A poem about my ongoing, daily struggle with bulimia
|"Tomorrow is a new day!", I tell myself again.
I must control myself; abstain, restrict, refrain.
I can't avoid my trigger, however much I try.
This simplest of pleasures makes me want to cry
I see them all around me, and observe their casual mood.
Mindlessly eating what they want, enjoying all their food.
In the office, at the gym - even walking through the streets.
I ask them silently, "What's with you guys? You always need to eat!"
It feels provocative, intentional, really kind of cruel.
My stomach coils up in fear at breaking every rule.
I managed to survive today with barely just a snack.
I can feel it creeping in, my resolve about to crack.
It's like a cloud inside my brain, softening the facts.
It allows me to ignore or justify my ensuing acts.
Consuming huge amounts, it hurts to keep it down.
Eusophogus so full I fear I'll either choke or drown.
It happens in a flash, devouring with manic haste.
After the first bite or two it's not about the taste.
Determined to finish what's begun, I focus on my task.
Surrounded by debris, it's shame in which I basque.
My brain begins the process of working out the toll.
Calculating the damage, how much I lost control.
The end result is never good, it doesn't stop the urge.
There's no avoiding the fact that now I need to purge.
Feeling anticipation and a little twinge of worry,
Is it going to come out in just a dribble or a hurry?
I take my tools to the throne, it's a familiar process.
This part is easier, my mind does not obsess.
Physically demanding, there's no doubt it does some harm.
I try not to cry as I rest my forehead on my arm.
I tell myself it's just a blip, everything's okay.
Why should I be worried when tomorrow's a new day?