The Silent Suffering
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Writings
The words of sufferers and their loved ones.
Beauty and Power
She looked into the mirror
and saw pain etched into her face.
Pain of being depressed,
pain of an unhappy life,
pain of unacceptance.
The mirror, blurred and clouded,
began to reflect part of her life.
Childhood abuse,
painful teenage years,
losing and gaining weight uncontrollably.
She leaned toward the mirror,
her eyes squinting.
She saw her struggles,
her torment,
her breakdowns.
She saw an anorexic.
A thin and gorgeous,
loved and accepted
young lady of nineteen.
She smiled at the image in the mirror.
She traced the thin figure,
outlining skin and bones,
still smiling.
'This is me', she thought.
'I am on this path
and Ill look like this in time'.
She held on to the image
of beauty and power.
She vowed never to let go.
© December 29, 1997
Ali Davis
Never Enough
Bones and skin.
Sunken eyes.
Weakness.
No will to fight.
This is the disease inside of me.
Pain.
Passing out.
Fatigue.
The physical signs of my eating disorder.
I want to fight,
but my brain is unwilling.
My body screams in pain,
but my brain quiets the screams.
Body and brain
battle from control and power,
leaving me caught in a vicious war.
© February 18, 1998
written by Ali Davis
Thinner
I pinch my face and thighs,
aware of the fat.
I suck in my cheeks
to reveal a much thinner face.
I scowl at the image in the mirror
while I swallow back a flood of tears.
Eyes clouded,
jaw set,
teeth clenched.
I wish away my fat image,
replacing it with a new,
prettier,
thinner me.
I smile until the image fades.
I am still fat.
I am still what I hate most.
I am me.
© June 11, 1998
Trust
Twisted mirrors,
distorted thinking,
blurred sight.
I try to trust those around me,
those who can see
how unreliable my sense of sight can be.
I try to trust those
who know that my thinking is keeping me stuck.
But the mirror,
and my brain,
never lie.
The mirror shows me
just where I stand on the outside;
the image everyone sees.
My brain takes inventory
of who I am on the inside;
that which no one sees.
Trust the mirror.
Trust my brain.
Both work to show me
exactly who I am.
© September 1, 2001
The Game
It started out as a game.
I could trick my mind
and control my body.
Losing weight was easy.
I starved and I threw up.
Exercise, Ipecac, laxatives and diuretics
molded my body,
but they ruined it, too.
Yet the compliments were welcome,
reinforcing my drive for perfection.
I met my goal weight
and set another magical number to achieve.
I was in it to win
and nothing was going to stop me.
Not my family,
not my body,
not my mind.
It didnt matter who I hurt in my pursuit.
The game got harder
and the rules changed.
I struggled to keep up.
I tried harder to win.
I hurt my body,
I hurt my mind,
I hurt my soul.
But I was winning.
The game was a gamble
and the stakes were high.
But I was willing to bet it all.
I started to lose,
time after time,
yet I was determined to win.
Now the game is no longer a game.
Its a way of life;
a life I hate.
I gambled too much.
Im paying the price.
I am a slave.
The gamble of my body and mind
was never really a game,
and I was destined to lose from the start.
It was the fine print at the bottom of the page;
what you dont read, yet sign on the line anyway.
It was a trap.
I am paying my debt.
My body is ruined,
I dont trust my mind,
my soul is dead.
I am stuck in the hell
That I thought Id be able to get away from.
I am tired.
I am damaged.
I am alone.
The game is no longer fun,
and I dont want to play anymore.
© April 28, 2003
The Monster Within
Daily I fight a battle with the scale,
praying that each time I step on,
the number has gone down.
My mood depends on that sacred,
flashing red number.
There is a war within my head
and I fight alone.
The war between conflicting thoughts
makes me confused,
and I am frozen with uncertainty.
If youre going to eat,
you must purge.
Youre slowly killing yourself.
You must starve yourself.
You are not what you weigh.
What am I supposed to believe
when the world tells me two different things?
To be healthy means Im fat,
but I am fat when Im thin.
