything.
No such white lies.

Just thinking about food makes me wanna *****.
Thinking about ***** makes me wanna do it.
So I do,
And I tried to get better.
Hell, did I try.
But I ******* can't.
And I'm sorry.

New year,
New me.
Or,
At least that's the idea,
Right?

I haven't really told anyone...
I've been counting calories,
Starving.
Working out.
It needs to stop,
I guess.

I'll figure it out.

New year New me.

Sounds nice.