My Lover

This is a piece about my relationship with my eating disorder. Anytime I have opened up about this disease, I have never been at liberty to explain it. Here, I write about it in a short piece to help.

Bulimia was my everything, and in fact, he still is.

He was this man that entered into my life through some open space that I was somehow too occupied to cover up, and from that first moment I felt him inside of my throat I knew that I would never again be without him. His strong hold on my body is that very reason that I am able to awaken the numbness of my body; so that I can feel pain and fatigue.

Sometimes people talk to me about the endless opportunities that life has afforded me; but I can only see Him through all of it. No opportunity or privilege means a thing to me unless He can place Himself in the middle of it, and I feel his tight abusive grip on my heart every single moment that I live with Him inside of me. Oh hell, who the f**k am I kidding? I live inside of him, for He has engulfed my entire being into something so small and inconsistent; and as easy as it may seem to just let Him go, I am trapped in this dark cycle of death.

Bulimia is my life.

He is something so personal and real that I almost laugh at myself as I sit here and fathom how the hell I could ever refer to Him as anything else but a person.

Binging is the deep stroke that I feel inside of me when He makes love to me, and purging is the warm and comforting grip He uses to console me after some piece of my humanity and existence is confirmed, but somehow animalized by the unsteady manner He presents Himself.

I met a beautiful girl in the mirror the other day.

For a split second I felt that I knew her, or that I had seen her somewhere perhaps. she looked so familiar, so present to my memory; but unfortunately she could not stay long enough for me to ask her where she was from.

Where I had seen her, and perhaps had she seen me before.

Before she left, I asked her what it would be like to die. And I even wondered what I looked like in her eyes. Could she see me the same way that I saw her? Was she looking at her own reflection, or was she looking at the same bone-dry skeleton that I have been seeing every day since that moment?

Before I knew it, she was gone; and I was staring back at the hideous man that has taken over my entire body. If I could draw some kind of picture of how I felt at that moment, I would illustrate Him as a Satan Himself- wrapping his scaly body around mine, suffocating me.

I cannot f*****g breathe.

F**k I cannot breathe...

Reviews

[I am that I am]

This is beautifully done. You are a strong person. I see infinite possibilities within you. There is nothing holding you back. The only thing that could ever stop you is yourself. This world is merely an blank sheet of paper for you to draw whatever image you wish upon it; as are you. You are a blank sheet of paper as well; with the power to create your own image. Underneath whatever image you have drawn yourself to be, is still a completely blank sheet of paper; unlimited in freedom and capabilities. Even Satan Himself can not hold you back if you have love for yourself. Satan may lead the way down, to hate; but it is you who would follow him down. He cannot make you follow him. What you are is untouchable, and unmovable. There is nothing to truly fear, unless you fear yourself. You have the power to become completely at peace with yourself and your thoughts. Thank you for sharing this, Silwany_F.