Categories > Original > Poetry
It's always going to hurt.
You know that.
You'll always think about it.
You know that, too.
You might never get completely better.
You're prepared for that.
But what you weren't ready for was the false feeling of recovery then seeing something that triggers your old ways and suddenly, you feel sick. You're back at square one. You were doing so well. What happened?
You were happy with your healthy diet and not touched the razor blades. One little look at a model and a read of your old diary and you're crying. You feel it growing inside of you. That feeling of absolute dread and pain that will eventually spill over and you will lose all control. Your stomach hurts, that one feeling you know too well, of the way you can feel every bit of food in your stomach and you hate it all, you think you can feel it making you imperfect. Your arms start itching. You know, when you feel like you're falling into that old habit of every second every day wanting to until it gets to where you just can't control yourself, next thing you know you're on the floor crying with blood on your arm, frustrated that you don't bleed much no matter how deep you cut yourself. There's never enough blood.
You're more depressed than ever.
You wish you hadn't asked for help. Wish you had kept it hidden.
You pinch every bit of fat on your stomach and stare at your scars.
Your mind in going a million miles a minute, you can't think.
Your hands start to shake as you go to war with yourself.
What about the alcohol? It could help. Says your anxiety.
NO! You'll get fat. From your friend you know all too well.
Screw drinking, I'll help, and with zero calories. Your razor blade.
NO! Pick me! Pick me! Those pills on the counter.
Maybe all of them whispers your best friends. Those suicidal tendencies.
You don't think you'll ever get over it. Maybe you won't.
Ask yourself. If you knew your best friend was feeling this way, what your you want them to do? Because they care about you, too.
You know that.
You'll always think about it.
You know that, too.
You might never get completely better.
You're prepared for that.
But what you weren't ready for was the false feeling of recovery then seeing something that triggers your old ways and suddenly, you feel sick. You're back at square one. You were doing so well. What happened?
You were happy with your healthy diet and not touched the razor blades. One little look at a model and a read of your old diary and you're crying. You feel it growing inside of you. That feeling of absolute dread and pain that will eventually spill over and you will lose all control. Your stomach hurts, that one feeling you know too well, of the way you can feel every bit of food in your stomach and you hate it all, you think you can feel it making you imperfect. Your arms start itching. You know, when you feel like you're falling into that old habit of every second every day wanting to until it gets to where you just can't control yourself, next thing you know you're on the floor crying with blood on your arm, frustrated that you don't bleed much no matter how deep you cut yourself. There's never enough blood.
You're more depressed than ever.
You wish you hadn't asked for help. Wish you had kept it hidden.
You pinch every bit of fat on your stomach and stare at your scars.
Your mind in going a million miles a minute, you can't think.
Your hands start to shake as you go to war with yourself.
What about the alcohol? It could help. Says your anxiety.
NO! You'll get fat. From your friend you know all too well.
Screw drinking, I'll help, and with zero calories. Your razor blade.
NO! Pick me! Pick me! Those pills on the counter.
Maybe all of them whispers your best friends. Those suicidal tendencies.
You don't think you'll ever get over it. Maybe you won't.
Ask yourself. If you knew your best friend was feeling this way, what your you want them to do? Because they care about you, too.
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