you hurt me, yet I remain calm
you try to kill me, yet I remain calm
but why does it hurt
when I need to say goodbye?
recovery is the winner
yet it feels in disguise
because I just can’t believe
I deserve to survive
Food.
Supposedly so good.
Calories add.
I'm mad, you're sad.
The hunger comforts me.
It shows my success and victory.
A boy walks slow through halls of glass,
His shadow flickers, thin as grass.
Each step a secret, each breath a theft,
Of hunger’s war and weightless heft.
They whisper when they think he’s gone,
“Is he okay? He looks withdrawn.”
But laughter fades when backs are turned,
And eyes like his are never learned.
His plate remains a battlefield—
Each bite a blade, each meal unsealed.
He counts the crumbs like ticking clocks,
His ribs a cage, his soul in locks.
Inside, a storm no one can see,
A gut that groans in mutiny.
IBS, a cruel refrain,
Twisting joy into quiet pain.
His friends? Just echoes in disguise,
With hollow jokes and plastic eyes.
They smile sharp, then look away—
He’s present, but he’s not okay.
They call him “buddy,” slap his back,
Then laugh the moment that he cracks.
Lonely, yet he's never alone,
A ghost among his flesh and bone.
He’s drained—of hope, of strength, of care,
A paper boy in poisoned air.
Yet no one sees what’s underneath,
The brittle scream behind his teeth.
And so he walks, a whispered name,
Fading into his hollow frame.
Each day a mask, each night a sea,
Of pain no soul will ever see.
I stare timidly into the softly lit mirror,
Its gaze staring back at me unrecognizable.
I've been told this person is my friend,
But its reflection paints a different picture.
Its mixture mixes a mess of colors I never thought go together anyway.
A bit ghostly.
I trace its outline carefully -
A bump here, a dent there, extra padding everywhere -
So pathetically unfamiliar to me.
So frightening
to me....
To me
to me
to me
to me
Why does no one else seem to see
What I see?
What I see...
I've been told is my friend.
But friendliness bodes forbidden,
Foreign between the eyes of those destined to be one.
When will I learn my body is my friend?
Who honestly teaches that anyway?
I say honestly purposefully.
Lies, all lies.
You see it, don't you?
I don't even need to explain for you to know.
That's how low this show has gone.
I need help unmasking and redefining
this
festering,
fatal
phenomenon.
growing pains...
and so she grew,
because that’s what we all do.
she reminded herself that
her body
is her vessel.
it does more than just
exist
for a compliment,
for a boy,
for a mirror
or for a photo.
she told herself that her size,
and the tightness of her clothes
were not indicators of failure.
the fullness of her belly,
would never determine her worth
she found comfort in words like these.
yet she never,
not once
had to self assure
when her pants hung loose
or her stomach yearned for food,
when her waist curved inwards rather than out
not once,
not ever.
Sometimes healing is messy
It is a rollercoaster
Ups and downs
Sometimes I can handle it
Other times I lose control
I say I am in recovery for my bulimia
But I still struggle
I still consider pushing myself that extra hour in the gym
I think skipping lunch that day won't hurt
I sometimes spend too much time looking at teeth enamel strengthening toothpaste and whitening strips
I only look at healthy snack like plain rice cakes and original sun chips
Carboard is not the most appealing flavor
But it is the safest one
I don't have to feel guilty when I eat them
I won't need to punish my body later
Some days though
I will eat the birthday cake and not worry about it later
I will still go to the gym but only spend 30 minute there not 2 hours
I brush my teeth not worrying about if i will cause any damage to them from a purge
Healing is messy
Somedays are easier than others
But I know that I am trying my hardest.
The soundless scream of my tortured pain,
The story of which I cannot explain.
Ashamed of my needs, yet I want them met,
Manipulative, deadly, pointless threat.
Blind is the audience, macabre is my dance,
Forced to perform by a body in trance.
Those gilded rays that pierce the skies,
Striking gold clouds that light up our eyes,
Lancing their radiance down to earth,
Who am I to ask what life’s worth?
Surely, will I in time comprehend
This punishing life that I never penned:
This tree that snakes out endless roots
Invading its prey to leave poisonous fruits?
Love and joy calcified in my veins,
Stuck in a rut of regret and pain,
I tear at my flesh to uproot the tree,
I can no longer: the tree is me.
My colourful soul is seeping through my skin
But Ana is a beauteous monster
And I cannot stop letting her in.
Someone get a doctor,
She’s stuck inside my head
And if I don’t get her out,
I’m sure to wind up dead.
Her voice it makes me shout
And cry out in pain.
