eating has been getting hard again.
Everything I put in my mouth feels wrong,
my tongue treats food
like a foreign object,
I don’t want food.
My teeth tell me I’m in pain
when I try to put them to work.
I’m not in pain.
My throat is overwhelmed
with act of swallowing.
It’s not that hard.
As I unwillingly consume
the things I once loved,
my mind becomes a calculator,
counting calories and thinking
of reasons I should not be eating.
I know how many extra kilometres
I will have to run
because of a single chocolate bar.
And how those three pancakes cost me,
in the form of 200 sit-ups
and a guilty conscience.
Maybe you would have flat stomach
If you cut down on the cake.
I’ve started painting my nails again,
because they might start turning yellow.
And then people ask questions,
I don’t want to answer those questions.
And I can’t seem to get warm,
I’m shivering all the time,
my toes turned blue the other day.
but I can blame that on winter.
And I’ve noticed things in hind sight
that should have been clear warnings.
Like when I started replacing meals
with stolen alcohol,
because at least that gives
the illusion of a filled stomach.
Or when I started to enjoy
the hunger I feel when I first wake up.
I’ve been terrified.
Of the things happening in the world.
And I think my stress
makes me happier chewing my cheek
rather than an apple.
I’m terrified of what i’m doing
The way I seem to have no regard
for my health and wellbeing.
Even as I write this I shake from hunger.
And I know I should do something,
or just fucking eat.
But being back in this place is hard,
and I swear I’m fine.
I have to be fine,
there’s no other option.
Because I can’t go back.
I can’t go back to therapy.
I just can’t.