It is with trepidation that I proceed...

I have been writing poetry like a crazy person. It just comes pouring out. Make no mistake, I'm not painting literary pictures of spring rains or blossoming tulips. My work is dark, sometimes explicit, and always very personal. I have gone back and forth for weeks deciding if sharing it on this blog would be wise. In the end, I remain uncertain. But I do know this: as important as understanding the complications and resolutions of eating disorders is, understanding their origins is just as vital. No two people arrive at an E.D. in exactly the same way. Some come by way of chaotic families, others by controlling parents, others from seemingly idyllic pasts, and some - like myself - get here with suitcases full of unresolved trauma.

No matter what form a person's eating disorder takes, no matter how long or short a time the person has suffered, recovery is simply NOT possible without digging into the root causes. That's why my recovery has taken so long to even begin. I have been unwilling (unable?) to do the very difficult work necessary to overcome my past. I am here now, just starting out, dipping my big toe into the pool of therapy. Part of my work is writing. It's something I can do. Simple as that. Some people paint, some sing, some reach out and talk with friends... I write.

If you are easily triggered, squeamish, generally uncomfortable with bad language or disturbing imagery, I discourage you from reading the following poem. If you are looking for a glimpse at the damage that precedes an eating disorder, read on.

REVENGE

I'm naked as a jaybird.
You stink of fear and sex.
My mouth is on your
cock-a-doodle-doo, it's time to wake up.
Another nightmare down.
One of these times I'm gonna get it right.
One of these times I'm gonna put up a fight.
I'm gonna make you sorry for fucking little girls.
For getting turned on by their ribbons and curls.
You just wait.
You just watch.
I'll visit you one night
and my specter will give you one hell of a fright.
You may be up now and I may be down
but soon in my dreams I'll turn it around.
I'll get you, my pretty,
and your little sin too.
You'll be the one begging and crying and
pleading.
You'll be the one damaged, broken, and
bleeding.
Mark my words, Michael, I'm coming to
get you.
Mark my words, Michael, 'cuz I'll never
forget you.