"when i wake up, my body is present, but my brain is not engaged. i like those moments. once my brain goes online, i find out if i’m going to be anxious or depressed or what. it’s apparent within minutes of rising if the day is going to start with a struggle. but those quiet moments of calm before the storm? i embrace them."
"i wish i could turn off my memories, edit or revise them so they’d play out as i intended. my thoughts, however, remain resolute and staunch in their determination to replay the pain as it happened."
"i love me a good disaster film. as far as i’m concerned, the greater the level of destruction, the better. i don’t want to see actual carnage. i have no interest in observing piles of mangled and devastated bodies. i’m okay with implication. long shots of waves wiping out whole populations or tornados ripping apart cities are best enjoyed when actual death is glossed over. i like to focus on the spectacle. i can’t enjoy them if i think too closely about what’s happening or see bodies lying around."
"move through life slowly and do it with grace, grandma said to me. make your way like you’re walking through water; glide."
"i used to be a can-do multi-tasker. i could juggle jobs like nobody’s business. i was the girl you gave extra work to if you needed it done, especially if the timeline was sooner rather than later."
"we all want to be seen. we all want to be validated. why is it so hard? sometimes the problem is us. in my life, often it’s me. i want to be known and heard, but it’s hard to share the truth of my reality. i dole out bits and pieces of myself, sharing a portion of this and a smidgen of that, but i’m never fully exposed. i keep many of the dark bits hidden inside. i remain convinced that the reality of me is unhandleable and unsupportable."
is it odd to say you love something when the subject matter is dark? no matter, i do, mostly because it speaks to me. it reminds me of the mental rage that occurs when my bulimia is at its most active. it reminds me of the racing thoughts and the rage that swirls about inside. mental illnesses are hard but sharing the struggles is a beautiful thing.
I am sic
Binge and purge
This endless urge.
Out of place
Unworthy of the human race.
Worthy of comment
Worthless, I vomit
Bird in a cage
From the rope I will plummet.
Dead to his Word
Alive to their world
Baptised in blood
Yet drowned in the flood.
No peace here, just pieces
This war never ceases
For I am sick
And I am sic
I don’t write much poetry but I woke with the phrase ‘I am sic’ in my head this morning. Sic, as in the adverb placed after a quoted word to highlight that it is grammatically incorrect but is quoted in its original format. The poem hopes to describe how I felt in my lowest OCD days. It does not represent how I feel today, but I hope it may speak out to…
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