my eating disorder has been a lot of things â
a slow and deliberate suicide, a way to numb
myself up until I couldnât feel a thing, a distraction
the real problem is not the body I inhabit or
the ways in which it haunts me in my sleep.
itâs not the way I look, fat on my hips & thighs
that rub together with each step, acne
littering my peach pit skin;
the real problem is that my mind is cracked into pieces.
it is broken in all the places where it should be glued together;
shaking when all is calm & screaming
when there is nothing to fear.
replacing food with air like caloric value is nothing more
than a number & fat content is content with being empty when
in reality, itâs the food that helps the body thrive but
the eating disorder exists because I never wanted this body
to thrive, in fact Iâve always wanted to destroy it.
can you understand this? this desire
to end the thing which gives you life; this desire to
destroy that in which is continuously creating you?