It’s starting to sink in,
the fact that I’ve lost a part of me;
I must learn to keep “it” apart from me.
I was never apart from you
you will NEVER again be a part of me
~~~~~~~~~~
They said that since she (anorexia) wasn’t ever physically real; letting go shouldn’t ache, as much as it does right now, but it does.
I feel like a kid who has just been told that Santa isn‘t real. Every year after that, it stings, the fantasy is forever gone.
It was time to move on and start believing in something else….
“She was real.” I pronounce each word with so much force and venom that even I am surprised.
I am left alone, given time to come up with an apology; but I can’t because I start to stare at the gaps, the hallow indents of flesh missing from my frame; evidence of her existence.
They walked away and I heard them talking. “it’s just a phase… she‘ll learn to forget.”
But I don’t and I can’t, because if she wasn’t real, if she wasn’t a part of me, then I am not real.
I heard her, every night, when everything was still and empty. Her low murmurs let me know that it was safe to let go. I felt her too, after I was forced to eat and it hurt to much to be still.
You can have my naive nature. My belief in the Easter bunny, tooth fairy, magical leprechauns, and any remanding shred of childlike innocence that allowed me to believe in something that I can’t see; but not this!
She was real!!!
I still hear her, when you see me pensive, lost in thought. I try not to listen because I promised I wouldn‘t.
When you see me defeated, curl up and wrapped in blankets, after meal time; it’s her voice that lulls me to sleep.
You bend down to kiss me and wonder out loud how I could feel so cold when it’s 85 degrees. I am paralyzed with one thought, “she’s still right here..Why can’t you feel her?”
~~~~
I said good-bye too hastily, her imprint on my skin, still lingers.
Her voice still roams around in my head.
I need to feel her exit, I need that feeling back because the bigger I get, the bigger “it” gets… So please.…please, let me just have this one illogical nuance; let me keep this, She was real.
If she wasn’t real; then, this is something that exists only in my head; self-created and self-serving.
Something that I can turn on and off, at will, or something I control.
I know, that’s a reality that I must face one day but not today.
You see, if she is real then, I am allowed time to grieve, time to adjust {to thinking in the singular tense} and time to nurse the frostbite.
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