Random quotes

Door Groundzero gepubliceerd op Saturday 05 April 19:07

Quotes from "Wasted" by Marya Hornbacher

"You begin to forget what it means to live. You forget things. You forget that you used to feel all right. You forget what it means to feel all right because you feel like shit all the time, and you can't remember what it was like before. People take the feeling of full for granted. They take for granted the feeling of steadiness, of hands that do not shake, heads that do not ache, throats not raw with bile and small rips of fingernails forced to haste to the gag spot. Stomachs that do not begin to wake up in the night, calves and thighs knotting in muscles that are beginning to eat away at themselves. they may or may not be awakened at night by their own inexplicable sobs."

"You never come back, not all the way. Always there is an odd distance between you and the people you love and the people you meet, a barrier thin as the glass of a mirror, you never come all the way out of the mirror; you stand, for the rest of your life, with one foot in this world and no one in another, where everything is upside down and backward and sad."

"An eating disorder is not usually a phase, and it is not necessarily indicative of madness. It is quite maddening, granted, not only for the loved ones of the eating disordered person, but also for the person herself. It is, at the most basic level, a bundle of contradictions: a desire for power that strips you of all power. A gesture of strength that divests you of strength. A wish to prove that you need nothing, that you have no human hungers, which turns on itself and becomes a searing need for the hunger itself. It is an attempt to find an identity, but ultimately it strips you of any sense of yourself, save the sorry identity of "sick". It is a grotesque mockery of cultural standards of beauty that ends up mocking no one more than you. It is a protest against cultural stereotypes of women that in the end makes you seem the weakest, the most needy and neurotic of all women. It is the thing you believe is keeping you safe, alive, contained - and in the end, of course, you find it is doing quite the opposite. These contradictions begin to split a person in two. Body and mind fall apart from each other, and it is in this fissure that an eating disorder may flourish, in the silence that surrounds this confusion that an eating disorder may fester and thrive."

"And when, after fifteen years of binging, barfing, starving, needles and tubes and terror and rage, and medical crises and personal failure and loss after loss, when, after all this, you are in your early twenties and staring down a vastly abbreviated life expectancy, and the eating disorder still takes up half your body, half your brain, with its invisible eroding force, when you have spent the majority of your life sick, when you do not yet know what it means to be "well," or "normal," when you doubt that those words even have meaning anymore, there are still no answers. You will die young, and you have no way to make sense of that fact. You have this: You are thin."

"The anoretic operates under the astounding illusion that she can escape the flesh, and, by association, the realm of emotions. The summer before I left for boarding school was the last time I would ever fully understand that I was a human being, and occasionally care about myself as such. I was about to become an anoretic. That is to say, I, the girl I knew as myself, was about to disappear. She was about to become no more than the blank space in the mirror where my body had once been. She was about to become no more than a very small voice. However people know things about themselves, through premonitions or suspicions or specific plans, I knew this. And I was afraid. Yet I wanted it more than anything."

"For a long time I believed the opposite of passion was death. I was wrong. Passion and death are implicit, one in the other. Past the border of a fiery life lies the netherworld. I can trace this road, which took me through places so hot the very air burned the lungs. I did not turn back. I pressed on, and eventually passed over the border, beyond which lies a place that is wordless and cold, so cold that it, like mercury, burns a freezing blue flame."

"I didn't particularly want to live much longer than [twenty]. Life seemed rather daunting. It seems so to me even now. Life seemed like too long a time to have to stick around, a huge span of years through which one would be required to tap-dance and smile and be Great! and be Happy! and be Amazing! and be Precocious! I was tired of my life by the time I was sixteen. I was tired of being too much, too intense, too manic. I was tired of people, and I was incredibly tired of myself. I wanted to do whatever Amazing Thing I was expected to do -- it might be pointed out that these were my expectations, mine alone -- and be done with it. Go to sleep. Go to a heaven where there was nothing but bathtubs and books."