When I am offered food,
She makes me seem insane.
I am in her constant servitude.
Oh will I ever be free?
When will I escape
And bring back the old me?
I don’t want to feel sick
But I don’t want to gain.
So if I want to be a stick,
Then sick I shall remain.
30/04/2021
“Mommy, mommy!” I desperately scream at 4, longing for comfort in her welcoming arms.
We are watching a film about the circle of life. The movie showed the sheep at birth all the way to its final stages. Snot puffs out of my young nostrils like the smoke in grandma’s cigarette. My heart is racing in absolute panic as I bounce my knee up and down and shake uncontrollably. “I don’t want to die!” I shout in distress.
And 10 years later I am once again in my mother’s arms, yet all frail and bony like an ancient mummy in an Egyptian sarcophagus. I am laying on my brittle hospital bed with my exhausted eyes blinking even slower than a salted snail. I touch my nose and wince, as my feeding tube is 3 sizes too big. I can hear the whirring of the pump admitting into my stomach with nutrition I was convinced was unnecessary. And with strained breaths and my lips drier than the Sahara Desert, I make out the words “M..mommy?”
“Will you let me die?”
It’s crazy how times can change.
The scale starts to call and I cannot resist; constantly drawn to my biggest fear.
The painful number that I see, never leaves my mind.
Every day. Every minute. Every second. She never stops - this voice inside my head.
She speaks to me. She yells at me. So hurtful; the words that she says.
I will never be who she wants me to be.
"Don't eat that", she pleads. "Look in the mirror and you'll see."
"You're fat!" "You're pathetic!" "You're a failure!", she screams.
She makes me cry, as I fall to my knees - tears falling down, I will never succeed.
I'll never be good enough. She will never be pleased.
Complete perfection is what Ana seeks.
I am her slave, but she's good to me.
She gives me strength, yet makes me weak.
Ana tries to make me thin. She brings me hope. She's all I need.
And even if I tried to break free...her disease has already taken hold of me.
Starving stomach, food in the brain,
Some say disease, others say vain.
Her new friend Ana, showing the way,
Worshipping scales, twice a day.
To her, she is way more than fat
to others, way thinner than flat.
The built in rule, let food in,
And you will never be as thin.
Her friends find her weight an ordeal,
Ana’s at the sink ‘helping’, after a meal.
Pounds are lost, herself is lost,
Shirking her food at all cost.
As she dwindles, time deprived,
Remember before Ana arrived.
She eats through her eyes instead,
Frenzied with hunger, eyeing the spread.
She is a small ribbed frame,
She is a figure of worldly fame.
Meals alone, meals hidden,
Counting calories, craving the forbidden.
Lies to reassure, more lies to hide,
Concerns from loved ones, brushed aside.
No more than bones, too weak to fight,
She confronts her friend ‘Ana’.... Anorexia.
22/02/19
I ate no goodies for a year
lost weight as fast as others put it on
sixty-four pounds gone
did it one of the worst possible ways
ate lettuce
drank water
for a year
nothing else passed my lips
my tiny waist was laughable
my mother offered to make me a suit
she did, and it was marvelous except way too small
I laughed when I saw it.
That’s a baby suit, I told her. I cannot wear that!
The waist was only twenty-eight inches.
my mother had measured wrong!
She told me to try it.
The waist was too big; I could spin the skirt.
my mother had made a point
while I was seeing myself heavy
others knew I was starving myself
I began to eat
The Egyptians walked sideways I figure
to conceal the fine points of their figure.
In a desperate scrimmage
with their own body image
diet mania they would prefigure.
The girl thought she had it beat,
But then she couldn’t stand to eat,
Not even a single piece of meat.
The girl started to disappear,
She begged for help but no one could hear.
She didn’t want to be here,
All she was, was a peer.
The girl was so obsessed with her weight,
She began monitoring what she ate.
Soon she began to lose pounds date by date.
When she looked into mirrors, all she felt was hate.
The girl slowly became bones,
People around her would say it was for attention or it was just hormones.
The girl just put in her headphones
And drowned out the world’s groans.
food isn’t seen as fuel and nourishment, food is seen as guilt and shame
your bones wear thin and your hair falls out in clumps
you see your ribs when you lift up your shirt and you feel your hipbones stick out whenever your boney fingers are placed on them.
your throat is sore from the acid and the vomit flowing through you
your family know they should hide away the knifes and the blades
but what’s worse is that they’re scared you’re hurting so badly you might even harm yourself with a fork
but isn’t that what you’ve been doing all along?
you put down the fork... and haven’t picked it up since
-unKnown Person
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