NEDAW poem

This is another original poem I wrote back in April 2015. With it, I hope to shed some light into the mental aspect of an ed, as we often hear a lot about the food, weight and physical aspects. If you're struggling with an ed or know someone who is, please reach out for help or encourage them to get help. Whether it's Binge eating disorder, Bulimia, OSFED, Anorexia, or any other eating struggle, you need to get help. No one needs to struggle alone. As is mentioned on the NEDA website, it's time to talk about it. Enjoy and as always, feedback is encouraged! 


What is asylum?
Wanting freedom. Being desperate.
Painfully desperate for it.
And admiring the chains that bind you.
Rusty, heavy chains that bite into your flesh.
Tear at your skin and puncture your wrists.
"They're so strong, so sturdy", you say dreamily.
Each movement tightens their grip, your enslavement.
But you don't mind so much.
You've grown used to the bondage. The pain.
"I could escape if I really wanted to, take them off no problem", you say.
But you don't want to.
Or do you?
Maybe you're just scared of what that freedom will mean.
Scared of what's on the other side of the wall you've built.
For so long this prison has been home. You grew to accept and even cherish it. The safety and comfort of its overbearing, domineering presence.
You may be boxed in but it's your box and you know every inch of it.
After all, you designed the blueprint and wrote the floor plan.
You tell yourself that nothing scary will jump out at you. There are no monsters waiting under the bed or lurking around the corners.
You've made sure of it.
What was that shadow?
Oh, just yours.
But wait.
A shadow means there must be a light source.
Fearfully, you retreat into the darkest part of your self tailored agony.
Light means exposure to old and festering messes you tried to hide. And all the monsters you tried to convince yourself weren't real, you'll suddenly be faced with.
You panic and feel for the shackles. Still there.
You tighten them around you as you sit in your small space whispering, "Someone save me".
This is asylum.


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