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Erin Jul 26
How dare you feed your shadow and bind your rulebook with the cells of my brain, the tissue of my heart and the calories of my existence.

How dare you tear down my home. How dare you throw away the cushions of my stomach, tear down the curtains of my hair, destroy the pillars of my legs. Until all that was left was the cold brick. an empty house. A hollow heart, a bedridden passion for life.

You ate my muted screams and my broken dreams. Slower, no slower, chew slower. Don’t eat too quick. Weigh that, no! Weigh it again, the scales could be wrong so round it up, log it, 200 left for dinner. Please just let me eat, please give me peace.

Dog-earing her rulebook and breaking its osteoporotic spine. Feeding my life, furnishing my home.
me Jan 2020
sometimes, i miss being sick.

i miss the feeling of my sharp ankles on the cold scale. the scale has been hidden from my judgemental eyes.

i miss the automatic caloric calculator, the blinding neon-sign. it's still there, always and impossible to ignore, like television subtitles. but i eat anyway.

i miss the feeling of my jeans becoming baggier around pencil legs. yesterday i had to go to american eagle to buy the same pair of ripped jeans, two sizes larger than what i was a year ago.

i miss the blue polka-dot Tupperware in the farthest corner of my closet that i used to erase the shame of feeling full. i can't have containers anywhere in my bedroom.

i miss the feeling of drinking so much water that my body becomes a shallow pool that my insides float in. i have a limit on the amount of fluids i can consume in a day.

i miss walking into a meal knowing exactly how to eliminate all of it, without question. now when i do behaviors i feel the shame of my whole family in my chest.

i miss karaoke nights. i can't sing any of the songs i did in the hospital. it just feels wrong.

i miss sitting in a circle of other sick girls and forgetting, for a moment. they're in different places all over the world, enjoying life as recovered anorexics.

i miss staying up late talking to my roommate and questioning whether recovery is worth it, or even possible. she's in california with her girlfriend, enjoying being alive.

i miss licking salt of ice cubes. everything is locked into safes.

but mostly, i miss you. you're gone.

.
gah this poem kinda ***** but jesus Christ i need to put this somewhere i have so much GUILT about missing my ED but god ******* ****** i really want to relapse.
Her Dec 2018
The beginning of 2018 I was struggling beyond words
I was struggling to get out of bed
I was struggling to find happiness within myself
I was struggling to eat a simple meal
2018 was the year I attempted to end everything
2018 was the year I sat in treatment in the hospital after a suicide attempt and opened up for the first time in my 21 years of life at the time
2018 was the year jersey shore medical saved my life and made me feel something again
2018 was the year I knocked down every wall I ever built since the age of 7
2018 is the year I went back and accepted the fact that I couldn’t save my 7 year old self no matter how much I wanted too
2018 is the year I rebuilt my life, making it more open and filled with scenery
2018 is the year I took my life back
2018 is the year I threw my emotions into writing
2018, you’ve been one hell of a chapter in this book, and my god I am so thankful it wasn’t the last chapter


2019 I’m ready for you baby
Belle Dec 2017
all the birthdays i've missed
but all i'll gain
i've been in treatment for so long, hopefully this time will work
It happened.
The piece of glass held hostage in my heart has been shattered,
tiny shards leaving marks and scabs not yet formed.
A scale broken,
a heart now open to taste freedom.
The joy,
the relief,
the regret.
Morning comes and a chance to start over has arrived yet again.
Do I dare put that in my body?
Do I risk gaining what I do not wish to gain?
This battle in my mind continues to rage,
my decision not yet made.
Then I hear it.
A voice much greater than that of the lion roaring inside of me speaks,
the gentleness of his tone soothing to the mind of the little girl that is me.
"It's okay, my child. It's okay."
Another meal gone, another victory won,
another lion tamed.
Sally Dannielle Nov 2014
I am surrounded by voices-
my loved ones, my demons,
my own rational thoughts.
They swell and ebb like the tide,

A perfect chaos which drives me on,
drives me forward or drives me mad,
echoing in the chasms of my mind
like the voices in the dark night.

The things I know to be true,
to be real and honest and fair,
my anchors, my ports in the storm,
the stubborn rope which ties me
to a mortal coil I've so often tried to escape.

They are undermined by that call,
that desire, the siren song which
drags me back to the blackness,
which promises that numbess is better,
less painful, less terrifying than living.

All my life I've heard the call,
denied its lure or thrown myself,
desperate and thoughtless,
into its depths.

I ignored the destruction I wraught
in its name, the quiet lipped,
cold eyed terror of those around me,
the frantic trembling of my own soul.

The slow death of the drowned.

Sirens do not starve or bleed or die,
gasping for air and choking down screams,
cold water closes over their heads,
freezes their bones and invades their lungs.

I am no siren. I am warm blood
and flesh annd love and passion.
I will not dampen my fire for fear
of what it may release any longer.

I will not drift, forgotten, along the sea bed.
Musings on my own destructive nature and the harm its done me and my family I guess

— The End —