"I felt like I was going out of my mind. My head was never quiet. Quiet is an in-between point, implying a balance between noise and silence, between the strange blackouts I began to have -- pure silence, not sleeplike but deathlike -- and the hellish shrieking jumble of my own thoughts and the voices of the world. And the sharp hiss of one voice that started out softly, as though below layers of moss, or flesh, and gradually became so loud it drowned out everything else: Thinner, it said. You've got to get thinner. But you know, even then, that word was wrong. It is more than Thinness, per se, that you crave. It is the implication of Thin. The tacit threat of Thin. The Houdini-esque-ness of Thin, walking on hot coals without a flinch, sleeping on a bed of nails. You wish to carry Thinness on your arm, with her cool smile. You wish for that invisible, vibrating wire that hums between two lovers, implying a private touch. You wish for such a wire, humming between you and Thinness, at a party, on the street, humming softly between you and death."

"I'd read somewhere that if you made yourself a snow cave you could keep warm, the snow itself would keep out the cold of the snow, and I was so incredibly tired, willing my legs to keep walking. We were having a family outing and I didn't want to ruin it but I was so fucking cold. I wish I could find words to explain what this kind of cold is like- the cold that has somehow gotten in underneath your skin and is getting colder and colder inside you. It isn't an outside sort of cold; it's a cold that gets into your bones and into your blood and it feels like your heart itself is beating out the cold in hard bursts through your entire body, and you suddenly remember that you have a body because you can't ignore it anymore. You feel like an ice cube."

"It is not a sudden leap from sick to well. It is a slow, strange meander from sick to mostly well. The misconception that eating disorders are a medical disease in the traditional sense is not helpful here. There is no "cure". A pill will not fix it, though it may help. Ditto therapy, ditto food, ditto endless support from family and friends. You fix it yourself. It is the hardest thing that I have ever done, and I found myself stronger for doing it. Much stronger."

"It was not the first time I'd fallen. It wasn't even the first time I'd faded, slipped, and fallen, not the first time I felt my vision blur and dim. But before there had always been a few things to warn me: the knees buckle, the center of gravity dissolves and the arms feels like they've begun to float, the ears ring, the eyelids flutter. It's just like the movies. I could always see myself falling, I'd always known. This time it just went black."

"Malnutrition precipiates mania. So does speed. Both were at play here, in large doses. But so was masochism - the subjection of the self and/or body to pain and fear, ultimately resulting in a transitory sense of mastery over pain and fear. Every morning, I ran five miles, up and down this hall, touching the door at each end, the mark of an obsession. I had to touch the door or else it didn't count. You make up these rules, and if you break the rules, God help you, you have to run an extra mile to make up for it. When I was done, I'd go downstairs to the workout room and weigh myself."

"My god! people say. You have so much self-control! And later: My god. You're so, so sick. When people say this, they turn their heads, you've won your little game. You have proven your thesis that no-body-loves-me-every-body-hates-me, guess-I'll-just-eat-worms. You get to sink back into your hospital bed, shrieking with righteous indignation. See? you get to say. I knew you'd give up on me. I knew you'd leave."

"There is a self-perpetuating belief that one simply cannot help it, and this is very dangerous. It becomes an identity in and of itself. It becomes its own religion, and you wait for salvation, and you wait, and wait, and wait, and do not save yourself. If you saved yourself, and did not wait for salvation, you'd be self-sufficient. How dull."

"There is never a sudden revelation, a complete and tidy explanation for why it happened, or why it ends, or why or who you are. You want one and I want one, but there isn't one. It comes in bits and pieces, and you stitch them together wherever they fit, and when you are done you hold yourself up, and still there are holes and you are a rag doll, invented, imperfect. And yet you are all that you have, so you must be enough. There is no other way."

"We turn skeletons into goddesses and look to them as if they might teach us how not to need."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

. Waar Poëzie is geborduurd In dergelijke Imperfection.

 

 

“I stole a loaf of cinnamon buttered bread and a bottle of sherry, but I shared it with the other girls so really it was only half a sin”… We stayed up all night and sang songs till the dawn, until we could feel the blood rise an bubble forth on the outskirts of our skin. I was among the leaders, the other girls of course did follow, who else could they really turn too? Nobody has any passive awareness of what we do, so why should it really bother anyone? We are all imperfect pounds of flesh, trapped in a box outside from the world and the mother we share.

 

Though I think, it was better that way nobody knows of our existence, except those who abandoned us here, and left us to remain in this sort of prison. We are the only ones left, and all sorts are among us so we aren’t in the sense alone. Doctors, nurses, guards, though there are many here they have no clue what so ever, on how to as they put it, “cure us”. I on the other hand, thought they were just miserable specs looking for a way to play God….

