One Day

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You could have ended it all last night. You let some of the thoughts in. You let in just enough of the doubt, confusion, and insecurity – just enough to begin to unravel you. That is all it needs to breath fresh darkness … just a few moments of honest, authentic contemplation. Then, all of a sudden, a tsunami of emotion floods your being. All the juxtaposed thoughts and feelings surge forth, creating mass havoc in your fragile system. They simmer in your consciousness and build into a frenzy, feeding off your vulnerability.

You panic. You instantly feel full, as it all threatens to explode out of you. Your body physiologically reacts with a wash of horrendous nausea. You stumble to the toilet. It is far too bright in there. The white starkness seems to illuminate the demons within. They need to be expelled. You lean over the toilet bowl, and shove your fingers down your throat, staring at the clear pool of water in the bottom of the bowl, willing the darkness to release into it. The first expulsion floods the white of the bowl, polluting the clarity of the water. It feels good – to see the physical tarnishing of the liquid, as you pour your angry black scars into it.

But it is not enough. The relief you feel fuels the compulsion to release more. You shove your fingers harder down your throat, again and again, letting the disgusting contents spill over your hand and flood the sides of the bowl. Only when you are completely empty, now on your knees from the effort, gagging and panting for oxygen, can you finally stop.

It is a temporary fix. Though the physical emptiness is most welcome, your mind is still a battlefield. And you are loosing. Only pills will fix that. Shaky and faint, you walk into the kitchen in hot pursuit of the painkillers. With jittery hands you fumble with the packet and anxiously pop four white pills out of their captivity. You down them all without consideration for anything other than needing all the thoughts and feelings to stop … just stop.

You stare at the sheet of pills. You consider the remaining encapsulated pills, sitting there, waiting to be devoured. Your instinct tells you to take them all. Just down the whole lot – then you’re sure to be able to rest. You so desperately need to escape. You have made all the acknowledgements now you see; you have taken stock of the pain and trauma of your past. You know why you have an eating disorder. You know why you still struggle with the urge to self-harm. You know why your addicted to the painkillers. But you don’t know what to do about it, or how to shift the dark spaces within you. So you seek only to escape them, because it is easier then dealing with them all head on in the real world. It is a cowardly act borne out of the deepest fears and frailties of your being. And it consumes you with self-hatred and loathing. Which further fuels the need to escape.

You recognise the vicious cycle that paralyses you as you stare at the remaining pills. And then you take the other six pills. As you do some small flicker of hope in the very back recesses of your mind registers that one day you will have to stop doing this. One day you will have to stop escaping. One day you will have to stare bravely at the demons. One day you will have to confront them. One day you will have to work damn hard to thwart them. And you will have to do so in the bright day of harsh reality.

Photo sourced from discussingdissociation.com

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8 thoughts on “One Day”

  1. This is hard to read. Feeling indescribable pain is such a subjective thing. I can taste my own bile, and smell the porcelain. I can touch the raised pink skin where the blades moved, over and over. You’ll never want to stop… but one day you will.

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    1. Thanks for your honesty, i appreciate u reading and identifying with it. Im pretty much on top of the cutting, but the eating and addiction may take a tad longer 🙂

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  2. your words are so moving with honesty and depth of feeling. While I don’t have an eating disorder I do have a daughter who does, your words help me to understand her a little better, thank you for being willing to share your soul here, your writting is inspireing . I wish you only peace and light… Michelle

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    1. Thankyou so much. If my writing helped you to understand whats going on for your daughter then it has achieved so much more than i could have asked for. I feel for her, and you, and know it must be terrible to watch someone you love struggle with that. Wishing you all the best x

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    1. Thankyou. Not sure exactly what u mean about understanding someone else, unless u r referring to someone close to you perhaps? I am the person in the piece, even though i have written it in second person – sorry if that was confusing!

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