three glass eyes
peering through a mirrored fishbowl
smiling as the swimmers
(make their way past noon)
the ripples kiss the unseen
the eyes- they dare not blink
the swimmers click their heels
(for they'll be drowne'd soon)
palms tingling for oxygen
they paddle to the sky
beseeching thy glaring orbs
(as the light begins to fray)
clawing at the windows
painting the water crimson
dangling by adrenaline
(and the hope to be saved)
sinking anguished desperatley
a tomb nine inches deep
their last airdrops part their lips
(in a mangled, aching song)
their blank eyes fixed on nothing
flesh disappates from bone
the maske'd orbs blink twice
(then three glass eyes are gone)
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Punched in and Kicked out
Live back where I got kicked out from?
With messed up mommy and black-eyed stepdaddy?
Better than here, i guess
where im invisible
hell, no one here even speaks english
being invisible isnt so horrible
But you start to crave things
you start to go crazy when you cant leave your room
making friends with the spiders on the floor
its easy to be hungry here
but not lately
not since the incident
now they make it a point to feed me
But first: They Said They'd Put Me In A Group Home
i wonder if it'll be anything like the psych ward
i wonder if they'll let me keep blogging
or if their eyes will judge my keystrokes
am i even here at all
With messed up mommy and black-eyed stepdaddy?
Better than here, i guess
where im invisible
hell, no one here even speaks english
being invisible isnt so horrible
But you start to crave things
you start to go crazy when you cant leave your room
making friends with the spiders on the floor
its easy to be hungry here
but not lately
not since the incident
now they make it a point to feed me
But first: They Said They'd Put Me In A Group Home
i wonder if it'll be anything like the psych ward
i wonder if they'll let me keep blogging
or if their eyes will judge my keystrokes
am i even here at all
Forcefed
Just lay down the nurse with the dark eyes laughed
Ring Ring
The mailman is here, ready to take away your package
Make sure she eats my stepmom curtly nods
I saw the word in her eyes, the word she'd dare never speak
How can a girl so filled be so empty?
One bite
Two bites
I close my eyes as I swallow
Is this what it feels like to be normal
I hate it.
Ring Ring
The mailman is here, ready to take away your package
Make sure she eats my stepmom curtly nods
I saw the word in her eyes, the word she'd dare never speak
How can a girl so filled be so empty?
One bite
Two bites
I close my eyes as I swallow
Is this what it feels like to be normal
I hate it.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Good Days
I've been good, I tell myself.
90 calories today.
200 yesterday.
190 the day before.
My skirt no longer strangles me, no longer leaves red bruises on my flesh. Now it hangs loose and free.
So why is the girl in the mirror getting more and more repulsive each day?
90 calories today.
200 yesterday.
190 the day before.
My skirt no longer strangles me, no longer leaves red bruises on my flesh. Now it hangs loose and free.
So why is the girl in the mirror getting more and more repulsive each day?
Dear Love
ring my neck with silver chains
let no sound be breathed in
burn my fingers one by one
'till i am eaten thin
sing to me now as i sleep
and hold me when i wake
never release my shackles
in fear that i may break
let no sound be breathed in
burn my fingers one by one
'till i am eaten thin
sing to me now as i sleep
and hold me when i wake
never release my shackles
in fear that i may break
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Liquid Misery
one sip, a thousand reasons
that no one's ever gonna ask
a million tears, one year
a hundred heartaches, one glass
too many drinks
and still way too much pain
one sip turns into much more
drinking the world away
I wrote that, drunk on laxatives and red wine, shaking from the combination. Purged the red wine, and the former purged themselves, until I was a dehydrated mess of emptiness. Some may cringe away, as if they could block it out. Block out the truth. But, at the same time, perhaps some will look away only because they see a reflection of themselves in these words.
It isn't glamorous. No one ever promised it would be. You hear anorexia, or addict, or whatever society-stricken label you've been assigned... you see a beautifully skinny girl. You never see the nights cried, wrapping into herself from the pain. No one ever thinks of the trembling hands and the bruises on her back from hours of sit-ups. Or the blood painting the rim, laughing back up at you. No one ever really sees the rejected plates, the nightmares lived, the punishments and unforgivements.
But they're there. They're always there.
The road to perfection is pathed with water and self-loathing. It's a well worn road. For me, I can't turn around and go back. I'm chained here, and the key is only at the end. So I walk.
