loving an anorexic is hard, i would assume. borderline impossible. how can you love someone who has so much hatred for their body?

my first relationship ended because he was sick of watching me spit pasta into napkins and hide bread in my sleeves
he cheated on me and i watched the most cliché stereotype turn me angry and spiteful
he told me he couldn't love someone who loved their eating disorder more than they loved him

i want to be angry about this, but i can't
he was right. i was always going to choose ed over him
i would rather die from starvation than let go of my eating disorder for him

in that sense, he wasn't the only one who cheated.

fingers ice cold
identity pinned on arbitrary digits
spilling the rotten flowers from her insides
counting pumps of panic juice
one, two, three. not enough.
she scrubs until her hands are red and raw.
four, five, six. they're not clean enough just yet.
waking up freezing and covered in sweat,
voice filling up volumes,
feeling every person who has ever
touched her skin.
sitting and shaking in spanish class,
quietly looking up the number of sleeping pills she needs
to get into her wretched body
in order to disappear forever.
craving the feeling of the cold blade on her hot skin
the red ribbons erupting onto her sheets
blinding anger, sadness, grief turns to
physical pain
staring at "severely underweight bmi" girls
scribbling on her injured wrist what she needs
to get to that point. she's almost there.
**** yourself. **** yourself. **** yourself, she writes.
**** yourself. **** yourself. **** yourself. **** yourself.
one day, she breaks,
dying a thousand deaths as sirens wail
peeling the tape off the IV they attached to her vein
hearing her mother cry
liver damage. severe blood loss. hallucinations. stitches necessary. psych ward? she's convulsing. must be in shock.
finding herself surrounded by broken girls and boys
in a white-walled facility
made for lunatics, just like her.
smiling through session after session until they say,
she's ready.
scraping through as she plans
how to keep the dead flowers just for herself.
months later, finding herself
in another home for lunatics
tiny quiet shaking girls just like her
being fed sugar water through her nose
on her eighth day, saying
a single first word to her therapist.
okay.
sharing a room with a wrinkly zucchini of a girl
turning pink and crying when
the soft soul walks in the room,
finally giving her a beautiful flower to hold.
all her hidden blossoms spilling out of her chest
ugly, shameful plants finally revealed
for the first time in many moons,
she's no longer ashamed of them.
falling in love with the girl two doors over,
erupting into giggles
sneaking around the milieu wearing
rose coloured-glasses,
fingers intertwined.
sitting in a circle of winter girls,
our flowers resting on our laps,
our fingers warmed by
the touch of one another.

To Mia

You see I know this girl  , I’ve known her for  as long  I can remember . Sometimes though for some reason ,Unknown to me, she makes appearance. For a while after she’s on my mind , constantly on my mind . It’s like she’s worked her way into every nerve every cell she’s there . I have to please her I’ve got to keep her happy. My mind is a  machine , a machine with cogs and the cogs keep turning but when she’s around they’re on overdrive constantly worrying to point where I worry so much it makes me ill .

You see I know this girl , a girl called Mia.

I direct this at you.
The one that clings to my sides,
hangs off my clothes :Weighing me down
Like a tonne of sugar  in my gut
Down .
Down .
I can’t stomach it any longer !  
You stick to every ounce of my being, Creating a blinding hatred Spiralling
Down .
Down .
Down .
my appearance to the public eye now untrue to my reflection,  I wont be added to your collection but the obsession to meet your expectations
is impulsive .
Addictive
destructive

empty swallows, hollow sorrows .
I crave it .
I need it .
you’ve infected every nerve .
I’m weak .
“hide yourself” , no one can see .
don’t  stop yet
please stop
I can’t stop
nonstop
drop .

I’m frail , one more blow from you
And I’ll crumble .
Nothing but a bag of bones covered in an
Off white security blanket .
You have thinned my hair ,
Made my nails brittle ,
And my throat swell .
But still you’re attention
Is what I crave the most
I starve to please .
To please you .
I’m starving .

Some days I think my mother wants to hate me more than she wants to love me. It feels like most days she finds more flaws than I knew were possible. My sister and I were the rough drafts before she perfected her work and gave birth to our brother. When I came out to her she asked why it took me so long to do it, how do you look at the person that’s supposed to love you unconditionally and say you didn’t want another nail in your coffin, another tally mark on the board of all of your **** ups. Every time I eat something I hear her voice at the back of my head telling me I should stop. I’ve never dined alone, my whole life my mothers voice has joined me when the slightest thought of food has crossed my mind. I have spent more days than I can count wishing I had the self control to starve myself. How do you say that out loud? How do you make the words slip off your tongue to anyone without them thinking you’re a lost cause. I think about dying like I think about skipping my next meal. It’s never set in stone, there’s no contract binding my thoughts to my actions but it’s always at the back of my head. A wailing ghost haunting my brain just waiting for the day that we actually go through with something when we first think of it.

The fight with your own mind,
Is the hardest war to wage.

But know, the lion that you are facing, is that same strength that you carry.
You can tame it.
Embrace it.

You might be fighting your own strength

Im not overweight
But I feel huge
I'm a balloon filled with cement
Large and heavy
I only see round
I want to be little
Petite
Dainty
Underweight
I want a sharp jaw line
So sharp
I could carve off the pounds
Collar bones so deep
They could hold every tear
Shed while on a scale
Concave stomach
Filled up with water
Like the kind from the pool
Where I'm too fat to attend
I wish I could put the gender wage gap between my thighs
I want my bmi and my 7th grade age
To be the same number
But instead I'm large...

I want to know what people see,
I'll never see myself clearly.
My brain changes and contorts my body,
I'll
**** in my stomach till I can't breathe,
Nothing but high waisted skinny jeans,
No tight shirts, dresses, or bikinis.

I'm
too wide in the waist
too broad in the shoulders
too chubby in the fingers
too full in the cheeks

And
I'll never see what people see
I'll never see what makes me, me.

It’s sick
But all I can think about
Is the pain

I think it’s an art
One that I have perfected
The ability
To ignore everything
But the pain

I don’t think
I could make room
for anything else

Because if I’m not cutting
I’m burning
If I’m not burning
I’m starving
If I’m not starving
I’m purging
If I’m not purging
I’m binging
If I’m not binging
I’m probably dead

And thus
All I can fit
In my brain
Are these thoughts
These morbid
Thoughts
Of pain

I’m scared to be hurt
And so I won’t give you a chance
To hurt me again
Even though it wasn’t your fault

The though
Of losing
Losing control
Losing a friend
Losing you
I can’t take it

So I will make sure
I am in control
Of the pain
I will slice my wrists
And count the calories
And maintain my
Complete
Dominance
Over my life

I’m scared of
Losing
Control

I’m scared of losing you