Out Of Order

Going our separate ways You're going to miss me. He said as I was packing to go to that shelter. I stayed silent and placed my clothes in my bags. You know you are. I sighed. He got closer to me. You don't think you're going to miss me? Yes! I mean... you can't act like it didn't happen. What are you talking about? The other day, when you showed up to my test. That's what I'm talking about. Woah, calm down. I always come to your martial arts classes. I rolled my eyes at how insensitive he was being. Yes, but this wasn't just a class. It was my test! And I almost missed it because of you. I could've failed! You came and distracted me and pulled me out in front of everyone. I was so embarrassed. And then you dragged me in the back and... you really hurt me. And if it hadn't been for the other members who saw what happened, I wouldn't have been able to finish. Listen, I'm sorry, okay? He tried to soothe. I moved away. No you...

May 3, 2017 An original poem inspired by a typically difficult eating experience that I got through with the much appreciated help of friends. I did something without you today Well, you were still there, I guess, in a way But maybe the hunger helped silence your voice Helped silence the demands you disguised as my choice And I don't mean hunger for food or for drink But something much deeper than what one would think Something like  freedom to pick and to choose To settle on something without your abuse But I know you're still there, lurking around Waiting for all of this soon to go down For now though, the voice of support's in my ear Cheering me on and fighting the fear "You'll regret it" , you say And I know this is true But today, at least, I did something without you Will it happen again? That I don't know Do I even want it to? Only time will show

... I looked up online a shelter for abused women. I applied for it and immediately felt fear. What was I doing? How could I do this? Leave Ed, my... "best friend"? But I felt a drive and compulsion to stick with it. Hey. I  jumped at the sound of his presence. Hi. What are you doing? What was I doing? Nothing. Uh, nothing. You're making a mistake, you know? What are you talking about? We both know what you're doing. It's not like I'm leaving tonight or anything. So you are planning on leaving, then? Why was I the one feeling bad? No, I just... I don't know. I sighed. That's okay, I already told you you could leave. I'm not stopping you. It just sucks what's going to happen. What do you mean "what's going to happen"? Look at you, you haven't reached your goal. What do you think is going to happen when you start listening to her again? Oh God . Oh God. Oh God. No, don't panic. He's wrong, don't...

The morning after Originally written on April 3, 2017 I shouldn't have come to see you, this was a mistake. I said the next morning. What do you mean, the past three days were great? But I'm so exhausted. That's usually what happens when you have a good time. He said with a smirk. I was silent. You're not still thinking of leaving are you? I don't know. How else are you going to have such a great time? Where else are you going to get this high from? I can do other things. True. But it's not going to be anything like what we have together. I wish I could say that I responded with a snarky "that's the point" comment but I didn't. I just sat. And thought. If you really want to leave, I'll let you go. But at least let me give you this. I looked down at my wrist. What's this? It's a bracelet. A bracelet? It was connected by a chain of sorts to a similar looking "bracelet" around him. Um, okay. Well, I...

One last NEDAW original poem I know I'm a few days late but I wanted to post this poem to end off Neda awareness week. I really hope this captures the frustration, competition, desperation, and misery that comes along with an ED. There is nothing fun about being ill with one and while weight should not be the focal point of an ED, this poem speaks on weight insecurities. For me, this is what having an ED feels like, this is what it feels like being the weight I am now and saying I "have an ED". EDs are not fun or something one does because they have or lack self control. They aren't something you try for a while then change your mind about. They are complex mental disorders and they wreak havoc and create/maintain chaos in our lives while promising to ease it. And many of us who have them know this, yet we are unable to stop... without help of some sort. If you find that you relate to any of these poems, please reach out and get help. Recovery is real and possibl...