Recovery

“This could kill you”, she says

As steam settles on the cell-like windows

Like moss clings to a damp wall.

And I wonder how,

How and where I could have gone so wrong

To have ended up Here?

Not just here in this room,

But Here in this life

When I was striving for so much more.

Encompassed by an emptiness

Which, once, could make me so full of life,

Yet now has left me starved and curvless.

Yet now responsible 

For my vacuous stare, for my snow-white skin

And for my thinning hair.

A perfectionist. Always eager to please.

It is when I meet your gleaning gaze, mum,

That I know I have failed.

When did perfection become dependent

On shape and on weight;

On a number that could never be small enough?

“This could kill you”, she says,

As steam settles on the cell-like windows,

And I cling to life like moss clings to a damp wall.

Disclaimer - I no longer suffer from an eating disorder. However, it was only until recently I felt confident enough to talk about the way in which I used to suffer. Mental illnesses are real and it is OK to talk about them. A problem shared is a problem halved (cliche, I know). 

Always be kind x