Your unwell she says
With a look of dismay
I'm fine I insist
Tho the slits on my wrist
Suggest otherwise
Your weight is dangerously low
She tells me
I tell her, my weight is fine
As i disagree
And so commonly as we do
We agree to disagree
But to what degree was
I willing to sink
Before I reached the brink
The breaking point
You need to be here she reminds me
I reply quietly
That this place is for the sick
And me, I am fit.
I am the picture of health
I speak
Tho the weakness in my voice
Suggests quite the opposite
So in silence we sit
And wait
And the clock it ticks
As the minutes pass by
It's okay to cry
She reassuringly speaks
And slowly but surely
Those minutes pass into hours, days and weeks.
And I start to open up my eyes a little
Perhaps even start to realise
That maybe she was right and I was wrong
That maybe that self defeating song
I'd played over in my mind
Had started to unwind me from
The real me, from reality.
That maybe I wasn't quite the person I thought I had been
And that maybe those seems I'd sown
To protect myself
Had actually served in destroying my
Physical and emotional health
Currently in hospital for my anorexia, have been for two months. This is a little something I wrote up after a meeting with my key worker..
