Ana's Creation

The spinning.

It whirls through my head,

crashing my body around like the current of a river,

dragging me under.

Unable to breath.

Struggling to help myself

before everything turns to blackness

and I can’t stand anymore.

Blurry.

I am searching for something.

Something to lean on, before body meets ground.

I know what this means.

I know that my body is telling me to give it up.

To give up this need to restrict my hands from

feeding the hunger raging in my body,

before I collapse into rusty bones of nothingness.

I know I’m killing my body so why can’t I seem to stop?

When I was little,

I was told by me second father to never cry.

That it’s weak,

Makes you unstrong.

I feared crying around him,

scared that I’d get pounded into a wall

and the screaming would fill my head,

causing me to explode internally.

Being pushed to exercise over and over and over

because fat people aren't pretty right?

Wrong, because look at me now dad,

I have anorexia and you don’t seem to give a shit.

You’re only daughter withering away into bones in a hospital bed,

and I can’t even get a lousy text message.

It’s funny.

Because some say I don’t look anorexic.

And that is like a bullet to the head,

a stab in the heart,

and a hurricane in my soul

because breaking news world,

I have anorexia!

I feel it every minute of every day.

I know what it is like.

So I don’t need you telling me I’m fat.

Did you notice, that they never said I was fat?

That those deathly words never slipped their mouths.

And yes I know that too,

but something worse did.

They said I don’t look anorexic…

To me that has I’m not pretty,

I’m not skinny,

I’m not good enough,

scratched into their words,

carving their letters into my brain.

Imprinting this idea of imperfection.

This need to get better than the worthlessness I think i hold.

This feeling of being uncontrollable to myself

overcomes me and drowns me in my own self-hate.

Soaking me in sorrow and killing me

bit by bit

with this feeling I can’t begin to describe.

And this feeling occurs every day.

Every single day.

And there’s nothing I can do about it.

Nothing to stop the pain I go through physically and mentally.

My bones are withering away,

while the flowers still bloom and that current still runs.

My body eating itself alive but all they can say is,

“Just eat”...

And I can’t..just eat..