I crouch over the porcelain bowl.
I need to rid myself of my mistakes.
My body heaves.
My body trembles.
My body retches.
     I need to do this.

Bile burns my throat.
It hurts but it’s worth it.
A willingness allows me to do this.
It has turned into a compulsion.
I don’t want to --
     but I’m ready.

I think the deed is done,
but it’s not … yet.
An eternal return
to this porcelain bowl,
of which I was chained.
     I fought back.

Bulimia is a mindset --
binging and purging
becomes a way of life.
The need to look healthy
is much greater
     than health itself.

I’m stronger than this
I repeat to myself.
This goes on for quite some time.
Forcing a belief upon yourself
isn’t easy
     when you don’t believe it.

Time passes and the curse lives on.
It’s been months since I’ve started
yet it seems like yesterday.
Symptoms start to make an appearance,
I feel myself changing--
     and I don’t like it.

Hair in the shower drain
has never been more terrifying.
Every day
another lock is gone.
Constantly shedding,
     people start to notice.

Stomach cramps
make going out nearly impossible.
The pain is unbearable.
With every bite,
I feel the need to evacuate
     the food from my body

My voice has changed

due to the damage of my throat.
I can no longer sing...
thanks to the cracks in my voice.
Coughing hurts
     even more than before.

I refuse to eat.
And when I devour the slightest thing,
the thoughts crawl back into my head--
what are you doing?
What is wrong with you?
     What makes you think that you can eat?

I’m becoming weak.
Dizziness is a common occurrence.
Becoming ill
is a fear of mine.
Constantly fatigued,
     I will never win.

This is my vice.
It’s my little secret
that nobody will ever know.
The reason why:
I don’t want to hurt people,
     it’s better that way.

I lean over that porcelain bowl one last time.
I prepare to follow the routine
I’ve been following for months.
But this time,
I stop myself.
     I’m sick of being sick.

I think of my family and of my friends.
I think of their sadness.
I feel their disappointment rain down around me,
but I also feel their pride,
pride that I am wanting to stop.
     I think about their support.

Healing is a mountain.

Ascent is difficult and slow.
Sometimes you may slip,
sometimes you will feel hopeless,
but with the right support system
     you will never fall.

No more spewing meals,
no more weakness,
no more regret.
It’s over now,
I’m finally done.
     I am free of my demons.