I'm sorry but
Can you tell me who I'm supposed to be?
I've been caught in a rut
and I can't see too clearly
just yesterday I was me
But today I'm in the between
Can you help me to understand what I feel?

These feelings come in waves
One second I'm here
the next I'm away

It's like I'm in a daze
Am I still awake?
It felt like a second ago
I was looking at your face

Pained intake of breath
Hot air against my cheeks
You’re wrapping white cloth over my arms
I’m watching red seep in like ink bleeds

Faintly, behind a splotch of black
I see your eyes grow wet
And though I am barely holding on
I can feel the tremble in your fingers
And an echo of a voice
Calling my name

You’re desperately trying to push paper into the wound
And I’m feeling myself bleed out despite your efforts
You take me to a doctor but still I leak
Transfuse your own red into me
But it just leaves through my eyes and makes me feel weak

“What have you done to yourself?!” you cry
And I sigh through a fit of tears
You’re trying to take the pain out of me
And i'm disappointing you with every breath I take

Just like you cannot will another moon into existence
You cannot love someone out of an illness

In a flash,
the thoughts come back -
"you're fat".

Why?

This illogical phrase used to put me in a haze, made me a slave, to its demands I'd cave.

Broken.

My stomach feels bigger, so do my legs, does my face look fatter? Maybe it's what you ate. You need to fix it, or I will berate.

Watch it.

Weight gain not acceptable, definitely not allowed, do you really want to look like a cow? Punish yourself, less in, more out, look at you, you're just becoming more stout.

Silence.

These feelings are feelings, these thoughts aren't true. All they want is for madness to ensue.

Triggered by perceptions, automatic and vile, deeply convincing, at least for a while.

Now, deep down, I know the truth. I'm healthy and active, no more to do. Fluctuations are normal, restriction is a trap. These thoughts and worries are a big load of crap.

I'll move my attention, to more important things. The blueness of the sky, the joys of spring.

Growth.

Feel my hair in the breeze, hiking in the trees, laughing with friends, around food more at ease.

Triumph.

I am lost in the memories
Of what my mind did to me,
Trying to take an accounting,
So I can unravel the mystery.
I am searching for answers,
So I am not a casualty,
Hoping that this heart will keep beating
In a body that once tried to **** me,
Demanding that there's a different ending
To this accursed story.

I am terrified of what I may do to myself if I let my guard down.
It's not that I don't want to be happy.
It's that at my core,
I do not trust myself.

The Highs taste like Lemon Heads
Before burning my mouth like Cinnamon Red Hots.
The Lows go down like soup of ash and cold water.
I am forever trying to find a balance between the flavors of mania
And the blandness of depression.
Often, I find myself hungry in the wee hours,
Dismayed by both options.

i cannot seem to forget
the smallness i had become.
bruised thighs
and sunken eyes
were my reality;
my skin was devoid of
any nutrients,
fragile and delicate.
i could vanish
into nothingness
like quicksand.

my days bled into
one another,
fingers frozen,
heart barely beating,
lungs hardly breathing.
i stared down the
barrel of the gun,
wished to purge my urges,
sat in an endlessly deep
pool of misery until
drowning was all i could do.

i replaced food with air,
consuming empty calories
and dug knives into
my skin as a personal hobby.

i am an open would
that never heals,
and i am desperate
to move on.