 

If one, should die, for it would not matter they would just place us in the backs of convent gardens, and pray the authorities would not come and see that we went missing from the rest. “We” remembered them, even though such evildoers did not want us too. Lab rats yes, so easily compared to them, on the verge of being the first on rimes of experimentation. Did not want to think as if this was going to be forever, in this dull aching divinations we play apart in so easily together…

" Ik heb een brood van kaneel brood met boter en een fles sherry , maar ik deelde het met de andere meisjes dus echt het was slechts een halve zonde " ... We bleven de hele nacht en zongen liederen tot aan de dageraad , tot we konden voelen de bloed stijgen een zeepbel weer op de rand van onze huid . Ik was onder de leiders , de andere meisjes natuurlijk wel volgen , wie anders konden ze echt te draaien ? Niemand heeft het passieve bewustzijn van wat we doen , dus waarom zou het echt niemand lastig ? We zijn allemaal onvolmaakt kilo vlees , gevangen in een doos buiten uit de wereld en de moeder we delen .

 

Hoewel ik denk , dat het beter was op die manier weet niemand van ons bestaan ​​, met uitzondering van degenen die ons hier achtergelaten , en liet ons in dit soort gevangenis te blijven . Wij zijn de enigen , en allerlei zijn onder ons , dus we zijn niet in de zin alleen. Artsen , verpleegkundigen , bewakers , al zijn er veel hier hebben ze geen idee wat zo ooit , over hoe om zoals zij het ​​uitdrukte, " genezen ons " . Ik aan de andere kant , dachten dat ze waren gewoon ongelukkig specs op zoek naar een manier om God te spelen ....

 

Als men , moet sterven , want het zou niet uit ze gewoon plaatsen ons in de rug van de kloostertuinen , en bidt de autoriteiten niet zou komen en zien dat we vermist van de rest . " Wij " herinnerde hen , ook al zulke boosdoeners niet ons te willen . Lab ratten ja , zo gemakkelijk in vergelijking met hen , op de rand van het zijn de eerste op Rimes van experimenteren . Wilde niet denken , alsof dit zou gaan voor altijd , in dit doffe pijn divinations we elkaar spelen in zo gemakkelijk bij elkaar ...

 

 

 

"Diep in de duisternis Ik begon lang schrijven met de ganzenveer, die alleen brengt geluk tranen van bloed, peering, twijfelende, steeds meer met het bewust gedachten die rond glibberen in mijn hoofd, op deze pagina's heb ik voor mij ....

 

 

:bulletblack::bulletblack::bulletblack:

"Deep into the darkness I began writing long with the quill, which only brings about fortunate tears of blood,peering,doubting,ever more with the cognizant thoughts that slither around in my head, onto these pages I have before me....

---"bewildered-scribbler.deviantar…

 

"La tristesse en moi monte comme la mer, et laisse, en refluant, sur ma lèvre morose...Mon coeur est un palais flétri par la où les purs Esprits seuls peut-être étaient venus, — Comme un homme monté trop haut, pris de panique, s'écria, transporté d'un orgueil satanique...Ta honte égalerait ta gloire, et tu ne serais plus dérisoire"....

---Charles Baudelaire

 

"Under what spell the guiding light betook the undertaker, under whose gaze did fall such evil blunder characters of flamen eyes eager to burn the wooden castle, eager to wet the paper heart of children birds the aching starlet the singing the whining ghost, brutal wind of snowy harlot, chafen mine eyes a sandpaper kiss, bloody rosen my cheek, purple kiss of stardust pink balloon of time"...

--Cocorosie

 

"From childhood's hour I have not been as others were, I have not seen as others saw, I could not bring my passions from a common spring, from the same source I have not taken my sorrow, I could not awaken”….."

--Edgar Allen Poe

 

“Something is about to be born there's a restlessness in me, keeps me up until the dawn there is no silence I will keep following the sirens, there is no silence, I will keep following the sirens, living in a state in-between, do the signs begin to show see the eyes fare in the dark”…..

