I found this poem while searching through my old emails and Word documents. I wrote it during the darkest period of recovery, when eating anything other than fruits and vegetables made me break out in an anxious sweat, when I hid running shoes in my car so that I could still go on 5 mile runs, when life seemed bleak and I was exhausted and I knew I needed something to help me live.
It’s painful to read this poem now. But hopefully me sharing it will be a testimony…that recovery is possible. Hope is possible. Life is possible.
An 82 Pound Frailty
heart maniacally pumping beneath ribs
sputtering out dying beats
an ache in the pit of my stomach
from food that was never there
the emptiness eating itself away.
the first tantalizing dip toes barely touching the edge
then I’m swimming
plunging deeper through deep cold blankets
No longer can I feel my skin, just the rush
It calls me and I can’t stop.
How long can I hold my breath?
Eventually I have to break the surface.
I have a bed
I have food
I have shelter
But where is the warm embrace
Where is the love that tells me
No no no shhhhhh everything will be ok ok ok ok shhhhhh
I have no breath when I sleep in the bed alone
I have no hunger pains but a fullness of fear
I have a chair waiting to be sat in, an empty home I have grown to hate.
I am looking for a place to rest my head.
Of paint stained fingers crafting words of freedom and love
Of toothy laughs becoming songs of joy
Of eyes that will see the world as it truly is
Of feet willing and able to journey to make a change in that same world
Of life being reborn.
find the edges first
then fill in the middle
look for the pieces with the same colors
fit their rounded sides together
so we can clap our hands with delight
and stare with wonder and awe
at the finished product.