Oh, and if you're recovering from an ED - good for you, but this isn't the place for you.
And if you are "suffering" from an ED - follow the recoveries. This isn't a place for "victims".
This is a choice,
not an excuse,
not a spotlight,
not a statement,
and definitely not a disease.

Friday, August 21, 2009

Today is Boring

2nd post today. I have no life slash work sucks. So... I rumaged through some old poems and came across my free verse about Mia.

Nervosa? I'm Not Nervous, Just Curious
This endless cycle leaves me with my hands and stomach clenched. No more butterflies in there. This binge and purge, this relapse, it’s keeping me alive, even if my existence is slowly dissipating. The cycle gives me control, I could stop if I want to, but I don’t want to. I want to have something to claim for my own, some sort of success because I never seem to have enough. No, I can’t get enough. Leave me with perimolysis, esophagitis, hypokalemia, and my pride. Oh, yes, I’ll fit into that dress.

You hear me and shake your head. Threaten me with someone smaller than I, someone shrunken. You say I’m destructive, detrimental, disadvantageous. I don’t care, shhh, keep it down. I know I won’t. No combination of words can convince me otherwise.

You keep to your cigarettes, I have my own addiction. You say my addiction has me. Your Belmont’s aren’t holding you, shaking your shoulders. So why, when you see mine bent over and heaving, do you insist it’s different?

You’re so wrong. So damn wrong. So fucking wrong.
The colour under my eyes makes me feel colorful, interesting, a story to read. You hate reading. These broken veins, these broken names, these broken gains, this broken heart.

Maybe if you gave a shit, I might be able to. My heart skips beats, but for all the wrong reasons, there’s not thrill left in this anymore. I’m not ashamed, I’m not the one to blame. It’s those magazines you keep stacked under your mattress. It’s those videos I found in a hidden folder. It’s those you compliment, you lust after. Why can’t I be beautiful enough for you?

This is more than skin deep, it may show in my complexion, but you know this goes deeper than you do every night.

Flushing the weakness away, I feel strong. I’ll faint recurrently, but I am so much stronger currently.

Impulsivity, you call it. Productivity, I call it.
I’m sick and tired but this booze should help, these smokes should help, this weed should help, these pills should help, you could help.
But no. You’ll just stand and shake your head as mine bows down.

It’s a trade you’ll never appreciate.
It’s a war I’ll never win.
It’s a cycle that never ends.


  1. WOW! U can write!!! Hey, as a fellow AnaMia (never thot of myself that way b/c im seriously trying to stop the mia), i feel ur pain. Totally relate. u basically took all the feelings out of my heart and put them into words. wow, mia in a hospital bathroom?! I never can make myself anywhere else than at home.. i also loved that exerpt 4 the book! its so friggin sexy!! well welcome i guess and gud luck in attaing wat u want! :)

  2. omg your brilliant with words, I envy you that.

    welcome to the world of proana/mia blogs - i myself am new to the world of blogs, sharing our deepest secreats with faceless people, people who share the same thoughts, feelings and tell all the same lies...
    welcome x