---Oh Land

 

"My hope is now a poison in me, and it is making it hard for me to breathe, my tears have now turned to powder in the perilous world of mine, what a merciless dictator blast it all for it only makes me see my imperfection, my flaws deep down for it is all but corruption"...

---bewildered-scribbler.deviantar…

 

"I am but a flower in the twilight screaming with the whistling of the breeze, for I am here to stay in the epitome of darkness, for I do not know where I belong, the light has gone out of me and I am but a elegant abhor of a thing, which I remain to be in the gallows of the graves"....

---bewildered-scribbler.deviantar…

 

“These ideas of mine, percolate the mind ,trickle down the spine swarm the belly, swelling to a blaze that's when the pain comes in like a second skeleton, trying to fit beneath the skin I can't fit the feelings in”….

--Fiona Apple

 

“I am nobody! Who are you? are you nobody, too? Then there’s a pair of us—don’t tell, they ’d banish us, you know….How dreary to be somebody! How public, like a frog to tell your name the livelong day to an admiring bog”….

--Emily Dickinson

 

“As every flower fades and as all youth departs, so life at every stage, so every virtue, so our grasp of truth, blooms in its day and may not last forever, since life may summon us at every age ,be ready, heart, for parting, new endeavor, be ready bravely and without remorse to find new light that old ties cannot give”….

--- Hermann Hesse

 

“Today is gonna be the day, you hear somebody say, we need you wide awake you hear the moments, kick and play, the order of the day is hollering your way,the window shade, the nursing aid to let it all just work away, quiet moments hum but some do you wrong, today is gonna be the day”….

---Agnes Obel

 

Is love a fancy, or a feeling? No, it is immortal as immaculate Truth. 'Tis not a blossom, shed as soon as youth drops from the stem of life— for it will grow, in barren regions, where no waters flow nor ray of promise cheats the pensive gloom.

---Hartley Coleridge

 

The wasted years, the wasted youth, the pretty lies, the ugly truth, and the day has come where I have died only to find I’ve come alive… I wanna be a virgin pure, a 21st century whore,I want back my virginity...So I can feel infinity, I wanna drink until I ache, I wanna make a big mistake,I want blood, guts and angel cake, I’m gonna puke it anyway, yeah I wish I’d been a, wish I’d been a teen, teen idle…..

----Mariana and the Diamonds

 

Suddenly my eyes are open, everything comes into focus, oh…We are all illuminated, lights are shining on our faces, blinding…..Swing me these sorrows, and try delusion for a while….It's such a beautiful lie…..You've got to lose inhibition, romance your ego for a while…Come on, give it a try.

---Hurts

 

“Strangled among the victims of plastered musicians depleting beats in their prime, with each somber remedy outpours droplets of liquid hope, for such need none to pump my already broken heart, an opaque orchestra ready to cast out airy plagued dispersions, composing only to paralyze the already indisposed substance, only to peer inside to see disillusioned cracked artistry”……

---bewildered-scribbler.deviantar…

 

Une Forme, un Etre tombé Dans un Styx bourbeux et plombé...Où nul oeil du Ciel ne pénètre; Un Ange, imprudent voyageur...Qu'a tenté l'amour du difforme, Au fond d'un cauchemar énorme Se débattant comme un nageur, Contre un gigantesque remous...Qui va chantant comme les fous, Et pirouettant dans les ténèbres...

---bewildered-scribbler.deviantar…

 

There's a ghost in my lungs and it sighs in my sleep ,wraps itself around my tongue as it softly speaks, then it walks, then it walks with my legs, to fall, to fall, to fall at your feet, there but for the grace of God go I, and when you kiss me, I am happy enough to die…

---Florence and The Machine

 

What we own becomes our prison enslavement of the fullest, lacking in the back of the same decaying material just variations of queer disoriented objects, living in a sheltered orb of visions so surreal, fading into the dust of prepared fallen tombs, of corroded bones and perishing dreams…..

---bewildered-scribbler.deviantar…

 

I met a traveller from an antique land who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone stand in the desert. Near them on the sand, half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown and wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command tell that its sculptor well those passions read which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,the hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.

---Ozymandias

 

She mentioned, and forgot; then lightly as a reed, bent to the water, shivered scarce, consented, and was dead. And we, we placed the hair, and drew the head erect; and then an awful leisure was, our faith to regulate. That others could exist, while she must finish quite, a jealousy for her arose so nearly infinite.

