If only it was possible to escape the incessant chatter of my own internal dialogue
Tasting the sweet nectar of freedom
Something other than this bitterness that remains in my mouth

The smell of rust and alcohol lingers
Reminding me of the sins that have been committed
My hands have been stained red with the crimes I have perpetrated

I scavenge each corner of this shrinking body
Searching for something I like
Instead each imperfection is illuminated
Etched like a map on this sheet of translucent paper

It starts with a slip,
A turn of the cheek.
Simply forgetting to fit,
A meal for your body to keep.

You see, at this point,
It isn’t really starving.
For I forget only when I’m not hungry.
But the problem is,
I’m so used to being hungry
That I can’t tell the difference.

I thought I was better,
Until my boyfriend asked why he’s never seen me eat.
Until I was asked when the last time I ate was.
Until I faint, and I’m reminded to eat.

But now when I eat,
I have an Apple.
But I get sick,
Because it was too much food.

I can’t keep anything down,
So I have no choice but to not eat.

And so the cycle repeats.

The blue skies are coming.
This has always been my mantra,
my calling card,
my peace in this crazy world.

I do believe that the blue skies are coming.
I do believe that I will once again sleep,
without waking,
and without screaming.

I do believe that I will once again
be able to walk down those streets
and not feel fear
at the thought of seeing him.

I do believe that I will be able to drink,
and not feel every person
that has ever bruised me
touch my skin.

I believe that the blue skies are coming.
I've been saying it since I was a child,
ruined by an eating disorder
and chronic depression.

I do believe that the blue skies are coming for me.
Depression stole my love.
Anorexia stole my childhood.
But, still, my blue skies will come.

To eat or not to eat?
To disappear into nothingness or to grow and blossom?
To live or to die?
To diet to live?
To live to diet?
To fail or to succeed?
To be strong or to be weak?
To drown or to float?
To be who I am or to be who I wish I were?
To accept imperfection or to strive for perfection?
To be happy and content or to be sad and eternally unsatisfied?
To eat or not to eat?

"Hey, I heard about your dad, hope everything is ok?"
It's not ok.
Of course it's not ok.
Nothing is ok.
My dad is lying in isolation in intensive care.
Although he doesn't look like my dad anymore.
He's so ill, even my uncle who's a doctor is crying.
I'm scared for him.
I miss him.
Even when he awake he's not really there because he's so confused.
I miss my dad.
I want him back.
He's not ok.
I have to get my work done otherwise I'll fail my course.
But I can't do it.
I can't say this to anyone.
I just can't open up because I'm scared I'll be seen differently.
That's not ok.
Everything is out of control.
That's not ok.
So I'm controlling my food and my weight.
But it's so stressful.
I want everything to stop.
I want everything to be ok.
"Yeh it's all good thanks, how are you?"

A freedom that’s fading with each wrong turn
Continuing to walk down this cursed path
Completely apathetic to the consequences of these action
Simply not caring anymore
Toying with a life

Playing with fire
Enjoying the pain that comes with getting burnt
I am once again dancing with death
Methodically digging my own grave at the age of 18

I used to feel stress as some others do
I’d cry and pout and usually eat the stress away
Gaining 5, 10, 15 pounds in the process
But at what point does stress become too much?

Phase 1- Normal
A little stress
But less than should cause concern
Take a quick pause and breath
Till you feel fully awake and ready to handle the whole deal that is worrying you
Eating pattern: Normal

Phase 2- Intermediate
More substantial stress
Quite the mess inside the mind
Especially in an unkind situation
Eat a little more than normal for the sake of taking away the thought of the problem
Make a list and stick to it to reduce the impact
Don’t place the fist to the wall yet
Eating pattern: Calories increased by 25-40%

Phase 3- High
Stress has reached its max
Like a leach ******* the life away
Mind trying to stray from the food or the situation
But somehow falling pray to both
Like a host for a parasite
Eating pattern: Compromised. Calories increased by 60-75%

Phase 4- Immense
Stress too high to handle comfortably
Functional human abilities begin to cease
Like a paralyzing disease
Lies like not feeling well begin to find their way into play through each and every day
Not only is the issue stressful but the thought of eating becomes impossible
Now more problems creep in with the deep dive swim of an eating disorder side show
Eating pattern: Crippling loss of appetite. Calories decreased by 90%

I digress to address the source of my stress
A world I thought I knew and had nothing left to do but ride the wind with my sweetheart
But things fall apart yet the world still spins and at the end of the day the side I’m fearful of wins
And now I’m alone and scared of what’s next I just sit here with empty stomach rumbles hoping for your text

Maybe I'm shooting in the dark.
Maybe I'm shooting at something that's not really there.
It doesn't feel fair
that I have to be
such a lousy shot.

I'm not a robot.
I'm not calculating.
I'm not cold and defining.

I might be running through rivers of black ink.
I might be breathing in the noise.
I might be doing anything at all, but I don't think
I could fail to notice.

I'm not just ignorant,
I know what's happening,
but I can't admit anything at all.
I'd rather fall

into the staining, screaming streams
that claw at my callused feet.
I'm running
with no street
to follow.

The shining ink's close
to me, but it's not
how I want to go.

I really am flailing at nothing,
but I realize
I was never breathing words,
I was breathing in these thick and heavy woods.

I can't keep running.
I've destroyed that part of myself.
I keep the perfect things on a shelf
where I can't reach them.

Please, tell me again
how I am not breathing in
your words like oxegyn.

My lifeline, my lifeline.
I can't find it.
I'm drowning, I'm drowning.

Pulling muscle and
refusing to keep it down
preparing to drown.