I used to be a slave to my body -
To the sustenance that passed my lips
To the necessary nourishment -
counting numbers
and calculating possibilities.
Each holiday came with the knowledge
that I'd have to push myself harder
to rid myself of those
moments of weakness.
One of my body's core functions
became my greatest enemy -
keeping me up at night
as i
counted
counted
counted.
Always falling short,
attacking myself for my weakness -
how could I not resist
what my body so
desperately
needed?
I thought it made me stronger -
this need for control
as I watched the weaker
devour their sandwiches
while I picked at my salad
and sipped my water.
But the thing that brought me purpose
keeping me up at night
counting
counting
counting
could have been my end.
It threatened to steal from me
precious dreams
of future kin
if I continued
counting
counting
counting.
I'd look in the mirror
pinching non-existent fat
never measuring up
to my expectations
of being skeletal thin.
I remember the day
I recognized my problem
and asked for help
as tears fell into
the bowl of soup
I'd been stirring, untouched,
for the past hour.
The voice never leaves.
Once you've given yourself to it
for a season,
it's your constant companion.
But it gets quieter,
even muted at times,
and then one day you forget
you ever let it have power over you.