---Emily Dickinson

 

My soul vibrates in sympathetic resonance with the echoes bellowing before me, as they sing with red

Sly tongues entwined together and hum to the beat of my famished heart, howling loudly they squander

With white painted faces and dark black ink blots smeared onto these weakened portrait vessels....

---bewildered-scribbler.deviantar…

 

Fixating the mind as they circle around in a precarious motion, frozen in depth they stomp and swallow up the air with the dust on earthen ground, such a sight elegantly blinds the pastel eyes of those watching, dismounting upon somber pride while eliminating all dreamlike imagination….

---bewildered-scribbler.deviantar…

 

There's a ghost in my lungs and it sighs in my sleep ,wraps itself around my tongue as it softly speaks, then it walks, then it walks with my legs, to fall, to fall, to fall at your feet, there but for the grace of God go I, and when you kiss me, I am happy enough to die…

---Florence and The Machine

 

What we own becomes our prison enslavement of the fullest, lacking in the back of the same decaying material just variations of queer disoriented objects, living in a sheltered orb of visions so surreal, fading into the dust of prepared fallen tombs, of corroded bones and perishing dreams…..

---bewildered-scribbler.deviantar…

 

I met a traveller from an antique land who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone stand in the desert. Near them on the sand, half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown and wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command tell that its sculptor well those passions read which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,the hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.

---Ozymandias

 

She mentioned, and forgot; then lightly as a reed, bent to the water, shivered scarce, consented, and was dead. And we, we placed the hair, and drew the head erect; and then an awful leisure was, our faith to regulate. That others could exist, while she must finish quite, a jealousy for her arose so nearly infinite.

---Emily Dickinson

 

My soul vibrates in sympathetic resonance with the echoes bellowing before me, as they sing with red

Sly tongues entwined together and hum to the beat of my famished heart, howling loudly they squander

With white painted faces and dark black ink blots smeared onto these weakened portrait vessels....

---bewildered-scribbler.deviantar…

 

Fixating the mind as they circle around in a precarious motion, frozen in depth they stomp and swallow up the air with the dust on earthen ground, such a sight elegantly blinds the pastel eyes of those watching, dismounting upon somber pride while eliminating all dreamlike imagination….

---bewildered-scribbler.deviantar…

 

"Deep into the darkness I began writing long with the quill, which only brings about fortunate tears of blood,peering,doubting,ever more with the cognizant thoughts that slither around in my head, onto these pages I have before me....

---"bewildered-scribbler.deviantar…

 

"La tristesse en moi monte comme la mer, et laisse, en refluant, sur ma lèvre morose...Mon coeur est un palais flétri par la où les purs Esprits seuls peut-être étaient venus, — Comme un homme monté trop haut, pris de panique, s'écria, transporté d'un orgueil satanique...Ta honte égalerait ta gloire, et tu ne serais plus dérisoire"....

---Charles Baudelaire

 

"Under what spell the guiding light betook the undertaker, under whose gaze did fall such evil blunder characters of flamen eyes eager to burn the wooden castle, eager to wet the paper heart of children birds the aching starlet the singing the whining ghost, brutal wind of snowy harlot, chafen mine eyes a sandpaper kiss, bloody rosen my cheek, purple kiss of stardust pink balloon of time"...

--Cocorosie

 

"From childhood's hour I have not been as others were, I have not seen as others saw, I could not bring my passions from a common spring, from the same source I have not taken my sorrow, I could not awaken”….."

--Edgar Allen Poe

 

“Something is about to be born there's a restlessness in me, keeps me up until the dawn there is no silence I will keep following the sirens, there is no silence, I will keep following the sirens, living in a state in-between, do the signs begin to show see the eyes fare in the dark”…..

---Oh Land

 

"My hope is now a poison in me, and it is making it hard for me to breathe, my tears have now turned to powder in the perilous world of mine, what a merciless dictator blast it all for it only makes me see my imperfection, my flaws deep down for it is all but corruption"...

---bewildered-scribbler.deviantar…

 

"I am but a flower in the twilight screaming with the whistling of the breeze, for I am here to stay in the epitome of darkness, for I do not know where I belong, the light has gone out of me and I am but a elegant abhor of a thing, which I remain to be in the gallows of the graves"....