There is no middle ground,
and I listen to the monster within me;
the monster that tells me to starve
and purge
and hurt myself.
The monster says that I am not worth enough
to care about myself.
The monster says that Ill never amount to anything
and questions why I even try.
I am not strong enough
to fight what the monster says.
So I continue to starve
And its slowly killing me.
© May 18, 2003
Existence
Your existence I have lived,
day after day,
year after year.
You tell me that I'm fat,
that I eat too much,
that I must get rid of it.
With reckless abandon,
I listen to your every word
and comply with your every wish.
What I want doesnt matter.
My wishes are overrun by your demands.
I am a puppet
and you control me completely.
You scream at me;
so loud it makes my head hurt.
You wont go away,
despite my tearful begging.
You make me cry,
but you dont care.
You make me hate myself.
I hurt,
and you laugh at my pain.
The things you say to me
are things I must believe;
fat, ugly, stupid, worthless, beyond hope.
If I dont believe these things,
you torment me until I do.
You point out every flaw
and you magnify every mistake and failure,
past and present,
until I see nothing good.
You dug a hole
and told me to climb in.
Youll be safe there, you said.
So I climbed in
and found out that you had lied.
I trusted you,
hoping maybe youd be honest
just this once.
Now Im stuck,
and there seems to be no way out.
Youve extended your hand to me,
but youve kept it just out of my reach.
Do I really want to reach for you hand
and remain indebted forever?
When you tell me to look in the mirror,
you show me a monster.
I hate what I see.
You made me this way.
You ruined me.
I no longer want to listen to you.
Im going to try to trust those
who see me through eyes
other than yours and mine.
My body and my mind
are no longer yours.
You have to leave.
You dont belong here.
© August 14, 2004
Dancing with Demons
I thought I was okay.
I assured everyone that I was fine,
hoping that I would eventually believe it.
I thought things were great.
I ignored the signs
that pointed to my demise.
Denial.
I am dancing with my inner demons.
At first,
the dance was slow.
I controlled where my feet stepped.
I could combat the negative thoughts
that begged me to give in.
The demons danced faster
and I struggled to keep the pace.
A skipped meal here,
a purge there.
It was no big deal
because I still had some control.
The demons dance even faster
and I can no longer keep up.
My control is gone.
My days are filled with starvation,
binges,
purging.
My nights are long, sleepless and dark.
I feel guilty for my failures
and lack of strength.
I long for the slow dance with my demons;
for the control I once had.
I long for the happiness I once knew.
I long to be okay.
© February 12, 2005
Images
All around us
are images of perfection.
Television and magazines,
Hollywood and modeling runways.
The images are the guidelines
by which we are judged.
If we are not like them,
we are nothing.
If we dont look like a Barbie doll,
we are not accepted.
These images are with us everyday.
We try to block them out,
but these images of perfection
have been engraved into our brain
our entire lives.
Women like Mary-Kate Olsen,
Allegra Versace,
Kate Bosworth,
and Kiera Knightley
are images of societys perfect women.
Women die every single day,
victims of the same unattainable goal
for the perfect body.
Starving and purging,
excessive exercise and calorie counting,
laxatives and diuretics,
diet pills and ipecac.
Causing permanent damage
to bodies we already hate.
Despite all of this,
we are dying.
Slowly dying.
Dying to fit this image.
Dying to be perfect.
Dying to be thin.
© October 23, 2008
i hate mirrors....
(I am this pitiful soul begging to be empty)..:they show nothing
but despair
inches that hang~
not noticed
by anyone else~
and the ugliness
eats
away
ripping my skin
while i sleep
unknowing of the
souls
that are high in
their beauty;
yet shameful
in disguise.
I weep in my prison
Alone,
Untouched (by my own choice)
covering up every
part that seeps
this blood
and aches
while screaming
into the moonlight
and others just watch
in passing
as my tears
trail behind me
adding one more layer
to these bones.
(how is it that one determines their self worth by the quest for nothingness?)
written by Robin Grosch
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