cold

and though i met you in the winter, i have never felt so warm. you brought springtime and the thaw to a heart that had previously been frozen cold.

‪i started getting sick again when i tried to purge the butterflies from my stomach and ended up puking blood ‬

‪i miss New York City. I miss the sirens in my ears drowning out my thoughts. I was so alive. I was so alive and happy. And free. The city tore my chains right off of me. God bless that place. I think that it did something to me. The dirt and grime of the city got so far under my nails that it melted right into my bloodstream. I wasn't afraid there. I was fearless. I was pushed through the crowds of people like a fish being pushed down the stream by a current and I didn't care. I didn't have anywhere I need to be and I didn't have anyone who needed me. I was alone. I was whole. I was alive. ‬

I can remember to weigh myself, 1, 2, 3 times a day. And I can remember to purge 1, 2, 3, 4 times after having ate. I can remember to drink 2 water bottles and 2 cans of Diet Coke before I put 3 fingers down My throat. I can remember to turn the stereo volume to 10 in case anyone is home. And I can remember the 6 different places that I’ve hidden baggies of puke and bottles of laxatives. But the 1 thing I can’t remember, sometimes–is why I’m doing this. My phone has 2,347 pictures saved to it and half of them are body checks, and crash diets. I spend 23 hours every day debating whether or not 300 calories is too much. But by 8 o'clock it doesn’t matter because I’ve eaten 3,000 and now I’m hiding back in the bathroom again. 9 out of 10 fingers are covered in polish because I sometimes check the 1 nail to see if it’s turned blue yet. And I have 7 different bruises that I can see and I don’t know where they came from, and I don’t know why I feel oddly proud of them. I have over 100 hairs collected in a ball in the shower because when I run my fingers through it, it falls out. I have 1 chair in the shower too, because sometimes, I fall over. But I’m used to almost falling over at least 4 times before 11 am and counting to 10 and trying to ground myself back in reality again. And I’m certainly used to walking on the treadmill for 2 hours to burn 650 of the calories I haven’t even eaten. I have grown accustom to waking up at 4, 5, 6am with laxative pains that are too embarrassing too admit. I have been committed 3 times but I’ve never really been sick because I’ve never really been thin. I mean, for 6 months my dad told everyone he loved me and that he was so proud of me, but that’s just because I was momentarily skinny. And for 1 year my mother screamed at me if I didn’t eat. But they haven’t done that in 2 years. So what does that say about me.

now there's just ashes instead of magic and the butterflies have all turned to dust inside my stomach. like milk that turns sour--love turns rancid.

it's 2am and the memories no longer feel so good and they're not enough when you're not here to hold me. it's 2am and your voice in my head sounds like nothing more than nails on a chalkboard and im not even sure what you really sound like anymore. it's 2am and im thinking about all the times i said i loved you and i wonder if i meant it or just felt as though you needed to hear it. it's 2am and im starting to realize that we were never really good for each other, but i would take having your poison in my veins again if it meant i could also hold you in my arms.

tell me what the conversation sounded like when you spoke to God and told him that i wasn't what you wanted anymore.

i am the one night stand you have with your childhood bed before you run away to the big city again.

you can never get the blood off of your hands after you’ve broken a heart that was otherwise whole and tender and innocent