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.
Colors
Blue the color of her eyes
That hid the pain
The ones that ahead the tears
When no one is near
The ones that have the glow even
When the tears flow
Red the color of her lips
The ones that hold back the tips
The tips that mad her once feel full
Now seeps through the tile floor
Pink the color of the nails
That scream I’m Fine as she stands
On the scale after her favorite meal
The nails that pick up her food
In her pantry that counts
The calories and safely puts it back
Till she screams in pain with
Tears running down her face
And blood gushing out
Me the girl who acts like
Loving herself comes easy
But hates herself more everyday
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.
bowed before you once again
i’m worshipping you
when i said i wouldn’t
bent in half
i’m surrendering both my dinner
and my fears
knelt down before you
my legs tremble
my hands and chin drip
hunched over you
i am obedient
under your tyrannical rules
there will be no revolution today
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
Eat
Eat
Those words I hate
This isn’t a cry, I just hate the way it taste
as its greasy eyes and melted sun linger over the bun.
A whisper lingers in my ear, spilling hurtful little lies.
Clinics and shrinks tell me I am mental
It is all in your head stop being non-cynical.
My mother says to be perfect, you must project
To be perfect is to neglect,
So why can’t I get this correct.
The smell makes me queasy,
Maybe a little uneasy
I take a bite
Maybe two or three.
This mirror starts to hate me,
aggravating my soul
letting me see I have no self-control.
This body is wavering.
I push, till it comes up,
and soon I'm at ease,
For this whale has been lifted.
My hair is dull, my body thin
I feel nothing within
ED has become my friend, he is unrelenting
He lingers in this hellhole that has begun
I weigh two six and twenty-tons today
Fat in unforeseen directions,
I make cars cringe, when I frolic and play
And I welcome no corrections.
Mighty fine in my well-endowed blubber,
Sassy pot-like, in my non-chic.
Whale-ish me, trice big as my mother.
Loud and proud, forgiveness don’t seek,
I have earned this fat, every little bit.
Come by and see me, if you have true grit.
Sin of impulse
A moments pleasure
To dive for pearls, a far deep
treasure
of the mind and senses
Keep going, can't stop,
binge and lose all pretences
of self control.
Drowning out or off the rails,
whatever does it matter when the consequence is
the same.
Spare me guilt of moments past
Of rising up a burning shame
Impulse, apparently, has ability to last
Claw the demons within my guts,
writhing, turning, restless,
drag them out of my throat and stomach,
burning hot an acidic taste.
Again and again, remove my sin, please God no,
not again, desperation is my only friend.
This is bulimia, a mistake erased.
Until the cycle repeats
A moderate defeat.
Have you ever realised
that everything you miss
is not all that special
or good to begin with?
Vomiting away my days,
it feels like bulimia.
You say you need your own way,
like drug-fuelled paranoia.
I take advantage of myself;
I’m wasting time and what is mine.
You know how to pick the best times
to hand deliver the worst lines.
And now that you’re begging,
words and lies you don’t mean,
I know this isn’t real;
you’re faking that you’re keen.
So I guess it’s fine I puke
all good sentiment away.
I guess it’s appropriate
you’ve entrapped your mind away.
I can do all that I’ve dreamed of;
my sharpened heel is on your throat.
It was my choice to play your game.
But as for you? I hope you choke.
Fine foods leave behind a clean plate
Great meals create stomachs oblate
But bodies too fat
Crave abdominals flat
And can't wait to regurgitate
I was in a hurry
To weight only forty
Had no time for a drawn
out diet
So decided I would try it
Bought a sickle
Carved off my flesh
It didn't tickle,
But the blood was fresh
Got on the scale,
With my dying breath
Couldn't read the weight
Too much blood
And it was now too late
I probably weighted but twenty
A skeleton was I
Exceeded my desired weight loss
But for this I had to die.
(This is a fictional poem but sadly it's true for some people.)
You're suffering from bulimia because you want to stay thin.
You say you can stop but I see you induce vomiting again and again.
People die from this disease everyday.
Life will be unbearable if you pass away.
You're in a lot of pain and it's something I can't allow.
I'm begging you to get help and I'm begging you to get it now.
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