I was a withered plant hidden from the light
Wilted
I thought i was beyond help
But I never truly knew
Until I was back in the sun
Now I bask in his light
As his fingers brush along my cheek
My chest
My thighs
His touch fills me with a warmth I never thought I’d know again
After years spent freezing
His smile bathes me in a light id never thought I’d see
And I’ve begun to grow
Flourishing through the growing pains
I let myself breathe
I let myself need
I let myself eat
I let the bruises fade
And my heart begins to beat again
And I’ve learned how to love again

please don't ever fall in love.

yes, at first, it's going to be the most beautiful thing in the world.
at first you're going to forget why you built the walls around your heart.
after all, how can something so beautiful break your heart?
how can someone so beautiful break your heart?
someone with a voice as sweet as his, eyes as deep as his,
hugs as warm as his…
how can you ever be so afraid of someone like him?

but it's only a matter of time before you remember:
love isn't the beautiful thing he makes you think it is.
love is the rollercoaster that traumatized you as a kid,
and one drop is enough to remind you why you were so afraid of it.

maybe he hasn't done anything wrong.
but maybe he said something that rubbed you off the wrong way.
maybe there was something about the look in his eyes
or maybe there was something about,
well, i don't know,
but there must be something.
and it may be nothing, but it's still something.
maybe the butterflies were dying,
maybe the ballads were warnings,
maybe the sweet nothings were nothing.

maybe he's just like everybody else.

and so, brick by brick, you put up the walls again,
but then he breaks them down again with something as insignificant as a smile or a simple question
but it's him and there's nothing about him that doesn't matter to you.

maybe he's not like everybody else.

everybody else doesn’t have eyes that shine like his does.
everybody else doesn’t shine like he does.
he’s that star in the sky that you point at and say,
“that’s my star.”

but even if it’s your star,
it doesn’t shine just for you -
it shines for everybody.
what if somebody else also looks at your star every night?
what if somebody else also points at your star and says, “that’s my star”?
what if?
you fill your head with “what if’s” instead of what is,
and that’s what kills you.
but you can't tell anyone because you know you're different.
you know they won’t understand;
they don't feel everything quite like you do.
your forest fires are candlelight to them,
your hurricanes mere drizzles,
your burns just paper cuts.
you take xanax? they drink water.
you cut yourself? they exercise.

everything to you is nothing to them.
so if you tell them, they’re just going to judge you.
if you tell him, he’s just going to judge you.
after all, he’s just like everybody else.
and everybody else will hurt you.
heck, even you will hurt you.

so, i’m begging you,
please don’t ever fall in love -
not even with yourself.

First off, it won’t go away
Simple as that
It burrows inside your head
Like a Chinese finger trap
(I’ve never seen one but I know
what they are like)
Or perhaps a camel’s thorn
Another thing I’ve heard of

Occasionally you find relief
Maybe two minutes or even less
Maybe up to five hours
But it always comes back
At least for that day

You want to scream
To plead, to cry, to beg it to stop
But of course it won’t
It’s OCD, are you kidding?
Of course it won’t
No matter how hard you try
And believe me, you do try

You try not to compulse because
You know that’ll make it worse
You imagine a drill going
Through your brain, destroying your thoughts

It’s illogical, but that’s OCD
Normally, when things are illogical
You don’t trust them
You brush them aside
Knowing they aren’t true
That they can’t be

But with OCD you believe it’s true
And you don’t want it to be
And it might not be
But it also might be true
And as the day goes on
You’re more and more afraid
That it is

You live in fear of yourself
For you are hating yourself
Your possible truths
You tell yourself
That you aren’t your thoughts
Thoughts aren’t actions
But you can never be sure
Of what you think

It’s the doubting disease
Leaving scratches up your forearm
And that’s why
It’s ocd

Dear 17 year-old Laura,

Don't worry so much about being perfect
Don't push yourself to get the highest marks you can get

You certainly don't have to do it all
You deserve a break, even if it's small

You're beautiful
I know you may not think that but it certainly is true
Inside and out
Beautiful, that's you

Ignore the imperfections you see in the mirror
For only you are able to see
The "too big stomach" and "jiggly thighs"
You're gorgeous as can be

I know you're scared to graduate
You became comfortable in high school,
But the world is so much bigger,
Adventure awaits you

Please don't think that you're ugly
Boys will come and go
Focus on liking yourself
Though that's hard, I know

The summer did flash by for you
University hit you hard
Please don't be mad at yourself
For all your "unsightly lard"

You became ill and that's okay
None of this was your choice
It's not your fault you spiraled down
From listening to that voice

The hardest months of your life thus far
You sadly had to endure
Because you couldn't forgive yourself
Mental illness is a blur

Shame and stigma rotted your mind
Made you think this was your volition
Like someone gets cancer, you became sick
Becoming mentally ill wasn't a mission

Your life will slowly rebuild
The future will have ups and downs,
You should be incredibly proud of what you survived
Continue to fight those sounds

breakfast is the most important meal of the day
which is something i would laugh off
as my stomach would growl in my nutritions class
and i learned to inhale sharply to somehow combat the noise
the noise of my stomach screaming to the world in that backstabbing way
that i am not eating breakfast
nor did i eat much of dinner
nor will i want to be able to stomach anything for lunch

“i’m completely normal”
my eating habits aren’t rapidly fluctuating
i’m not sleeping during completely random times of the day
trying to sleep off my body’s hunger
like i can sleep off frustration
(nutrients are a constant need
they don’t just stop being things you need
because you just don’t want anything
in your body anymore)

you used to want so much

what’s so baffling is that sometimes
hunger can feel like the muffled conversation
riddled with worry
hunger is the knocking on the door
telling you that it wants to come in
and you don’t want it to
but for a reason you know makes no sense
but it makes perfect sense in the moment

when your brain shakes hands with itself
and tells you that eating is for when the work is done
when the reward is deserved
that a need is a want
and needs are intangible things that keep you socially alive
rather than actually
and then you ask yourself
if you, wanting to feel alive
is the problem

when i don’t eat
i am empty
i don’t make ****** functions
because my body cannot function
and when i function,
my body is empty
and to keep my body empty
i do not eat

there is no beauty in feeling hollow

breakfast is the most important meal of the day
which is something i would laugh off
as i could barely stand up in a hot shower
as i could barely utter a conscious word
without overworking my brain
my brain that shakes hands with itself
to communicate with itself
that i do not deserve to eat food
i do not deserve to feel alive

i want eating
to feel normal
i want to put
priority on food
but i cannot bear
to feel present
but i cannot bear
to be present
when i do not
feel present
because i am
not present
i am not
me

I don't know what to do today
I must confess
I did my best
To restrict a bit
To make my stomach flat
I know that I can't do this
If I want to recover
And be the girl my mother
Knows again
I should not care what I eat
Or what I wear
In fact
I should wear what
Makes me smile
But the reflection in the mirror
Is a deadly persuasive
And the diary says
"Beautiful child
"You are listening again
"You see yourself as you are
"And that is as not enough
"Come with me dear"
But I have dreams
I do declare
I have dreams that will crush you
Dreams that will stomp the whole world flat
"What dreams?"
It laughs
"If you had dreams
"I would not speak
"The disordered do not have dreams
"Love
"They have fantasies
"Delusions of grandeur
"Drugged up hallucinations
"From fasting"
I nod my head
Pay my respects
And am led away
But part of me says
"No."
I am a dreamer
I am a high hopes believer
I am a fantacizer
And a far stretch reciever
But I am not delusional
And this is not a diary
It is a disorder
So maybe I should stop writing