At the Bottom of Everything

When you're by yourself, you can't make the wheels stop spinning, you can't keep the thoughts from wrapping around your brain like the umbilical cord wraps around a displaced baby in the womb. The baby is in danger, your sanity slips away.

I guess that's why we find distractions. Drugs more some, sex for others, binging and purging for another. But then there are other bad habits that don't just make us forget about the thoughts, they just make everything freeze. And I wouldn't mind freezing right now, I just don't think I can. I'm weak when I pull up my dress to look at the muscle that has grown under the fat in my thighs, pushing it out, making me look less than human. I am weak when I leave fingernail marks on my stomach, on my hips, on my arms. I am weak when I put toast in the toaster, pour the cereal into the bowl. And I can't change that by myself. I can't do anything alone. This isn't dying, it's just using my spare time to find more things to hate about myself. And lately, I have a lot of spare time. You think filling it would be easy, but it's almost like I don't even determine what's going on. Everything falls into place, and I'm right where I started, back in the mirror, back in the bathroom. Filling time is like filling in the blanks in a censored letter. You're left wondering, I'm left wandering and stumbling and trying to make my way through the dark, up a steel hill that I can't see the end of.


Light, shine. Don't let me forget you. Don't let me panic and fall down pleading and begging, only to forget again. It's disgusting.