There is only one letter
difference
from feeling lovely-
and lonely.

Counting calories when I'm bored
Analyzing fat
Comparing flatness
I am the queen of obsession
So quickly
So easily
And then it is too late
So I don't let myself think about it constantly
I try not to
But I do
And all my friends say I have the flattest stomach
But when I look in the mirror
All I can see
Is how my thighs are thicker than last year

I have connected pain with reward
That if it hurts its healing
That if I'm hungry I'll improve
The red is rising with no ceiling
Keeping low to the ground
Not taking off my shirt when I kiss you

Crying with no sound
Not letting myself miss you

Processed sugar is a no
But I am so cold


All the time.

You aren't going to **** me.
You may want to slice into
my scar-riddled flesh,
but you aren't going to **** me.

I swear to god I'll take the last breath
before I let you take mine.
Because I am going to fight
and you aren't going to **** me.

Just burn your twine
and throw out those pills,
unload that stupid little gun.
You are not going to **** me.

me, moon, a 13 year old young boy who ate happily and had eyes filled with love and dreams,
had stretch marks.
me, moon, knew they were there but started feeling ashamed when someone pointed them out.
me, moon, a almost 17 year old boy who now passes on dinner and lunch and breakfast.
i ate two rice cakes a day and feeling the lemon water i religiously drank make it's way down my throat, splashing around in my stomach made the corners of lips turn upwards.
me and food have never held hands.
we never closed our eyes at the delight of the smells of cake and food made by my mother.
for when i was hungry,
i remembered my mother telling me how thin i look and how pretty i looked.
i wanted that all the time.
so,
me, moon, doesn't give into food.

some people are born anxious
a tidal pool of dry-heave and spider bones
a conundrum whirlwind of seared tongue not tasting anything for days
i think there's a nausea that hides under my shirt sleeves
there's an unproven cluster of nervous cells waiting for my elbows to
suddenly start fidgeting
a dehydrated vocabulary of what to say
and is it appropriate to say it
autumn is forever around here

I'm just attempting to manage my emotions,
I'm doing the best I can,
Mostly I think I'm doing very ******* well,
Or maybe I just want all these "professionals" to be wrong.

Occasionally I stop and remember:
"Of course they're right Chloe,
How can you possibly say you don't have deep psychological issues right now?"
But since these dissociative symptoms have started:
I've felt amazing mentally.

I must admit that before that,
I felt pretty bad - bad enough to actually admit and ask for help,
But doesn't that show how I'm "dealing with it",
I don't like people telling me my body's dealing with my psychological feelings physically,
I express myself all the **** time,
And they don't know anything!

I'm sick of the psychoanalysis,
And then them claiming they don't psychoanalyse
On that website they keep telling me to revisit.
They seem to think if you talk about your problems -
They just disappear!
And if you educate yourself on conversion disorders -
The symptoms will finally go away!
I could go through that website,
A thousand times and I will still
Remain to have spasms, tremors
And weakness.

I am managing my thoughts and feelings at the moment,
But that doesn't help me manage my physical symptoms:
They are literally debilitating and unmanageable,
Only they tell me I need to "accept it",
This whole poem is showcasing me doing exactly that.
As many times as I deny thinking that this is a functional illness,
I match referring to it as just that.

It's funny that I write so much,
And almost worship the skill
Yet I haven't felt the need to write about what's been happening for months now.
The reason I finally am in this moment,
Was actually because
I think I'm starting to feel things again,
And now I'm wondering if I've been pushing all of it back,
Which is exactly what they want to hear,
So they can say "your body's expressing it because your mind can't manage it, you need to express and deal with this."
You know what?
I really do wonder what the hell they think that "coping" is!

Maybe they would just say,
I'm avoiding my feelings and memories right now,
By coming to my notes section to seek some peace,
As what they would like to think of as a facade,
All comes crumbling down.

The waves of intensity belong to me,
And as much as I don't always enjoy them,
You can leave them all alone because they're mine,
And you can't tell me how or if I'm handling them properly.
Sometimes I just feel like this is who I am,
This is what I'm prone to,
And if you want me to just get over it then fine,
I didn't seek you out in the first place
So if you want to think that I'm over it,
Then that's okay with me.

Say hello to your new friend
That is called
Anorexia Nervosa.
Rigid are her ways,
Viscious her thoughts,
Endless commitment.