A Poem: One More Time

I do not want to die.
But I do want to live like this.
You will never have any idea what this disease is like.
At least, I hope that is the case.

I stare at the into the toilet bowl for the thousandth time.

You say it is all in my head.
You say I have control.
You say it is about the food.
You say it is not about the food.

You have no idea how big this is.
You have no idea how weak I feel.
I tell you I am sick of this.
You nod, as if you understand.
I so much appreciate the empathy.

But, you, you do not understand.

This disease grips it’s cold, grey hands around my heart.

It suffocates my way of thinking.
The voices in my head twist the voices that are all around me.
It seems so unfair.
Yet, I cannot seem to stop their dreadful ways.

My knees are becoming weak.
It is hard to stand.
I tell myself to be strong.
Or, the voices will be twice as loud.

They will tell me that I am fat.
That my clothes don’t fit.
That I do not deserve to leave the house.
That I cannot have my breakfast.
That I should be ashamed to be seen.
That I cannot be loved.

So, what would you do?
Listen to all that noise?
Or would you throw up your food too?
Makes you think, does it not?
It starts to hurt and I begin to see stars.

Relief overtakes me as I’m getting tired.

Just once more.
For good measure.
I start to clean up my mess.
The smells and sights no longer bother me.
I wish they did.

Maybe then I would have reconsidered.
What a constant battle.
I wish you were here to hold my hand.
To get me through these moments.
But, at the same time, I pray that you never find out.
So that I can be alone with my disorder.

So that I can have it all to myself.
So that I can confide in it.
Whenever and wherever I want to.
Can I tell you how impossible it feels?

To fight against a disorder that tells me that I do not need anyone?
To fight a disorder that has convinced me I will be better to listen to voices in my head?
I cannot tell you how sorry I am to be standing here in the bathroom again.

However, stopping feels next to impossible.
I do not know what the future holds.
I am scared.

Yet, I am hopeful.

It could be different?
It could be different.
So for tonight,

I will clean up the bathroom one more time.
I will dispose of my trash one more time.
I will relax under the effects of the endorphins one more time.
I will say thank you to the Almighty for my life and for you one more time.

I will crawl into bed and fall asleep exceptionally quickly one more time.
I will keep fighting for another day one more time.There is not a word strong enough to describe this horror of this disease.

So, just pray for me.

Pray for us.

That we can find a way to overcome the voices in our head.
That we can find a way out.
That we can find freedom from our disorders.
After all, I think that is why we haven’t given up yet.
Because there are recovered people out there living.

Actually living; the way I hope to live one day.

And somewhere, within our souls, we do have hope for ourselves.
That, perhaps, I/you/she/he could be the next one to be free.

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