Eating Disorder Poetry: She
This poem is from my book Silent Screams: Into and Out of Bulimia Through Poetry, written when I was a teenager.
(Part one)
As day conspires into night
and the household retires to sleep,
she is left in complete and utter silence.
The journey within reveals
her tortured soul as it awaits its nourishment,
hungrily anxious to devour
the constraint it exercised throughout the day.
The night’s stillness opens doors
into the unexpected,
the dark corners of a young girl’s mind
as she lies in bed, half asleep,
listening to the voices that have taken
her mind hostage:
they direct her to follow them,
a melody so sweet she cannot resist
the comfort they chant in her ear.
She creeps down the staircase
lost in a fog of swirling conflict,
fighting the voices who will not allow her
to awaken pure.
But the voices shift into distorted sounds,
images of daunting TV shows, horror films,
repeating themselves like
a maniacally skipping CD.
The natural impulse to feed her starving body
has turned into a nightmare of
unyielding cravings again tonight.
Descending onto the final stair
she can almost smell the sweet aroma of fulfillment.
The kitchen draws nearer
and the images more vivid –
the only thought that enters her mind
is the need to consume.
In the darkness of night
the freezer opens,
then the fridge;
the microwave hums to life.
Her taste buds are already savouring the flavours
before they slide down her throat
into her ailing body.
But wait – she hears a door,
then footsteps.
She is sure of her intruder
and the threat of being caught –
blind terror paralyses her limbs,
stopping time in its tracks.
The noises cease.
All she hears is the beating of her own heart
and the quickness of her breath.
Back to the task at hand.
Filling her soul with the rich substance
of fulfilled desire,
the feeling of not being lonely anymore;
all of her needs subside
except for the simple action of hand to mouth;
the guilt that festers inside of her
burns deeper than she will ever show.
But back there she will go,
night after night,
craving something to ease her hollow pain.
The tension rises in her gut
as she realizes what she has done;
all of her hopes and dreams vanish
with the thought of gaining weight.
Violent panic seizes her tired body –
there is no other choice,
she must get rid of it.
Like a wild animal
fighting for freedom
she fiercely purges what she cannot say.
Then the moment of stillness,
calm,
relief.
But the mess lingers in her consciousness,
leaving behind an irremovable stain.
Not only does she have a full kitchen to clean
but her emotional secrets are scattered
across the room:
walls,
the ceiling
and the floor all bear her shame.
Such a mess to clean up.
But the incessant voices
are not there to help her now;
their job is done for the night,
leaving her there, helpless,
to pick up her shattered self alone.
The sun shines through her curtains
as she hears the clatter downstairs –
no one is the slightest bit aware
of her destruction the night before.
How can they not notice such a nauseating mess,
a mess never really cleaned up?
It still lies scattered around,
left to be covered up and buried
with the rest of the morning’s feelings.
The day carries on.
She is good today,
only eating the “right” foods,
receiving compliments on her discipline,
willpower, restraint –
it seems that is what she needs
to keep herself on track.
But as the sun draws its last ray of warmth,
the girl finds herself back
where she was the night before,
helpless to a ruthless power
too overwhelming to overcome.
This poem is from my book Silent Screams: Into and Out of Bulimia Through Poetry, written when I was a teenager.
