"You're so skinny! You look anorexic! You look amazing!"
That's not what my boyfriend said
When I broke his heart in a school bathroom
Because he was becoming too much of a third-wheel
Between my illness and I
I worried that the next time he held me close
Called me his
He'd be able to feel my ribs
Like a bony siren
Screaming "THERE'S SOMETHING WRONG HERE"
And I mean,
Who REALLY has my best interest at heart?
DEFINITELY NOT the man who told me he loved me
And wanted me to succeed
No, no, no
DEFINITELY the voice inside my head
Telling me that it's better to be dead than fat
"You're so skinny! You look anorexic! You look amazing!"
That's not what Aunt Flo said
When she gave me a call saying:
"Hey Linds!"
"It's been 3 months since I've been able to send you your monthly gift"
"I'm starting to think you switched addresses!"
"Or maybe I have the wrong postal code!"
"Or maybe, just maybe, you stopped fucking eating!"
Infertility
That's a word I heard a lot
I couldn't fathom creating the fruit of my loins
Mostly because it had the word "fruit" in it
And besides,
As long as you look amazing
Who cares if your organs are shutting down
Right?
"You're so skinny! You look anorexic! You look amazing!"
That's not what I said
When I looked in the mirror
That is,
If I could even stomach my own reflection
Sunken eyes
Cracked lips
And bald spots
I'd wonder
"Is this what beauty is?"
Is beauty worrying that the next time I strapped on my bass drum
And stood in the stands for a football game
That I'd snap in half?
Is it feeling accomplished every time I had a fainting spell?
No.
It's not
It's not even living
It's slow suicide
There was just one thing,
I didn't want to die
Every mouthful felt like defeat
But I had to do it
No longer could I let an abusive voice
Dictate my actions
Threaten my life
My new version of beauty then came into view
When the red patch of recovery appeared in my underwear
A month later
I had never been so excited to not be pregnant
Simply because that meant I could still GET pregnant
After everything
When my ex looked me in the eye
And with all the compassion of a saint
Said that seeing me get better
Meant more to him than our relationship
And that he still loved me
When I saw the roadmap of stretchmarks
As my tiger stripes
My battle scars
Proving that I had an Eating Disorder
But the disorder did not have me
I'm so healthy
I look weight-restored
I look happy.
YOU ARE READING
Food for Thought
Poetry**Trigger Warning** This is a poem about my eating disorder and my recovery. Please forgive me if it's a little funky to read. It was written as a spoken-word poem, meaning it was meant to be performed, not read.
