A poem about my ongoing, daily struggle with bulimia |
"Tomorrow is a new day!", I tell myself again. I must control myself; abstain, restrict, refrain. I can't avoid my trigger, however much I try. This simplest of pleasures makes me want to cry I see them all around me, and observe their casual mood. Mindlessly eating what they want, enjoying all their food. In the office, at the gym - even walking through the streets. I ask them silently, "What's with you guys? You always need to eat!" It feels provocative, intentional, really kind of cruel. My stomach coils up in fear at breaking every rule. I managed to survive today with barely just a snack. I can feel it creeping in, my resolve about to crack. It's like a cloud inside my brain, softening the facts. It allows me to ignore or justify my ensuing acts. Consuming huge amounts, it hurts to keep it down. Eusophogus so full I fear I'll either choke or drown. It happens in a flash, devouring with manic haste. After the first bite or two it's not about the taste. Determined to finish what's begun, I focus on my task. Surrounded by debris, it's shame in which I basque. My brain begins the process of working out the toll. Calculating the damage, how much I lost control. The end result is never good, it doesn't stop the urge. There's no avoiding the fact that now I need to purge. Feeling anticipation and a little twinge of worry, Is it going to come out in just a dribble or a hurry? I take my tools to the throne, it's a familiar process. This part is easier, my mind does not obsess. Physically demanding, there's no doubt it does some harm. I try not to cry as I rest my forehead on my arm. I tell myself it's just a blip, everything's okay. Why should I be worried when tomorrow's a new day? |