Out Of Order

A poem Ghost Here I am , right in front of you but you don't see me I'm disappearing and you don't notice I glide around seemingly effortlessly but on weak legs The skeletons you see hanging around are not for decoration The very slight and barely-there bluish tint in my nail beds is not makeup I'm cold. I'm freezing. There is a knock at my door and I open it...      "Trick or treat?" It asked. I should've kept all the lights off and put up a "Not Home" sign. But I didn't. I entertained the greeting. Would it have even mattered, had I done those things? I don't think so. I would still have been visited this night. I gave a treat and in turn received a trick A wonderful, fatal trick The carvings I had made before and set on my front porch did little to scare away all the goblins and ghouls which threatened and haunted me They cast their shadows through my windows and underneath my doors So this trick of mine was li

Odd one out So I have always felt like the girl who didn't belong. In school growing up, at former churches (sad, I know), at work, I just felt like I could not fit in or "join" any group. I was always the odd one. I didn't, however, feel this way with my family; I felt fine around my mom and sister. Sure, I felt pressure and a heavy weight of responsibility but I didn't feel like an outcast. Not until October 25, 2015. You see that blue pencil up there? That was me after returning from Res, I was broken. I was broken and everyone around me knew it. I couldn't hide it or cover it up anymore. I was an alien compared to those closest to me, my brain and the way it worked was different. And the difference was so visible to me as I immersed myself back into "home" life. The way I related to food was so different than those who lived with me. It's hard to explain but I can feel the difference in myself, in my brain. I can tell how different I am c

Prose I was at Starbucks as I composed this yesterday and I don't even know from where it was all coming. There was a picture on Facebook with a quote of, "It was good for a while, being empty. I didn't hurt anymore. But as time went on, it was like I could hear myself from far away, begging for permission to come back." This inspired the following prose and the words just started flowing. Where did I go? I've sent myself far away and have forbade myself from returning. "Go, you're not wanted here. Don't ever come back." I left and in my place is this, this thing. Taking over and wearing my appearance like an outfit that doesn't quite fit. But I didn't put up a fight... Or maybe I did? Maybe the pangs and lightheadedness are my strikes against this monster in my head. Or maybe not. After all, I welcome these sensations and indulge in them like a guilty pleasure. A midnight snack free of calories. Full of shame. I wander a

OCD is... Sleeping on my back with my hands not touching any part of my body because I'm afraid that whatever area they touch, I may get a disease there-- specifically, the Big C. Having "the Big C" word just pop in my mind during random times and quickly thinking of another word so I don't get it. Not wanting to hold a baby for fear that I may cause deliberate harm to it. Sitting on my hands while in the passenger side of the car because I'm worried that if I don't, I may lose control and grab the steering wheel and force us into on coming traffic. OCD is knowing I just flossed the right side of my teeth but doing it one more time because did I really ? It's checking my alarm over and over just to be sure it really is set for the correct time and that nothing changed within the last five seconds. This post has been a few months in the making (I originally planned on making this post earlier this year, shortly after I made the first post about mental

Why Why. Why. Why. It echoes inside of me and bounces around on my ruined walls. The eternal question which has not ceased to nag at me. Why. Why. Why. Why. Why. I muffle it with emptiness as the beast in my pit roars and growls with hunger, its rumbling screaming over the internal voice. Why. Why. Why. Why. Why. Why. Why. Why. WHY. WHY?! Silence!! Stop!! No more. I don't want to hear you. Leave me alone!! I bury the voice under the pounds I shed and drown it out in the salty sweat that pours from me. Why. Why. Why. I flee from it into the coldest parts of me, stumbling over shattered pieces of my frame and cutting myself on its edges. The blood forms small beads and scabs over, protecting the exposed areas. Why. Why. Why. The voice pushes through still. Silence it, gotta silence it. Gotta find out where the voice is hiding and silence. Get rid of it. I mean, I know it's in me... but where? I increase my efforts to drive it out. More emptiness, less pounds, more

Ugh. I don't need this. This is too much. This is a horrible mistake. Why did I decide to do this? I should've just waited. This is what was going through my mind as I was at the store waiting on the woman behind the counter as she prepared my lunch-- which was my first "meal" of the day. Also, this was after work, around five pm. I was in the middle of lamenting to a friend via text and telling her how awful I felt for doing what people do everyday, getting food. "Stick with it", "it's a very good difficult decision", and "you need it" were among her responses. No! Why did I even do this?! NO!! "So should I get the donut or the sandwich?" I asked her, because of course, I can't have a sandwich and a donut in the same day. Absolutely not, the world will end. She said I should do the sandwich due to the fact that it would provide me with the most nutrition since my eating has been... below average lately. No! But

Period. The more I live and experience things, I am beginning to realize that who I am is okay. I have always been different from whatever "group" I was in. I have always felt like an outsider and while I wouldn't always try to change myself to "fit in" (though, sometimes I caved), I would always feel so bad for not being accepted. People have accused me of being too serious, reserved, stuck up, high maintenance. It used to bother me soooo much and would still bother me to an extent if I encountered those types of comments again. But I am beginning to feel less and less affected by those types of perceptions people try to insist I display. I'm not shy by any means but I do like to keep to myself whenever possible. I'm not stuck up but I do have standards and I respect my boundaries. And I expect those who are in my life to respect my boundaries as well. Or you're not going to be in my life. I'm not high maintenance but I am particular abou

Never About ... Possibly triggering... It was never about trying to be Barbie's bff or about getting the attraction of Ken. I never wanted to appear like the malnourished looking models that "grace" our magazines or be as thin as the mannequins that modeled their fashion. But I have wanted the infamous thigh gap , just waaaay before those two words were ever used together. Way before it seemed to be a "trend". I never even called it that as I fantasized about having tinier thighs. I just remember looking at myself as a child and hating what I saw. I hated the way my legs touched. I wanted so much for them to be apart, so as to allow a small glimmer of light to shine between them when I stood or sat. I just wanted to be able to slip my hand between them easily without feeling their flesh brushing against my fingers. It was never about looking like those around me, but about strength. I had to be fit and toned and  strong. Everything on me needed to be pe