If your mother doesn’t tear us apart
I will

And I’ll do so without realizing it
Until I’ve pushed you far away and out of my reach

I hate hurting you
And I despise that my dislike toward myself is what hurts you most

I want this to be easier
I crave for the two of us to stand in the sun

The warm waves caressing my skin
And your hand in mine

Yet I continue to lurk in the shadows
The darkness is my security blanket

I see you standing with your hand stretched out
Begging me to just grab ahold and leave the secrets behind

But you know that I am afraid
My self-destruction is there when no one else is

You ask me to promise self-preservation
But how can I do so when I’ve failed again and again?

Feet inch closer to me and I shove
With all my might

I won’t let the darkness take you too

I was 11 when change happened.
Chubby yet barely developed.
Something laid dormant in my skin.
Waiting.

The waiting ended and the wickedness rose.
The dimples on my cheeks,
Stopped caving.
The light in my eyes went dark.

The monsters under my bed started to appear in my head.
I was starving.
Starving for an outlet and sustenance to keep me alive.

Purging on control and the need for something more.
I first tried scissors,
Trying to see how thick the skin on my suddenly thin wrists
Were.

I needed more.
I took apart my sisters razor to dig deeper.

What I found was a burned esophagus.
Bad breathe.
Thin hair.
Long sleeves in the middle of summer.
And clothes four sizes too big.

5 years.
6 suicide notes.
10,952 secret scars.
There was just no other way of feeling.

You ask me, what anorexia is like.

It's like slipping or twisting your ancle without anyone seeing, no one to help you up.
You sit until someone comes by, they help you up, but after a while you slip again.
This time your sitting in mud and slowly sinking into it.
And when you're two feet into that hole, a person comes by and tries to help you since your anvle is hurt.
But you're afraid they'll fall too so you ask them to leave.
You start to crawl out and finally get up, but slip again.
You fall down in that hole again, and this time you beoke your entire leg.
It starts raining and the hole grows deeper.
It's 5 feet deep now.
One of your well known friends comes by and tries to help you, but ends up throwing you a shovel.
But actually you start to like your hole, you take contact to people, who also fell into a hole.
There are sites on the internet, some shows how to get the deepesr mist perfect hole.
Other shows how to get up.
But you're sad, and you like your hole, so you try to get that deepesr one.
You want to win this, you wanna show everyone who called you weak that you can get the deepest hole in the world.
But when you're 20 feet under ground, and everyone starts to notice your hole.
Everyone is willing to help you.
And suddenly you have 20 shovels, and 20 stairs.
But you can't decide wich one is better.
*That's what being anorexic is like

Is it part of my past if I can't quite get rid of it?
past
adj.
gone in time and no longer existing
So maybe all of the things that I thought were done with,
are part of my present,
present
noun.
the period of time now occurring.
Still able to show up at any moment and remind me that it never truly left;
only decided to give me a break for a while.
Maybe I am pitted against myself in the most dangerous way possible.
Taking myself to the breaking point,
but never going past it, because it's always funner the longer it goes on.
When will the low hit? Will the low hit?
Is it more fun to watch myself panic during the night wondering how things will fall apart, always walking on broken glass because even a small cut in the fabric would mean being torn to shreds. The ends being pulled until I am finally undone. Until I am finally done.

I've been battling my empty heart
by leaving my stomach clean
Honestly it's feeling easier
than it's almost ever been

Happiness: The ultimate goal, right?
We all want to be happy
We all want to feel fulfilled.

We see pictures of smiling, skinny bodies
and we know what happiness looks like.
It looks like thin faces
frail arms
tiny legs
concave stomachs

The first step to being happy is
looking
the part.

She talks like ‘finally got up to 103’ and
I’m like, c’mon, girl, keep eating, you aren’t as healthy as you should be, and
He talks like ‘back 60
pounds ago’ and
I’m like, dude, rad, just keep eating healthy.
But like,
There’s this sick sort of jealousy.
I mean, she’s guilty when she’s too small for her jeans while
I’m guilty when I wish it was me
See, sometimes I try starving,
Just to see…

I don’t have an eating disorder:
Ask my mother,
I just have a small appetite.
And I don’t need therapy,
Because it’s scratches not scars that cover me.
I’m not a cutter but pass me a lighter—
I don’t like razors but I do play with fire,
And I’d like to burn these thoughts and watch the smoke drift
Higher
Higher
Higher,
Until the sky opens up and swallows me,
Like I swallow more pills than necessary.
The painkillers keep my nerves numb and dead,
But do nothing for the bundles of nerves in my head.
I want to be empty.
I want to be emptier physically
Than the emptiness of my mentality.
I’m starving
In my head,
Because physically I’m doing just fine.
I’m walking the line
Between average
And a little less
And a little less
And a little less.
I’m misery at its best because
Its best is nothing, and I
Am nothing.
(Or at least,
I wish to be.)

Ignore the size of the portion
This is healthy
Ignorance is bliss

Cut and slice
Count the pieces the knife and fork create
Slip into old routine

Eat one cookie... eat five
Who cares?
You're this shape already

Turn the shower on twice a day
Watch it all wash down the drain
Hate the way you adore the acidic burn

Count the numbers
You're not wiz at college algebra
But you can count the calories, pounds, and body mass

Watch the flab vanish into sweat
Run for two hours a day
Do crunches until your innards explode

Faint in the shower
Forget what time of day it is
Sleep is now nonexistent due to hunger

Ward off the war within your belly
Empty is clean
Pain is beauty

Your teeth are rotting
From the lies about your meal plan
And your citric stomach

Compare yourself to all of them
Observe the way they enjoy it
They love the freedom of cuisine

Your mouth is watering
It's a good thing food cannot travel
Through a television screen

Cry at family gatherings and holidays
Your mother's eyes glaring across the table
While you wish you could vacate the skin you're in

Uncertainty is your best friend at this point
Indecisiveness and hatred are nothing out of the ordinary
Your mere thoughts are a whirlwind

And there's nothing romantic about it

I wanted long , thin legs
A skinny waist
And collar bones that stick out.
I wanted to be pretty.

But what I didn't want
Was the price.
Skippy meals,
Using constant excuses.

I wanted to be perfect
But instead,
I was lifeless
and years later I still pay.

I soon reached my goal,
But was the price I paid worth it?

Fifty years ago this week
Sgt. Pepper he began to speak
Hidden deep just like a motley fool
Inside four boys from Liverpool

It took four lads as inspiration
to bring hope to a crying nation
After November's assassination
They grabbed us...we held on

John, Paul, George and Ringo
on Ed's Sunday Show
We sat back and watched them go
They grabbed us...we held on

They came and held the hand
Of a still in mourning land
A little skiffle band
They grabbed us...we held on

We were brought back from the dark side
We were on a rock and roll ride
With four young lads from Mersey Side
They grabbed us...we held on

They grabbed our hearts and souls
They expanded musics goals
They all had different roles
they grabbed us...we held on

In times...things were changing
The band was re-arranging
No more tours were staging
They grabbed us...we held on

Soon, they all went on their way
McCartney sang "Another Day"
John, he had a lot to say
George and Ringo...just played on

John was shot at decades start
It shocked the world and broke apart
Those who held him in our heart
The Beatles were no more

George died too, all things must pass
He always had a silent class
The parts aren't greater than the mass
The Beatles were no more

Is there anyone out in the land
Who will come and take us by the hand
I hope that you will understand
They grabbed us...we held on