Step after famished step, I walk.
that no one's ever gonna ask
a million tears, one year
a hundred heartaches, one glass
too many drinks
and still way too much pain
one sip turns into much more
drinking the world away
I wrote that, drunk on laxatives and red wine, shaking from the combination. Purged the red wine, and the former purged themselves, until I was a dehydrated mess of emptiness. Some may cringe away, as if they could block it out. Block out the truth. But, at the same time, perhaps some will look away only because they see a reflection of themselves in these words.
It isn't glamorous. No one ever promised it would be. You hear anorexia, or addict, or whatever society-stricken label you've been assigned... you see a beautifully skinny girl. You never see the nights cried, wrapping into herself from the pain. No one ever thinks of the trembling hands and the bruises on her back from hours of sit-ups. Or the blood painting the rim, laughing back up at you. No one ever really sees the rejected plates, the nightmares lived, the punishments and unforgivements.
But they're there. They're always there.
The road to perfection is pathed with water and self-loathing. It's a well worn road. For me, I can't turn around and go back. I'm chained here, and the key is only at the end. So I walk.
Step after famished step, I walk.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Fragile
When I was little, they used to tell us we could do anything. Be anything. They had us write down what we wanted to be when we grew up. Not a single one of us wrote down 'anorexic,' 'self-conscious,' 'depressed.' No one ever thought to put down 'addict,' 'alone,' or 'lost.' No one wanted this to happen.
I woke up, it was 2am, I couldn't sleep again. The world was dream-like, shrouded by a mist. As if I was already gone, looking back at a memory of the living. The night-thoughts came. The whys, the hows, the what-ifs and what-nows. The when-did-this-happens and why-to-mes.
It's as if one moment we're fine, or as close to it as we'll ever be. And the next, we can't even quite recognize the face in the mirror crying back at us. But in reality, it happens slowly. Second by second, thought by thought, trigger by trigger. It happens slowly, until it's too late to be reversed.
Then one day you wake up and ask why. Why, tell me, does every sharp object entice me to open myself? Why do I glare at every piece of food, as if I can intimidate away the calories. Where did all these scars and dreams come from? Have I fallen asleep, and unknowingly wandered to a different depth of hell?
We're all fragile flames, hovering in a vast darkness that is life. I don't know how, or when, or why, but somehow a light breeze drifted across my atmosphere, and extinguished me. Somehow I became what I swore I'd never become.
No one asks us about the future anymore. Perhaps they know we're too far gone to be saved.
I woke up, it was 2am, I couldn't sleep again. The world was dream-like, shrouded by a mist. As if I was already gone, looking back at a memory of the living. The night-thoughts came. The whys, the hows, the what-ifs and what-nows. The when-did-this-happens and why-to-mes.
It's as if one moment we're fine, or as close to it as we'll ever be. And the next, we can't even quite recognize the face in the mirror crying back at us. But in reality, it happens slowly. Second by second, thought by thought, trigger by trigger. It happens slowly, until it's too late to be reversed.
Then one day you wake up and ask why. Why, tell me, does every sharp object entice me to open myself? Why do I glare at every piece of food, as if I can intimidate away the calories. Where did all these scars and dreams come from? Have I fallen asleep, and unknowingly wandered to a different depth of hell?
We're all fragile flames, hovering in a vast darkness that is life. I don't know how, or when, or why, but somehow a light breeze drifted across my atmosphere, and extinguished me. Somehow I became what I swore I'd never become.
No one asks us about the future anymore. Perhaps they know we're too far gone to be saved.
Friday, January 27, 2012
Swinging By A Thread
There's a space between her legs, that wasn't there before... so thin, so small, just enough for a thin ray of light to shine through. But it's what kept her going, what gave her the will to take another breath. A broken flower, thriving on that ray of light, however small and seemingly insignificant. To her, it was everything.
DAY2, 3, and a fail
I thought I was doing great. It was 6:00 on day three, and I hadn't eaten a single thing. Fasting seemed beautiful. But then my dad called. "Make sure you eat dinner tonight," he repeated for the third time. They were on to me.
I cooked myself 62 calories of spinach pasta, ate it... a little bit of oatmeal... and I was bad. I didn't say no to the ghram cracker cake that they had especially cooked for me. Or the wine. In the end, I must've had at least 700 calories. Which was my entire allowance for the three days, two of which I'd spent fasting.
At least I played hard-core basketball for a couple hours. That should even the score.
Still...What a waste.
Anyway, today is my 400 calorie allowance day. Wish me luck. Or don't.
I cooked myself 62 calories of spinach pasta, ate it... a little bit of oatmeal... and I was bad. I didn't say no to the ghram cracker cake that they had especially cooked for me. Or the wine. In the end, I must've had at least 700 calories. Which was my entire allowance for the three days, two of which I'd spent fasting.