---bewildered-scribbler.deviantar…

 

“These ideas of mine, percolate the mind ,trickle down the spine swarm the belly, swelling to a blaze that's when the pain comes in like a second skeleton, trying to fit beneath the skin I can't fit the feelings in”….

--Fiona Apple

 

 

"Hoop is nu een gif in mij en maakt het moeilijk om te ademen, mijn tranen zijn nu gericht op poeder in deze periculeuze wereld van mij, wat genadeloze dictators tot ontploffing brengen en ik achterblijf met mijn onvolmaaktheid, mijn gebreken diep vanbinnen en de corruptie om ons heen.."

 

 

"Als slechts een bloem die in de schemering schreeuwt met het fluiten van de wind, om hier te blijven in de belichaming van de duisternis en niet wetend waar ik thuishoor, is het licht uitgegaan in mij en ben ik maar een elegante verafschuwing, die ik blijf tot in de galgen van de graven.."

 

"“Strangled among the victims of plastered musicians depleting beats in their prime, with each somber remedy outpours droplets of liquid hope, for such need none to pump my already broken heart, an opaque orchestra ready to cast out airy plagued dispersions, composing only to paralyze the already indisposed substance, only to peer inside to see disillusioned cracked artistry”……

"Gewurgd onder de slachtoffers van gepleisterde muzikanten uitputting slagen in hun prime, met elke sombere remedie outpours druppeltjes vloeibare hoop, voor zo'n behoefte niemand om mijn al gebroken hart, een ondoorzichtige orkest klaar om verstoten luchtige geplaagde dispersies te pompen, componeren alleen te verlammen de reeds onwel stof, alleen naar binnen te turen naar gedesillusioneerde gekraakt artisticiteit zien "......

 

What we own becomes our prison enslavement of the fullest, lacking in the back of the same decaying material just variations of queer disoriented objects, living in a sheltered orb of visions so surreal, fading into the dust of prepared fallen tombs, of corroded bones and perishing dreams…..

 

"Wat we bezitten wordt onze slavernij, ontbrekend in hetzelfde vervallen materiaal, slechts variaties van zonderlinge objecten, levend in een beschutte orb van zulke surrealistische visioenen, vervagen in het stof van bereide graven van aangetastte botten en vervlogen dromen.."

 

 

Mijn ziel trilt in sympathische resonantie met de echo's geloei voor mij, als ze zingen met rode

Sly tongen elkaar verstrengeld en neuriën op het ritme van mijn uitgehongerde hart, huilende luid ze verkwisten

Met wit geschilderde gezichten en donkere zwarte inkt vlekken uitgesmeerd op deze verzwakte portret schepen ....

My soul vibrates in sympathetic resonance with the echoes bellowing before me, as they sing with red

Sly tongues entwined together and hum to the beat of my famished heart, howling loudly they squander

With white painted faces and dark black ink blots smeared onto these weakened portrait vessels...

 

Fixating the mind as they circle around in a precarious motion, frozen in depth they stomp and swallow up the air with the dust on earthen ground, such a sight elegantly blinds the pastel eyes of those watching, dismounting upon somber pride while eliminating all dreamlike imagination….

Fixeren van de geest als ze cirkel rond in een precaire beweging, bevroren in de diepte ze stampen en opslokken de lucht met het stof op aarden grond, zoals een gezicht elegant blinds de pastel ogen van de kijkers, demontage na sombere trots terwijl het elimineren van alle dromerige fantasie .....

 

http://bewildered-scribbler.deviantart.com/gallery/

 

 

AnOreXiA

by cudlpnk, Oct 19, 2003, 7:08:38 PM

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Cradling you,

Limp in my arms,

Bones, and yellow skin,

Poking in to me,

I beg of you,

Eat.

 

The sight of food,

You vomit up blood,

All over me.

I do not care,

I will not leave.

Your hairs falling out,

Stringy and weak,

I hold it in my fingers,

Shaking,

Crying with you.

