I am under the microscope
I put myself here
I didn't know
How far it would go
Years in, and I am slowly dissected
Habits up for scrutiny
Emotions analyzed
Demeanor reviewed
Constantly screened
For any hint of disorder
Perhaps I am lucky
That help is at my finger tips
But it feels like a curse
When sickness is your soul
And it lives on through treatment
Through love
Through the microscope

all the birthdays i've missed
but all i'll gain

"there's no place like home for the holidays"
that stupid ******* Perry Como song has been ruining my life ever since Wednesday when I got a call that said, "actually we need you to come in tomorrow we are really concerned about you."
it was either residential or the hospital.
i was picking between the lesser of two evils
i called my grandmother on the phone and she said, "i don't understand why you aren't getting better."
and i don't either.
i had to force a smile upon my face today so i could force pep into my voice so i could force a lie to my lips about how good today was when i called her today.
when in reality today i cried three times and i wanted to jump out my bedroom window, and planned to run away on multiple occasions.
i opened the stocking they gave us when they tried to make it more "christmasy" and i just wanted to throw the ******* soaps they made me in their faces and screech "THIS IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH."
i want my family. i want ******* egg nog.
they didnt even let me make 5 minute eggnog.
i want to look at MY tree—-not this tree named "Harold" ******* thats 3 feet tall and has strictly circular, generic ornaments on it.
i want to be with my sister. i missed all summer with her because i was in treatment and now I'm missing all winter break with her because of it.
this isn't christmas.
this isn't home for the holidays.
nothing like laying in the middle of a stairwell looking at a white ceiling after talking to your joyful family for 35 minutes on the phone to make you realize how important the holidays with your family really are to you.
this is *******.
this is waiting 730 days for Christmas because I did not get it this year.
I'm so sorry that i ****** up again
i hate everything
i hate myself misty
i hate myself
i'm a terrible person
maybe the best christmas gift would be if i just died.

The days are meager
Meaningless
Insignificant
Except they're not
Not here they aren't
There are hours and hours
Of group and home towers
The seconds fly by
Like the sun in the sky
You wilt and you grow
Stuck with absolutely nothing to throw
You laugh and you cry
But cont;nue to try
The days are mighty
Meaningful
Magnificent

at first i looked at you with my teeth barred and i hissed. under my breath i spoke, "great. a room mate in treatment. just what i needed."
i spoke but two words to you,
and then you spoke back.
softness, kindness, genuineness in your voice.
and when you laughed, the little snort you did made me smile.
we shared our stories for those two hours.
people stopped by our door and stared in looking at why we were laughing so hard, and then they laughed because we were contagious.
we shared the same issues, and made light of our situations, finding love and comfort through one another.
and when i cried, you swaddled me and fed me words of peace and wisdom.
when it was a hard day we had to ability to place our hands on one another backs and say to the other, "hey, i know today was hard, but I am proud of you." And when she was proud of me, I was proud of me.
I was proud of her.
I was proud of us.
And she was my best friend, and the amount of times we repeated the words, "i love you, i love you, i love you." to one another. Is unimaginable.
But, as all good things do, everything started to fall apart.
Or maybe just I did.
I said things I regretted.
I hurt my best friend. The person who I loved, and in turn hurt myself.
I loved her.
Oh my gosh I loved her. I'm not gay, at least I don't think I'm gay,
but i loved her more than any pulsing, living, breathing thing on this planet and I know they say soul mates have to be romantic but why can't they just be your best friend?!
And when we parted and I didn't get to touch her skin again, it's been what seems like years now, it's as if the winter came early.
A darkness fell upon me and oh it was dark.
Darker than her hair.
Her wardrobe.
Her sense of humor.
And now we rarely talk.
I love when I see your name pop up on my phone, the purple heart emoji next to it, that's my favorite emoji, I use it for the best people.
And I ******* hate it, too.
Because I can't put into words how sorry I am.
How much I miss you.
How much I need you right now.
Maybe I loved you so much because you gave me the feeling of importance that no one else ever did.
I can't put into words that you were exactly what I wanted in my life and now you are gone and I can't get it back.
Although,
maybe I just did.

Daily I make the decisions.
Do I eat or do I restrict?
Restrict, a word added to my vocabulary by treatment.
I never thought of it as restriction.
In that context, it implies choice.
The choice baffles me.
We need food like we need air, a friend once said.
I'd never deprive anything the way I deprive myself.
Yet it is in deprivation I feel the most secure.