Eating Disorders and Self-Harm

Eating Disorders and Self-Harm

This is somedthing for me to add anything about eating disorders/self-harm - poems, stories, thoughts, questions.
If you have read my About Me on my profileknow that I am recovering from Anorexia, Bulimia and self-harm.
This is not for constructive critiscm. It does need to make sense to you. This is for me, and you, if you understand it.
I am not doing this to get reads, and I do not expect it to be any good. Please don't tell me "This isn't good" or "This is confusing".

~ Elizabeth

Chapter 1

~ The Urge ~

~ THE URGE ~

Cold and fragile,
I shiver where I stand,
In the bathroom,
Holding a knife in hand.

The knife held above my wrist,
Resting it's point on my skin.
I take a breath, trying hard to stop,
But I cannot resist, so I begin.

I am used to the pain,
Yet it hurts me anyway.
Why do I do this?
I know why - I need to get away.

Away from what? I ask myself.
I have no need to leave.
The taunting voice answers,
What about the parents who decieve?

A crimson line bursts to the surface.
It drips, drips... down to the floor
My knees shake and I crumble.
It is painful. So why do I need more?

My head swarms with unanswered questions,
I sob and I scream.
No one can hear me.
The jeering voice still reigns supreme.

The urge is still there,
Willing me on.
I fight and I fight,
Yet it will not be gone.

I raise the gleaming blade again,
Pressing it down on to my hip.
I feel a kind of relief go by,
As I feel like I'm going to rip.

Another cry leaves my throat.
Another laugh fills my head.
Pathetic! it calls me.
I feel like I am dead.

Maybe I am.
It wouldn't be so bad.
But how am I sure,
It wouldn't make anyone sad?

Who would miss you?
The voice hissed.
As I howled with shame,
I kissed my bloody wrist.

The blade slashed again.
I give a shrill screech.
The world begins to swirl,
Until it is out of reach.

Black.
That is all I see.
The knife clatters on the ground.
All that is left is me.

I am stupid.
I am fat.
I am ugly.
I am a brat.

This is what I carve into my skin.
Words that are true.
What can I say to the voice that says this?
I know - thank you.

Thank you, because now I know.
Now I don't have to wonder,
What I look like, who I am.
Now I can go under.

Under what?
You might ask.
Under what everyone wants.
Under a mask.

A mask of deceit,
So no one can see,
Who I am -
The real me.

The broken one,
That sits on the ground.
All fragile and small.
My mind spinning round and round.

The urge is still there.
The urge will not leave.
The urge will never go.
The urge gives me time to relieve.

I cannot say good bye,
Even if I try.
The urge will stay forever,
Unless I learn to fly.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The quote on the chapter image is:

"What are these scars from?" She asked.
"They're battle wounds," I replied.
"Who were you battling?"
"Myself."

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