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julianna Oct 2018
And it was
iN that split  
secOnd that i was
Rather weak.
Eating no longer  
seemed an eXit, but instead
as If it was so, so,
Aimless to do.
mars Oct 2018
I don't

2. Think I will

3. Ever stop

4. Counting

5. But I can

6. Learn to live

7. Around the numbers
insecurity is eating me
the world is showing me
that you have to be having it all
or you have nothing.
i should be happy
with my natural blessings.
my hair
my face
my me
because it all belongs to God
and i was made special in his image
and if he supplies all of my needs
then my natural self is okay
that is all i should need.
those people that i envy
those people aren't happy
those people are irresponsible
those people are temporary
because they waste their life
and feed on
on temporary things
and you are what you eat.
those people don't care
those people are full
of the gigantic meal called
themselves
their ego.
i see
but the would feeds me
a different meal
which i am the cook
they feed me my own
unsatisfactory.
wow
this is how i eat and be eaten.
what does the world show you?
julianna Sep 2018
Pain
And suffering
And evaporated tears
And razor blades
And laxative teas
And skinny jeans
And diet pills
And angry words
And impulsive decisions
And lies
And bleeding lines
And swollen wrists
And puffy eyes
And long sleeves
And stay-in-bed-all-day days
And avoid-the-crowd-for-days days
And won’t-mind-getting-hit-by-a-car days
And bitten tongues
And sad songs
And bleach shots
And fake Instagram posts
And living through YouTube videos
And fasting
And failing
And then no longer caring
And feeling like it’s all over
And then doing it all over,
All / Over /Again
Trigger warning... This poem is to anyone who has ever been through or is going through any of these things. I know your pain. Although I’ve made a major recovery (anxiety/anorexia/derealization/ depersonalization/panic disorder) and am always getting better, sometimes certain things haunt me. My PM box is always open to those in need of a listening ear or a friend.
Stay strong **
Nora Sep 2018
Hospitable I am
With the company I keep
They’ve settled quite well, the
Feisty little creatures --
In my mind they burrow deep

Generous I am
To the voices in my mind
Feeding them so they flourish --
Whispering persuasive hatred
With every chance they find

Gullible I am
Because I listen with open ears
Gobbling up their words in
Idolization, never questioning
Any sound that I hear
Em MacKenzie Sep 2018
She grabbed my neck, one hand, and her fingers quickly connected,
“You should have some more self respect, you’re taking this further than I expected.”
I swear that I’m eating again,
but I won’t try to pretend,
that the food doesn’t make me hurt, the removal of my organs didn’t mend.
I ask her to forget it and to just talk about the weather,
the topic wants to drop; she won’t let it, she knows I’m not getting any better.
I was always too much of a lost cause to trust I’d ever be repaired,
for years she’s held the gauze and just silently waited and stared.

At 21 my mother died from a long battle with cancer,
I toughed through it to provide comfort I could never allow myself to receive.
So my own sickness was inspired by Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer”
it was never my goal but what my
brain wished to achieve.

I told them all to leave me,
I didn’t expect they would do so,
a few stragglers stayed who wished to prove they were strong.
It’s still shocking that they believed me
or were they waiting for a polite out to go
one that they could argue wasn’t wrong?

And I’d rather break a mirror
than to see the reflection everyone else shared,
it’s not that I would fear her,
but through seven years bad luck I’ve already fared.
I made a choice and a deal
to give my worthless life for just a few good days,
you can’t put a price on how you feel,
you can only hope and pray that that feeling atleast stays.

I became best known through all encounters in every social gathering
as the laid back confident joker, because they never saw me shattering.
I assure you that after I was always in my Honda drowning,
arguing with myself if it was better to be fake than the person always frowning.
I was dying for interaction beyond just meaningless conversation
and only ever met the odd soul to bring that alleviation.
I was so used to the shadows from the comfort of my basement
that I flinched when I saw sunlight and only after felt amazement.

I was a skeptic and untrusting as to why the sun would ever shine on me,
and the refreshing waves that brushed my feet carried potential for drowning.
And just when I got used to light and a natural source of heat
the darkest cloud in history attacked until it did retreat.
Then I thought that drowning in the sea wouldn’t be the worst,
if it didn’t carry me into a current, perhaps it could wash away my curse.
But even the tide will move away when you decide to take that step,
past the point of clenching a fist, every muscle I own did treppe.

Los Camp said the sea was a great place to think about the future,
but I know it’s a great place to think about the one you lack.
Inspired by Los Campesinos! “The Sea is a great place to think about the future” and thinking about things I was too busy and too tired to confront.
Kilano Saddler Sep 2018
I seem to reward myself for bad behavior, and while others don’t understand it to be bad, it gnaws at me. Grows like a tumor, because even if an accident, or happenstance, I still seem to shrink, but not before my body rebels and solidifies into making me gorge on fiber until I lose the nerve and rush to other means. I’m not supposed to do it on purpose, not like Lori, and I hold myself back, convinced that my weight-loss is not an extension of my personality, but I cant help but admit I’m obsessed with the scale. Obsessed with an anti-me. My therapist doesn’t see the pattern, and maybe she is right, but I am too busy worrying about becoming obsessed that I have become obsessed with being obsessed. A hundred and seven pounds, and I have had to seriously fight to control myself not to create harm, and when my stomach doesn’t seem to want to let go of food after days, I can’t help but go to my medicine cabinet, find the laxative, and let my body suffer in such an embarassing way.

I watched Lori do it, and I swore I wouldn’t. But I am, even if for the sake of relief, of release. And I swear it’s not a habit, but that means nothing come every Monday when I have to be the beacon at the group weigh-ins, to mark some kind of false sense of hope for others. They call me an inspiration, and even if not intentional, I feel like I have been cheating.

My grandfather asks me every time I tell him about my weight-loss, “Are you sure you aren’t hurting yourself?” and I am reminded of the decades of humiliation he wrought upon me due to my obesity. What right does he have to ask of harm when he helped drive me to four hundred and more pounds? Maybe this is punishment for all the times his words cut deep enough to make me keep eating in anguish. Maybe I’ll just keep losing long after I hit my goal until there is nothing left– not even dust to be carried along with the wind.

Thoughts like that make me worry that it has evolved from lifestyle change to pure, unadulterated obsession. The kind I have seen time and time again.

My family has always been riddled with addicts.
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