Monday, August 21, 2017
I wrote about what happened. I've never done that before. I wrote about November 29th 2013.
I'll put the poem up tomorrow, I'm still a bit too anxious to share it today.
It's been a while since I've been able to write, I've either been too happy or too scared to let my words fall out on a page, who knows what monsters will come to life when things get written down in pen. Writing in pencil may be less scary, but the secret is still out once you erase it. You can still see the dent in the page, the mark it created. I tell myself it's worth it, having everything out in the open, but there's a wall between my thoughts and the world. Today I made a small hole. And slowly, I'll knock this wall down.
Monday, August 14, 2017
Does it count if it was his birthday?
Does it count if he was your boyfriend?
Does it count if he was drunk?
Does it count if he said he loved you?
Does it count if he was mentally ill?
Does it count if you were on top?
Does it count if he doesn't remember?
Does it count if you got out of his grip?
Does it count if he didn't finish?
Does it count if you finally gave in?
I want to lose weight. I have a plan. But I'll do it right this time. None of this purging and unhealthy restriction. Good wholesome foods and lots of exercise.
Is this even possible? Is it possible for someone with an eating disorder to lose weight in a healthy way? Is it possible to have a good relationship with your body while trying to lose weight? Is it possible to lose weight and not gain it all back?
I just want to gain muscle and lose fat. Simultaneously. But I know this is impossible. Or is it? Is this just a lie told by my doctor?
My brain is racing. I just want to fall into relapse. To forget the trauma I brought up. To take back all my secrets.
Thursday, August 10, 2017
I told my therapist about my trauma on Tuesday. I got through work okay afterwards but the evening did not go well.
I started shaking around 8pm. By 9 I was sobbing, rocking back and forth on my bed. At 10 I was on the phone with my boyfriend, not saying anything, just crying into the phone. I couldn't relax. Nothing was working. I was alternating between complete dissociation and feeling him on me. I tried to push him off but we wouldn't leave. I felt stuck, being held down in one position. I couldn't move. I wanted to scream. I needed to shower for seven years. Scrub off his filth until none of my skin cells had been touched by him. No one knows what happened. Only my therapist knows the details, and I didn't tell her. I wrote it down on a piece of paper and gave it to her. I couldn't say the words outloud. My boyfriend doesn't know, but he can infer by the nature of my panic attacks. I want to use this pain to write. But it hurts to much to save the file once I have the words on a page. So I delete it. I restart writting the next time I feel too much. But I can never hit the save button. It hurts too much to keep.
Saturday, August 5, 2017
I started this post with the intention of making some sort of metaphor between waterfalls and purging. But, there's nothing beautiful about purging like there is about waterfalls. There's nothing delicate about the way food comes out and falls into the toilet bowl. Splashback is nothing like the mist that's created from water falling into the basin.
My weight has gone up.
Friday, August 4, 2017
Wednesday, August 2, 2017
Tuesday, August 1, 2017
Do you ever need to cry but you can't cry so you binge watch Grey's anatomy to try to get the tears to start running but you just end up feeling numb?
Do you ever feel like an empty shell? Like one of those hollow Easter egg chocolates?
Do you ever just need a hug? Or a reason to live?