my mind is like a toilet bowl

I threw up in my grandmothers toilet because I ate a bowl of oatmeal and I couldn’t stand the idea of it in my stomach anymore. you see I think this is where it starts. at first it’s just skipping breakfast, and “I’m not hungry” at lunch but then it goes to sticking your finger down your throat trying to force up whatever’s inside of you that’s causing your skin to stretch and your bones to feel like they’re caving in because you feel like you’ll never be the people on the tv.

sometimes when I look in the mirror I feel like I’m dying. nothing matters except the fact that I’m not as thin as I used to be and I can’t fit into the dress I wore to the eight grade dance three years ago and although my bones have grown since then it doesn’t matter. i am drowning in skin that’s always felt too large.

when I go home I will look my mother in the eye and she will ask how my day was and I will not tell her I spent 20 minutes crying because my lunch was refusing to come up my throat, I will not tell her about the triumphant feeling I had when it finally beat gravity.

i will tell her my day was fine.
i will tell her I’m fine.

—  I’m falling apart– Lily Rain

It’s being immersed in lukewarm water
that makes me want to take
pills from my hand
and watch them swirl down the white porcelain of my toilet bowl
my gardens of neon colors
my skies once coated in madness
and creation have been coated in something more standard
at least I don’t daydream about drowning
at least my mind doesn’t go murky and grey
and my loved ones are less afraid

my lover talks about my sleeping patterns as if he’s hit the lottery
stroking back hair like filling his pockets with gold
“thank you for waking up with me”
he fills my cup
with gratitude and pride for resembling something a little more human

for looking like something less manic
less awake
the rapid talking and the desire to write
until the break of day has lessened
my dreams of
swimming with mermaids
and turning the night sky into playgrounds
have been replaced with job applications
my natural hair color
and an awkward smile that I don’t recognize as my own
and my love shouts in victory as I feel less and less like myself

but at least I don’t sleep for months at a time
at least now I’m showering regularly
the dark hollow monster that used to remind me
I’ve been up for far too long and it’s time to come down
he doesn’t live here anymore
but he’s taken parts of me that I love with him

and as my love rejoices in this new diagnosis and medicine
I’m quietly mourning a loss