Sticks and Stones

At first, I tried to protest and defy
Do you hear them too?
Faint echoes that resonate until I comply

I try to makes sense as they fill my head
Do they occupy a space in you?
Murmurs that intensify begging to be fed

I keep her words locked up inside
Does she silence you?
Tainted words seep out-one by one-until I abide

I swallow air until I am skin and bones
Does she consume you too?
Silent pleads stir within me

I polish my armor of sticks and stones
As she greedily licks at my core
Did she leave you the bones?

**********

I wish I could go back and erase those words but that won't dull the pain that they've created.

Playing with the semantics and syntax or presenting them in a fashion that won't offend you won't ease my conscious or leave me feeling less exposed.

This was written before I had absolutely no intention of fighting this monster called anorexia.

I had yet to experience the panic brought on by bulimia or had become an addict.

Yeah, that came later, like I was saying, my protests were silent and I polished my armor but I did not fire.

Recovery, at the time, was just an idea that roamed around my head and one that I did not spend time entertaining .

At the time, I had yet to feel the self-loath or resentment that followed when I realized that I've been disappearing, fading, waiting to die.

I am not the same person who wrote those words anymore.

I know I must be making some progress but I feel trapped living with the duality of wanting recovery and not wanting to let go.

I feel like I am living in a little cell, that is getting smaller and I am afraid that one day i'll become indifferent.

I don't know how I got to this place but after being here so long, the familiarity gets mistaken for safety.

I should be banging at the bars or trying to pry the lock off. Only, there is no cell and I am free to roam about but I can't because there is this big fear that looms in my head.

It's always the same thought that repeats and leaves me frozen. I wish I could verbalize it and try to begin to explain it.

These words, thoughts, and behaviors cloud my perception but I know that they aren't really mine; they belong to anorexia.

There was a time when I wasn't eating disordered. Why can't I remember?