At least I played hard-core basketball for a couple hours. That should even the score.
Still...What a waste.
Anyway, today is my 400 calorie allowance day. Wish me luck. Or don't.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Early Morning Whispers
I've never been a hateful person. Not quite. But some things get to me, like the girls who wonder why people haven't noticed they have a problem. Or wonder why no one cares. I hate that they haven't realized the truth; that no one cares, no one ever has or ever will. That life owes us nothing but death.
Maybe I'm just jealous. Jealous that they believe in something, jealous that they hope one day to be saved. I don't have that. I know that the path I'm on will most definitely not lead to my retribution.
No one heard me screaming. No one saw the blood. No one noticed my barely-touched plate. Why should they, after all? I was too lost, and I've never wanted to be found.
Maybe I'm just jealous. Jealous that they believe in something, jealous that they hope one day to be saved. I don't have that. I know that the path I'm on will most definitely not lead to my retribution.
No one heard me screaming. No one saw the blood. No one noticed my barely-touched plate. Why should they, after all? I was too lost, and I've never wanted to be found.
DAYONE: Proof
Well, I did it. Not a single, evil, war-provoking calorie slipped past my chapsticked lips. The funny thing is I'm not even hungry. I mean sure, I have that weird feeling in my stomach and base of my throat. But that's not hunger. That is, perhaps, mild discomfort. You have no idea how fresh it feels to be able to write that. To write that I have eaten nothing. To prove that I am currently pure.
I think I may owe it all to green tea. Seriously. It keeps metabolism working and may even have curbed my appetite. I love the horrible taste, too. I don't even consider binging any more. It's just, when I know something won't happen, I see no point in imagining or contemplating it.
I saw a picture where a girl lost 20 pounds in three months. 1 1/2 pounds per week. Completely attainable. All I can see now when I close my eyes in me, purged of my impurities. Thriving off the air around me. Tomorrow I won't have to eat anything because I'm staying after for soccer. And screw that whole 'I'm hungry so I'll eat' thing. Come on. Where'd that ever get anyone?
"How much will you do?" "One more than my body tells me I can't." -some inspiring movie
Monday, January 23, 2012
Trigger Warning
For some reason it seems that my 'problems' and my experiences are hopelessly intertwined. I don't think one could be without the other. Or maybe that's just victim-mentality.
My most recent trigger has been the rapes. I know it happened almost exactly a month ago, on Christmas morning... But it still affects me. Maybe because he was 13 years older than me. Maybe because it was so violent. Maybe because the trial has yet to be sealed.
Control. We all crave what has been taken from us. That night, despite how I fought, I lost control. It wasn't the first time I'd been raped; and sexual assault is nothing new to me. Yet somehow the past seems to be living, as if it is a ghost walking beside me through my life.
And with each nightmare, I grow more numb. Detached. Until the only thing I can feel is hunger and the sharp edge of a blade. Until the only thing I can hear is Ana, whispering frighteningly tangible poisons in my mind. She's all I have left.
My most recent trigger has been the rapes. I know it happened almost exactly a month ago, on Christmas morning... But it still affects me. Maybe because he was 13 years older than me. Maybe because it was so violent. Maybe because the trial has yet to be sealed.
Control. We all crave what has been taken from us. That night, despite how I fought, I lost control. It wasn't the first time I'd been raped; and sexual assault is nothing new to me. Yet somehow the past seems to be living, as if it is a ghost walking beside me through my life.
And with each nightmare, I grow more numb. Detached. Until the only thing I can feel is hunger and the sharp edge of a blade. Until the only thing I can hear is Ana, whispering frighteningly tangible poisons in my mind. She's all I have left.
All I Ever Wanted
was
to be skinny. I never have been. It's not so much to want, really. Control.
I've never had that either. I've spent my whole life wanting those things,
wanting, trying even, but never achieving. Never winning. Always a
failure.
I'm tired of looking in the mirror and hating what I see. I'm tired of being fat. There's nothing left to do but try harder, to finally reach my dream. To step on the scale, and see the numbers I've only fantasized about. Then, perhaps, I will know love. Then, perhaps, I will know what it is to be happy.
I'm tired of looking in the mirror and hating what I see. I'm tired of being fat. There's nothing left to do but try harder, to finally reach my dream. To step on the scale, and see the numbers I've only fantasized about. Then, perhaps, I will know love. Then, perhaps, I will know what it is to be happy.
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