You sleep with your elbows at your ribs and your knees to your chest. You are a giant ball of shame hiding in a lincoln log cabin built by your former self. You are watery eyes, bloodshot eyes, sore throat, stomach acid, dehydrated, and sorry. Welcome to your life of secrets and despair and being sick all the time. You are so predictable.

You are panic. Panic for no reason, for every reason, any season. And it is always nauseating anyway, so what is the point of keeping it down? You are a ravenous wolf ripping and destroying everything. You are devious, clever, and cryptic. Your vision turns water droplets into fat deposits. It is so easy to leap frog around a shame-spiral.

You are red. Red cheeks. Red anger. Red dreams. Red everywhere.



None of that is who you are.



2 thoughts on “The Fetal Position

  1. No, none of that is who you are. That is the disease, the eating disorder– which is more a symptom of a bigger issue. But none of that is you. I’ve been there, I am there some days. I’m just reading, sitting with you and offering you some understanding. XX


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