i go through the hollow days
until the first drop of alcohol hits my tongue;
and then, the choice. the concerned mother,
the train-track rumbling stomach, the
"you can't drink any more unless you eat something."

i want to say it's my life. i want to say
that drinking on an empty stomach is far
more cost effective and that i'm here to go
the distance. it's enough for the first
few hours to laugh it off, until the house is closed
up and the oven is on, on, on.

really, it's not my fault. my dad's a chef. i'm human
and i know i'll die if i chastity-lock my lips forever, it's just...
well, there's something in it. there's something
perfect about "no thanks, i'm not hungry,"
like the smiling hollow is earthquake-rumbling:
"yes, yes, yes, one day you will die small."

The constant dizziness were my new friend on the way up there,
I had to make a pause every each few steps.
I had to keep my hand on the wall to keep the balance, to not fall down and to be able to keep up.

Too weak,
Too fragile
and
Too hungry,
to go up

But that's okay,
less of body
makes me safe,
less of fat,
makes me proud,
cause you all want to look alike,
cause you all would want to be that tough
to get used to being hungry all the time,
to all day long and all night long
feel exceptional,
in control,
and if the hunger is the price,
that's okay,

I can starve.

You don’t need to self destruct to get attention
You don’t need to
Hurt yourself
Cut yourself
Starve yourself
Endanger yourself
Sabotage yourself
To get attention

You deserve attention
You’re worth noticing
You’re worth caring for
You are worth them sticking around

in maths i was told that numbers rule our lives,
that every detail can be measured, counted, put into figures and digits and statistics.
i laughed at the idea.
but now i believe there is some truth in those words,
that numbers are in fact the one thing that rules over our small existence,
be it the number of friends at the dinner table
celebrating a pay-rise or a birthday or simply just to compensate for the hours since they were last united.
or maybe this importance can be found
in the number of pounds in your back pocket
or the pounds of food on the table in front of you,
the amount of fuel you fill your body with,
the pounds that you shed as you decide you no longer need fuel
and the numbers in front of you begin to decrease.
there are numbers everywhere.
there are numbers at the tips of your fingers as you determine
how much you need,
counting out each tiny pill as you prepare to swallow them like candy
and finally get the sweet release you so desperately crave.
perhaps the numbers are found in the length of rope as you stand at the top
counting down from ten, anticipating
the grand finale, unless you take
from your maths lessons and decide instead to calculate the dimensions, the
length and the depth to travel with the blade as it so delicately graces your skin,
breaking the ice at last.

in maths i was told that numbers rule our lives,
but looking back, i think you’ll find that they rule more over death.

I must be sick...
There’s hope
I have plans
Things are working out
I met someone

Yet

Depression fills me like a heavy fog
Passive suicidal ideations linger
I can’t eat
I’m drawn to cut

I just... I just don’t understand

You know exactly what you’re doing
Not eating enough
Letting yourself stay hungry
It’s a punishment
Without scars
Without blood
But it hurts
And the more you do it
The more they’ll like you

I feel pretty when I’m hungry
Like maybe my stomach will begin to slim
Like I’m dainty and beautiful
Like maybe if I can keep it up long enough
Someone might want me

my hair
is stuck down in the drain
wetting my dress
and drying my veins

my skull
it grew in too late
making me spin
in a hellscape of hate

nothing's the same
and everything's great

my hands
are shedding their nails
waving goodbye
to blood on the trails

my legs
cannot hold their weight
my bones look the same
as the ones on my plate

nothings's the same
and everything's great

my chest
it knocks and it shakes
pinning me down
how low can it take

my corpse
should rot in a case
inside of the flesh
where I used to be safe

nothings the same
i'm going to faint

I don’t want to be numb anymore
I don’t want to cry only when I think about how empty I am inside
I don’t want my wrists to burn
Begging for a cut to make me feel again
I want to care truly and deeply again
I want to feel my life
I want to feel alive

However

The medication keeps me sane
It keeps me able to eat
More than a few tortillas a day
I don’t dissociate and panic
Because my homework is stressful
I can make it through my days
Because I take that pill
The lowest dosage I could convince my doctor to offer
It’s keeping me alive

I think