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by Watsky 7/6/2015, 4:16 pmWriting is a release when talking just doesn't do the trick
I haven't written in a year and i'm oh so broken because i have exploded with words and i will bleed onto this page and deliver you with bad poetry.
Firstly though, may I just mention that if you liked S for Lisp up in that video of the man who inspired me to get off my adhd ridden ass and write something again, this is a much better performance of it, though a little more profane.
I decided to make this thread for my terrible, truly horrible poetry just to put it somewhere, but I would love if others posted some of their own.
A lot of these that are to come are about internal struggles, many of which are just suppressed emotions from sophomore year. So some may be mildly triggering for those with eating disorders. Yeh? Yeah.
I do not edit, I do not reread, these poems are straight raw, barely thought out emotions. But, uh, mostly spelled correctly.
- the eating disorder.:
the eating disorder.
It starts out slow for people like me.
There’s no trauma, no abuse.
Not like the people who really have a reason to be like this.
It starts out slow.
You don’t even notice.
You don’t notice in the sixth grade when you wonder how to get out of eating lunch at school.
You can’t.
You don’t notice when you begin to make jokes about your body.
You don’t notice until you’re stuck in your room crying into a yogurt cup because all of a sudden your brain decided 100 calories was 100 calories too many. Forget everything else you’ve eaten. This yogurt cup in particular is 100 calories too many but you eat it anyway and you cry.
You cry over the rolls of fat in your stomach and the fact that those pants that were too big a week ago now fit fine because you’ve gotten fatter.
But the great thing about your brain is that it’ll block out things it doesn’t want to think about. And you go back to not noticing that a single thing is wrong.
--
A year later you’re sitting in bed at one am on a sunday night and there’s no other solution.
Every one of your problems is caused because you’re fat.
The people that make fun of you hate you because you’re fat. People don’t like you because you’re fat. Not even your own boyfriend likes you because you’re easily twice his size and he deserves a skinny girl. You don’t listen when he tells you differently. You only listen to the negative words of that jackass and wonder if it’ll stop when you’re skinny.
When you’re skinny, it’ll all be okay, right?
--
And then everything moves too fast.
Your entire memory of that summer was a mix of music and images of the elliptical.
You lose 15 pounds.
--
Another year forward.
You try again.
You can’t do it.
You lose 7 pounds.
--
Sometimes you think you might be getting better. You eat what you want and what you want is nothing. All you have is caffeine upon caffeine but you don’t notice. You think you’re getting better.
As deep into this mania as you are, it’s still the best time of your life.
But of course, nothing good lasts so long. Your grades slip lower than they ever have and while you’re not suicidal yet, it almost feels like your habits are finally going to kill you and no one can save you this time.
Not many people stay with you after the first couple times. The panic attacks were often and each worse than the last. And as it kept happening you push people farther away and they stopped trying. And when you were sitting in your room hyperventilating because everything is too much for you and you ate too much and everything tingles and there’s no one there you start to wonder if you’re going to die there.
You write your own eulogy lying in bed at three am with your heart beating slower than it should and you feel your chest tighten up. Everyone is asleep and you’re afraid to in case you won’t be able to say goodbye. That’s when you send few people text messages; you love them.
It’s not until after you’re on the phone with darick that you realise there’s the taste of blood in your mouth, and it unmistakably is coming from your throat. You don’t notice that everything has collapsed around you until he’s telling you that you could actually die and you can’t block it out anymore. You look around your room and it’s two am again and there may be permanent damage to your throat from throwing up so much. And it took you so long to notice again because it’s not something you want to admit that’s so bad. You knew you were doing it, how could you not? But some part of you wanted to believe it was under control. But two years of first after big meals, then unplanned meals, and finally every meal is not control.
It’s not.
It’s an isolating disease, really.
- 4 A.M.:
You're the best thing on Earth and don't even know it.
I love you, every single bit.
I love you in a way larger than the oceans, purer than the water within them, and more plentiful than all the fish.
I love you like the sun loves the Earth.
It keeps our little planet just right. Not because of how distant, but because of how close it sits.
The Sun radiates love onto us, fills me up so i may perhaps help you find the sun within your own soul.
I love you with all I can, and it's all reserved for you.