Today
I was sitting at the dinner table
Behind a baked potato
Scared
Uncomfortable
Anxious
While my parents kept watching me
I sat there
While my brother
And my sister
Ate with no problem
No second thought
**** i wish i could be like that.
When everyone else got up
My mom looked at me
And said out loud
"can you just eat it? Its not that hard."
The dumb thing is
She thinks shes my savior
But she makes me feel like I belong in an asylum
Everyone was looking at me
Judging
While tears slowly fall
From my blurry eyes
The thing is
She doesnt even understand
She thinks i dont want to eat
But I can't
I can't
I can't
I can't
I can't
I can't
"I cant."
I mouthed
Silently
And she said
"Yes you can! Youre just being dramatic."
No, not said.
Exclaimed
She told me to take a few bites
I did
And I got up and walked away
And set my 1/10 empty plate
Next to the sink.
I went downstairs.
She yelled down the stairs
"deadname, get up here. You need to eat more food."
I ate some more.
And then I went back down
To sit with the guilt
I know shes trying to help
But please dont tell me to try to be grateful
Because she is just making things worse
My therapist agreed
The hospital agreed
So now
I will sit
And cry
I'm my room
Try to avoid getting blood stains on my sheets
Try to hide my tool
Try to get better
Because I do want to
But these people dont ******* understand.
And they need to stop pretending that they do.

No, oh no
Don't let me get like this again...

You tell me I'm getting "bigger," "fatter"
And point out how the clothes from when I was a preteen barely fit anymore.
And ask me if I'm really going to eat "all that"

Well, I guess not,
I guess I'll just
Serve myself less
and less

And maybe I'll keep track of what I'll eat--
Yes, I'll count the exact amount of calories that I need
And measure out how much I eat.

And then-
At the gym,
I'll push myself so hard,
Until I can't think straight,
and it just hurts,
and I can't breathe,
and I can't think straight,
and I begin to see stars float around (oh, aren't they beautiful?).

And then-
Once I eat too much, or even if I ate just enough, or too little--
If I ate at all,
Then I'll kneel over the toilet
And purge out my mistakes.

Yes, that's exactly what I'll do.

...

You say that I'm getting worse again,
That I'm beautiful,
That I have no reason to be doing this
That I'm selfish for doing this.

...Oh?
But aren't you the one that served me less,
And put me on the scale and turned that number into the new calorie deficit,
And took me to the gym to slim down until I was nothing more than skin and bones,
And forced me to kneel in front of the toilet,
The same way I would at the church pew,
Held my hair back,
Forced my fingers down my throat to activate the reflex that barely works anymore,
And made me purge out all of myself and flush it down?

No?
Oh.
Well, whatever,
Never mind.

I miss the days
When I could just eat without thinking about it
Without counting the calories
Without shaking with guilt
Without feeling so awful that I shove my fingers down my throat just to pull it out
To remove the weight
To release the guilt and shame and food into the toilet bowl

The cold bathroom floor has become comforting.
Knowing that after kneeling down on it, my hands trembling
I'll lose weight

I sit at the table
While a different part of my brain
Tells me that I can't eat
Or i'll go through more pain

The bullies will come back
They'll hurt me more
I hate my life
I miss how it was before

Why is it so hard to eat
Why is it so hard to talk
Why is it so hard to run
instead of choosing to walk

I don't want to gain weight
I don't want to lose
I wish that whether I eat or not
Is something I can choose

My friends have started to notice
How little I eat….
I don't want to talk about it…

I had cookies after lunch
I had it, to tell myself
I could do it
I could eat cookies
and not think about the numbers
I could eat cookies
and not stare into the toilet bowl
I couldn’t do it
I looked into the toilet bowl
Reached into my mouth
And pulled it out
With slow and painful shoves
Though slow,
The way it happens
Is expedited
But it’s not enough
It’s never enough
The inside of the toilet bowl is stained with regret
The inside of my guts are still full of regret
But I cant get it out
It stays
I couldn’t do it
I don’t know when my food
Started tasting like regret
And looking like numbers
I miss how it made me feel
When my parents got me a donut
The smell of the warm bread
The feel of the chocolate between my fingers
I could eat 2 at once
And not give it a second thought
All 2 donuts are now
Is 500
500 too many
500 more of regret
I don’t want to think about the numbers
On the scale
Of my food
The number of scars I’ve painted on my thigh
I’ve never preferred math

friendship bracelets and long sleeves,
choking down rice cakes and diet coke,

pinning Victoria's Secret models to my wall and
keeping a tape measure at my bedside,

trying tips form Tumblr,
cold showers,
apple cider vinegar,
copious amounts of coffee
(black, obviously).

wondering why i'm shivering in the southern heat and
feeling proud of it anyway.

when i was 11
i spent an entire weekend pacing
around the backyard
pretending all i had to do was survive

on as little as possible.

living off pond water,
i chopped salads of dead leaves and
whisked red clay into something sweet.

i built a home of twigs and bed of mulch.
i let my body sink into the earth,
bones melting into roots and
skin into the ridges of the forest floor.

caught at the cross road of brittle blue nails and
softened angles,
all i knew was emptiness
and it felt like i was finally beautiful.

My grandad used to buy
Wall’s vanilla ice cream and
Robinson’s orange squash for me
When I’d visit him as a child.

For the longest time, food of any kind
Was just food and nothing
Was a treat or
Had to be earned.

Now I yearn for a lackadaisical meal,
For squash and ice cream,
For food to be food and it all to be good.
For when calculators were used in maths lessons and not to pinpoint the exact moment I overstep and
My figure becomes
Mathematically incorrect.

I want to re-learn how to exercise for fun and not punishment,
How to be happy and grateful for my fuel and nourishment.