Has anybody seen my...?

(TRIGGER WARNING: Eating Disorders)

has anybody seen my...?
the last time I saw it was, well...
i don't recall it,
at all.

maybe it's hanging there,
behind the little red dress
clings too tight, too short
cut so low, i ruled it out
i didn't want to look too s****y

is it under that long sleeve there
the thing i wore instead
so you wouldn't think " she’s game"
trying it on, over and over, again
not taking indifference for a no
mistaking my clothes for "she’s good to go"

is it under that blanket, there?
the one i fling over my favourite chair
ready for draping around me
when i sit on it rocking and crying
after a day
where 10 tonne of s**t got thrown in my face
a day where i longed for magic powers
red shoes to "click" me away home
away from this place.
from an angry chorus of grey suits and sensible hair
angry faces, cries of "we're just disappointed"
"if-only you'd change..." "you're too emotional, too honest, too nice"
"not. good. enough." 

for that promotion, that pay-rise

perhaps it's in the corner
with the mountain of unwashed pyjamas, piling up weekly
discarded underwear, not in passion, indiscreetly.
used socks and a pile of shoes
thrown in exhaustion
and left as a still life ode
a daily reminder that i'm not coping
i'm sick to death of just hoping.
just hoping.
self-care is an effort i cannot make
a shower, a brush, a load of laundry
insurmountable like Everest

could it be here, behind that tin?
in front of the bottles of juices?
lined up by the bin?
ingredients left over when all the "treats" were eaten...
the 30 quid binge of chocolate and jelly
and cheese and bread
and cream cakes and ice cream
bought just to cram, all in one sitting
to silence the tide of feelings
bubbling up, flowing over, threatening to spill.

most likely, it's down there
nestled crudely, hidden
in the porcelain bowl
filled to the brim with the s**t that i've eaten.
ice cream all melted, cream cakes curdling
chocolate soft and hot
a river of sickly sweet tooth-rot
the cleanse of that purge
the relief of expulsion
the calm settling over
an angry orgasm,

numbness masking revulsion

there it is.
my voice, my spirit.
flushed as far from me as possible.
taking all the emotions along with it.

Reviews

[Einstein Noodle]

oh my goodness...this is so very raw my friend ..i love the searching for the "it" in this poem...i can relate .."it" is always elusive, always cranks up anxieties and fears ..then depression...never is "figured ou" until one has that "aha' moment ..and refuses to get sucked in to chasing "it" .."it " has no desire to be found ..and will never let "it"self be resolved ... i love your poem... and am so empathetic with this illness .. seems an epidemic among teen women especially ... bravo for your courage to write about it ashkat ..bravo!
E.

[ashkat]

i love this comment - it feels like you went on the journey with me! thank you so much x

[Einstein Noodle]

ohhhhhh i go on that journey too many times ..i am an introvert ...sometimes that guiding "light" is lost to me ;)

[jacob erin-cilberto]

we get in such pain, the voice of reason is unheard as we become addicted to drugs, food, whatever...
a part of us knows better, but that voice becomes silent and the other voice screams too loudly in our ear.
j.

[ashkat]

exactly - and it's amazing how much noise we can wilfully silence in order to ignore our truth... read moreexactly - and it's amazing how much noise we can wilfully silence in order to ignore our truth...

[redalia]

such a good portrayal of that exact state of mind, very convincing. it's a nice window to the speaker's world. i really enjoyed the imagery.

[ashkat]

thank you as ever... I'm sorry to not have responded sooner (and as usual not engaging nearly enough) x