Tag Archives: eating disorder

For Me

Depression, for me, was crying with every bite that I took because it’s been 2 weeks and I still have no appetite and I couldn’t get out of bed even if I wanted to…which I seldom ever did.
My body was a ticking time bomb that was about to shut off rather than go off at any moment if I didn’t try to gulp down sips of water that I didn’t want- because that meant that I’d have to suffer through another day of feeling nothing. Hah, fucked up doesn’t even touch the word “depression.” I was so close to booking a stay at our nearest hospital. Whether medical or psychiatric,  I don’t even want to know.
Depression was sitting on my bedroom floor after seven benadryl and half a bottle of zzquil, somewhat muffled-ly hearing my mom beg me not to make her bury me
And then hearing those words replay again and again and again in the back of my fucked up head as I did even more reckless things.
I didn’t want to die, not consciously. I don’t know if subconsciously either, but in this case, ignorance is bliss.
All that I know is that I didn’t want to be, somedays. And I wanted to feel, literally anything, others.
Depression was hopelessness in THE most terrifying sense of the word. And clearly, that word is pretty fucking scary.
Depression was my worst enemy.
And my most reliable companion.



Life Isn’t Poetry

Hating yourself isn’t poetry,
Eating disorders are not poetry,
Mental illnesses are not poetry,
Addictions are not poetry,
Wanting to die isn’t poetry.

And it isn’t “life.” Part of life is not suffering from pain brought on by your shitty home life, or your brutal tongued peers, or what that person still did to you when you said “no.”

And it’s not the scars on your wrists or the empty bottles hidden in your drawers or the places you can’t go because the memories scream too loudly. It’s not the secrets you keep or the pictures you burned.

It’s not the “one more” pill you shouldn’t have taken, or the time you stood on an overpass, looking down at the busy roads and wondering what it would be like if you jumped. Nor will it ever be a broken heart.

Life isn’t poetry.