 

I wont let you die, You can do this no more, I look in those eyes, So gray, loss of life, You bruise so easily, As i carry you to bathe, Its like carrying a dead baby, And laying it in its grave, But you are not yet dead, Food you shall eat, Once so beautiful, Weight will not be your defeat.   Anorexia may own you, Your mind your heart your soul, But i have your body, And i will win this tug of war.     anorexia by PerdidoNino, May 13, 2008, 6:09:20 PM Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse Have you met her? Her name is Ana Rexic She will controll your life She will Take over your mind "NO FOOD!!" she constanly screams Think thin! Ladies;; think thin! Look at those magazines Be them Be them You can never fully defeat her. She lives with you forever.   Anorexia by UnforgivenMishap, Apr 29, 2010, 12:16:37 PM Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Urban & Spoken Word She looks at the food in front of her, scared to death to taste even one bit. She watches the people eat around her, disgust building up throughout her. She feels like she'll be sick though she hasn't touched a thing. She wants to run from this.   Needing a break it's a trip to the bathroom. Cold water on her face mixing with salt water tears. She holds on to the counter, rests her head on the icy mirror. "Try to breathe. Just breathe." Why does this never get easier? She wants to run from this.   She returns, everyone shows concern. "I'm fine." she smiles, her eyes still brimmed with tears. She picks up a carrot to prove she's okay- breaks it into pieces, chews slowly. She wants to run from this.   Christine Curran April 29, 2010   Insight to Anorexia by silence-scream-truth, Mar 2, 2009, 4:54:35 PM Literature / Prose / Fiction / Children and Teen / Flash Fiction & Vignettes Why must this be so hard?   I take a sip of the bitter, black coffee in front of me as I stare at the apple. If the apple had a brain, it would probably be thinking the same thing. I've been staring at it, trying to decide whether or not to eat it, for exactly six minutes. I've counted. I sigh as I realize it really is the "Forbidden Fruit." Then again, Anorexia forbids all food. Fruit or not.   There are only 76 little calories in that apple, I try reasoning with Ana. 76. I could work those off in no time.   I sigh again and stretch my arms above my head. I can feel my skin tauten across my ribs. I run my fingers along my perfectly sculpted bones and wish there was some other way to make my stomach stop growling.   So, you want to ruin everything you've worked for? Her voice booms in my head. I've awakened the beast.   No. Of course I don't. I just don't want to be in constant agony anymore.   Hunger is a feeling, thin is a skill. She quotes.   There's still only 76 calories... she cuts me off.   Yes yes yes, 76 calories blah blah blah. So that means you'd have to work off 152 calories to cancel them out, am I correct?   Yes, but-   And if you didn't, you'd be stuck with those calories for life. You'd probably gain 10 pounds by eating that apple. There is no reasoning with her.   Unless...   How about this...if I've lost more than a pound since yesterday, I can eat the apple if I promise not to eat anything else today. If I haven't, I'll go run. There is silence while she considers.   Go for it. She breathes.   I'm up in an instant and running for the bathroom. I yank the scale out from its resting place under the footstool. I step on, wait a moment as the jury reaches its verdict, then look down.   TWO pounds! I cry. I've lost two pounds since yesterday! I skip back out to the kitchen and reach for the apple that's been so patient in waiting for me. My bony, white fingers come within centimeters of it before I yank them back as though its blood-red skin had burned me.   Ok, so...by not eating anything yesterday I lost two pounds. So if I don't eat anything today, I could lose two MORE pounds.   In theory. She yawns. I grab the apple and place it back in the basket with the other fruit.   Tomorrow I'll eat the apple.   I knew you'd make the right choice.   Dear anorexia by kiki-nana, Mar 3, 2012, 7:56:44 AM Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms What have you done to her? How did you make her act This way? Make her do these things to herself   Made her skip her meals Made her throw What little she'd eaten Up again   Denying her hunger Forgetting it Living in it Living with it   Excusing her way out of eating Feigning being sick Not to eat Not to get fat   Weighing herself all the time Yearning for the lesser pounds Making herself loose them One by one   Lying to others Hiding her illness Being too sick already To see it herself   But it's too late now She's too lost in it Not wanting help Not knowing she needs it   She's ending up Where she never expected to be Where she somehow already knew She'd end   She's lying in the hospital bed Tube connected At the border of starvation Not denying it   Happy But at the same time More depressed that ever Lost in her emotions   Not wanting to break free Not allowed to By her mind Trapped   Loosing every single Sane thought Left Too late   Dear anorexia How did this happen? What have you done? Where is this happy girl I knew?   