There are no words that I can describe my pain,
Besides fear, sheer helplessness
And bottled up pain and guilt
That was eating away at my soul
Until I couldn't bear it anymore.
Control slips through my fingers
Like grains of sand.
I tried to fight,
I really tried
Lying to myself that it was fine,
I couldn't let myself believe I was worth anything
So I ran to the bathroom scratching my throat
Regurgitating the pride I had once swallowed.
And a lump of coal I tried to hide

She hung by a thread to her sanity
Constantly staring in the mirror she realized her vanity
But if what they call her is "vain"
Then there must be more than one definition to that name
Because her sense of self is "skewed" and "inaccurate"
But to her it's all she knows and she's quite aspirant
Ready for change and to be a new version of herself
Hardly caring about her deteriorating health
Walking into the health club already exhausted
Not understanding how much it has costed
Not with money or credit but with physical wellbeing
Not heeding her body's warnings or in the mirror seeing
Her hair is thin and no longer growing in places
She compares her pale skin to the other people's faces
She puts ******* down her throat in the hope to purge up a candy bar
Convinced her calorie count was taken too far
Her nails chip far too easy
And the thought of eating makes her queezy
Yet the stress encompassing her life pushes her to binge
Hundreds into thousands the floodgates unhinge
Never for sustenance, always for taste
Each and every calorie is a ginormous waste
She collapsed on the Stairmill and in embarrassment and rage
Exited the gym floor as though it were left-center stage
With poise and a smile she laughed as they stared
She grabbed all her gear and left as they glared
When she got to the car she was nothing but angry
Pushing too hard her body sat blankly
Breathing was difficult and by speaking she was pained
Every ounce of her life force felt utterly drained
Her skin can no longer take the lack of nutrition
And her eyes are wavering as she tries to focus her vision
She used to be a student with straight A intent
But all she can think about is the next meal and its scent
Forgetting the most basic things about her day
She forgets how to write and takes a derivative the wrong way
People look puzzled as she waves off their concerns
While in her stomach and throat a deep hunger burns
She stares once again at her monstrous reflection
Grabbing and poking at her bulging midsection
Now huddled on the ground she stares at the ceiling
Entering a loose dreamy feeling
On the brink of unconsciousness she extends her hand skyward
Only then realizing that down to her soul she is tired

With the violent jerking,
And battering of my heart,
And my self-image,
I have deteriorated.
I don't want to look at myself for a second longer than it takes
To put on my face in the morning,
Because if I do,
I will begin to poke and **** at my own flesh,
Feeling as if I am going to upchuck every calorie I have consumed
In the 15 years, and 120 days of my life.
If I look at myself long enough,
I am repulsed,
And my day from that point on will be violently,
Disruptively disordered.
Everything I am forced to consume,
Because of the need to hide my disastrous disorder,
Will become disgusting, half-digested
*****.
And rottingly,
I will feel pure,
And vile,
All at the same time.

How many
more pounds to go?

Well let's see
I drank some tea
and that was 0 calories

Also had some coffee
for the energy
I can't produce on my own anymore
0

****,
I also had a granola bar
that's another scar on my record
that's 140

And that salad tonight
that was a real fight
with mom
it was also 205 but
lets round it up to 300 to be safe

And all of this
together, 440

What would you even call me?
A pig for these 440
little monsters

Little ******* sewing my
jeans tighter over night
I have to fight to get there

How many more pounds
are left to lose?
440 calories
and the weight of my bones

I’ve always been small.
Height-wise and generally, weight-wise, too.
But for some reason, it clicked in my head that I couldn’t be 110 anymore.
100 was one digit too many.

95 was 5 too heavy.

1000 was 800 too many for a day.

48 hours of emptiness wasn’t enough.

I’ve never been overweight or anywhere near. I’ve been at a lower weight my whole life.

Its never really been about losing weight but I can’t stop myself from making it become a goal.

I’m falling back into bad habits.

I’m wilting. Decaying.

bone chilling moments
aren't what they seem to be.

my body resembles a corpse,
freezing to the tips of my toes,
with an ice cold heart
beating just enough to keep me alive.

i'm a dead girl walking,
littered in lanugo and
blue bruised, broken ribs,
and paper thin skin
caving in on itself
as if collapsing is inevitable.

bile inhabits my stomach,
yet hunger will always be
the second most important anyway.

pink, swollen cheeks are
replaced by hollow caverns
not even bears want to enter.

"i am an iceberg drifting to
the edge of the map,"
a girl who wants to be real-
but can't.

the blizzard winds in my head
have become too heavy to thaw out
and i can slowly feel my carcass of a body
cast away with the rest of my past.

i am gone.
  
                                    i am free.