Once upon a time
When you were out drinking away,
Minutes of your life;
I was up in the horizon
In the skies where all hate disperses,
Dreaming of paradise
In the soft glow of candles,
Blown on a birthday.
Celebrated by one
When everyone is gone,
The cake half it's size
While I am too full and half gone.
I watched a girl
In the mirror,
Singing a birthday song for me.

TRIGGER WARNING!!!

Just because I'm suicidal
Doesn't mean I want to die
I can't imagine myself
Giving the final blow

But **** do I want to be gone
Nothing seems worth it
Nothing was ever worth it
But I don't want to die

Dysphoria is melting my brain
While my eating disorder tells me I'm ugly
My anxiety telling me that picking up a hot pan
Is "just an accident"

I want to let go of all my pain
Of all my disorders
But to do that
I'd have to be dead

All my mental disorders talk to one another
Causing the perfect mixture
The perfect suffering
That makes me think I'm better off dead

The silence is too much
I hear myself think...think...think
About nothing important
But I scour my brain for it
Fight at the little thoughts
Like how much water makes
Your cells over-hydrate and explode?
What if I replaced coffee creamer
With Windex tomorrow morning,
How much time would the ambulance take?
Would I be okay?
Because I don’t really want to die
But yes I do, for just a second
Bring me back to life
Defibrillators against my chest
Don’t shock me as much as
The silence, because it rings
It’s not even silent
So how can it be so invasive
I think about the consequence of
Lighting a candle and leaving
It there by my bedside all night
How quickly would I
Knock it down in my sleep
I’m so afraid of burning to death
And drowning,
Though I guess one solves the other
I mean if you push a burning person into a lake,
Say a witch tied to a stake,
Are you saving them,
Or does that make you a killer,
See she couldn’t swim up,
But at least she isn’t burning,
And am I the witch or the fire in this scenario?
Probably both, though I’m also
A lake because who else
Can put me down better than myself.
And I pushed my own **** self in
Because “I don’t need a hero”
Every feminist bone in my body screams
While I’m tied to the railroad tracks
How did I get here? Wasn’t I just drowning?
I guess I took a crosstown bus.
But I was the only passenger
Because it was completely silent.

For ****'s sake.

How did we end up here again?

The soothing, annoying word flickers on my blue-back lit screen and I am ****** back to the tumultuous moment when once upon a time it yelled bipolar.

And here we go again.

My thoughts flick, flit, floss between teeth made for biting and real meat. They need plaque, collection, to grow and accumulate mass to progress. But there my flicking thoughts go, flossing.

I've always struggled focusing, but I just got excitable, got manic, and it would solve everything. Mania was my monster, my red bull, and now that its sated and off to Wonderland...

I'm left here, face to face, with a twitchy white rabbit wondering why I would ever think to use my pretty little head when its such a good projectile into the sky.

I had always wondered, in those whispering nights, when my hands couldn't stop moving and my head wouldn't shut up, if something was wrong. But it was silly, I had two already, full of worry then full of poles. Couldn't be another, could it?

Of course, a Grace of Wonderland always knows best, and here we are. Another bottle to drink to keep me sane.

I wonder if my fingers will thank the capsules when I might stop biting them? Or my toes? Is this why my toes always twitch and dance, why they stand center-stage in so many of my mild fantasies? After all these years, the divas that my lower digits have become may not appreciate losing their star titles.

I just want to be fine. I want to figure out how to move beyond all the strange misfires in my head. How did I survive so long without a notice? Inflates my ego to know I should have been caught by now.

Guess just like the White Rabbit, despite my widgets and worries, no one can stop me from running when I'm madly, absolutely, refusing to be late.

Graces only knows to fight with fire and fists. Tis the state of my Wonderland, and perhaps now things will only get better.

I used to **** my stomach in,
Till my lungs would ache and split,
Then I learned to pull my muscles up,
And I'd find a better fit.

I learnt from magazines,
and TV shows,
The things that told us,
To always shrink, to never grow.

I learnt from my mother and my sister,
Who would sit and pinch their thighs,
With a sigh and a shriek,
About needing to go down a size.

I became obsessed,
But not with food, wine, or shopping,
My obsession was with the fat under my skin,
Growing fast and never stopping.

I became obsessed with numbers,
Numbers even though I hated math,
People telling me to stop, to eat,
The voices in my head would clash.

I feared that I would grow,
But also I would shrink,
Fingers trailing gaunt on skin,
My madness slipping from the brink.

I feared that I wouldn't wake up,
The next morning, the next week,
But I couldn't stop myself from finding,
The skinny I'd always seek.

I'm not fat, I know I'm not,
And I know weight does not define me,
But I see the bone, I strive to see it more,
Without bone what would I be?

A girl with an eating disorder
With a monster trapped inside her
Drowning in a world of
Scales
Diet Pills
Alcohol
And perfection
Trying to reach out
And find the help that she so desperately needs
But instead she is met with
Disbelieving, supportive parents
Distrustful, but sometimes helpful staff
And anorexic, bulimic girls
Just like her
Girls along the same journey she is
On the road to recovery
Some get better
Some give up
Because you can not help a person
who does not want to be helped
It is not easy
Will never be easy
But she must push through the pain and suffering
Just like you and I have to

Sometimes,
human doesn't need any toxins,
any drugs,
or any weapons,
to **** them.

But,
anxiety, and insecurity,
will do.

They're enough.

Sometimes you just feel so
zombie esque it hurts to breathe.
The twitches
of a witch's
evil eye.

Mirages,
of a former ghost.
My personalities paid host.
Posessions, demonic in blood relations.
I'm lost, in my own sea.
Dead like the one before me.

I would love to meet all of my selves;
To dine with, and hold clarifying conversations.
I have long been wary of my many personalities,
embraced them, and cherished each one of them.

I wish I could individually meet each one of them.
To hear them introduce themselves;
To hug me and comment on the pleasure of meeting me.
To understand them, as seperate persons outside of me.
To hear their stories,
what groomed who they are;
to hear about their days,
and talk about their feelings;
for them to tell me if I give them enough of me.
Do they even like me, or like being a part of me?

They mould who I am;
They are who I am.
They carry me when I am at my weakest;
They are weak with me, cry with me -
laugh with me, love with me,
and wander with me, at 3:55 am.

Would I enjoy them,
and want them to remain a part of my life?
Are they individuals with stories,
who also need to be heard?
Part of being understood is being heard.

We learn new things about ourselves all the time;
Maybe, that is how we meet our own selves:
In Epiphanies about our identities.