Where did she go? Where did she leave to? A better place? I hope so   Though I have a hard time Imagine it She's forever lost In her little daydream   No hope of recovery   Anorexia by Kaomi-Uchiha, Jan 23, 2009, 5:44:42 PM Literature / Prose / Fiction / Philosophy & Perspectives "I am not eating that fatty garbage!" The scream was heard every day in my house. Every day. My older sister...she was just getting thinner and thinner, yet she thought she was getting fatter and fatter. She was anorexic and starving herself - I was scared. But today the scream didn't come. Because today, my sister fainted in our room. When she didn't scream, I ran upstairs to check on her - and found her unconscious on her bed, a knife in her hand. I'm sure she wanted to kill herself. I called for my parents, who took her to the hospital. The doctors confirmed our greatest fears - she would die if she didn't gain any weight. I cried. I loved my sister, and I was scared for her. And two weeks from today, I will discover that my sister has killed herself by starvation. She starved herself in the hospital. I don't know how. But she did it. She's dead. All because of anorexia. Here is what she wrote in all her notebooks: "Anorexia has helped me to be skinny. But I can't stop. I can't. I can't eat, because I can't remember if food tastes good - and I'm afraid that my body will reject the food and make me puke it back up. I took all the health classes, I know...and if and when it kills me, fine. I don't deserve to live - I made bad choices, and I don't want to live to suffer the consequences of my actions. I hate myself. I might just kill myself. But...little sister, if you ever read this, know one thing - I love you, and I want you to be healthy. Don't wind up like me, dead in some hospital bed. Be a strong woman - you are beautiful the way you are. I didn't believe I was. And now...now I have nothing to live for. Don't be like me. Don't." Since then the pages have become tear stained, and the ink has smeared...but I still know what it says. And I will never wind up like my sister. Because I love her.   Anorexia by sarah-multiple, Nov 23, 2009, 8:10:33 AM Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse Worthless and undeserving Terrified of what others see, From this preoccupation I shall never break free.   When looking at my reflection See things which aren't real nor there, See a fat ugly figure For whom none will ever care. Think I deserve not to eat These thoughts shall never leave No matter what others tell me No matter what they may believe, I know that they are all lying As many have before, Convince myself they hate me So starve myself more.   Dizziness and hunger Are my normal states of being, Pain I have known Ever since I was a teen.   Never will be enough, Food  becomes a sin But also all I think about, As I become ill and thin.   If eat then feel guilty Undeserving beyond compare, Get told this illness will kill you But can no longer care. For what once helped you Allowed you to cope with life Has now taken over Become just more strife.   Takes over and controlling Yet seems to help you through, Still feel unworthy of eating Even when knowing it's untrue.   Becomes a routine Things to check everyday Weight and BMI Though cannot accept the fat is going away. Watch the BMI drop Falling through the floor The scales flicker ever lower Still the hunger you ignore.   Nausea and dizziness Confusion and weakness form, Forever looking tired and ill Find it impossible to stay warm.   Ask yourself "is it worth it?" But convinced it's not enough In order to be accepted Much stick at it, stay tough.   Gradually getting weaker Bones begin to show Concentration grows still harder Thinking starts to slow. Yet still you refuse nourishment Though it is all that's on your mind Trapped in this routine In these beliefs forever entwined.   Feel faint when you stand Collapse within the street, People start to notice And ask you if you eat. But no way you can tell them Instead just get annoyed Push them away, lock them out These friendships are then destroyed.   They say this illness will kill you But maybe that is the only way out, For it has now become your religion To which you are devout, Trapped in this destructive cycle Falling further with every day, Knowing that you are dying Yet believing you are Ok.   One day it gets too much Your body just gives in Surrenders to the illness Allows the mind to win, Collapses and shuts down Simply falls to the ground, No cry for help no warning, Not a single sound.   Wake up in a hospital Feeling dazed and confused Find a tube thurst down your throat Body aching, feeling bruised. Suddenly realise you've gone too far Your body can no longer cope, But your mind has you trapped now With no escape and no hope.

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