Hello my lovely readers!
Today's #WordyandWheelyWednesdays entry is a narrative poem for Eating Disorders Awareness Week.
A Content Note for those not here from social media: food, eating, eating disorders, PTSD, abuse
The inspiration was found in the survival instincts of a precariously-placed daffodil, by my car door (picture below). The courage to post it was found through a friend's brave example on Monday night. I've not written about most of this online before, so if you're still reading, thanks - it means a lot. Also, if you're in the UK and you or someone you know needs help, visit https://www.b-eat.co.uk/
Dear Fifteen-Year-Old Me
I’m writing
this from twenty-five
to tell you
certainly,
a decade on,
we’re still alive –
and fin’lly
feeling free.
The metre marks
the wheel tracks
we’ve left,
trundling along,
to let you
know I’ve got your back
and am
singing out our song.
I’m sending
you the strength to cope
with
everything at school –
a beam
across the years, in hope
you’ll feel
less ‘a fool’.
To clarify,
for lifts and things,
you NEVER were too heavy!
Our standing
is a gift we bring;
our legs are
strong and steady.
I know she told you otherwise,
to keep you
in your place,
but the real
issue with your size?
You took too little space.
I know you
hoped, by cutting food,
that you
would disappear –
the only way
you thought you could
escape the
pain and fear.
So,
gradually, your portions
got more and
more controlled –
unlike your
raw emotions,
which our
body had to hold.
Then he decided you could be
his brand
new protégée
and promised
disability
did not
scare him away.
He led you
on, the others too,
he made you
feel safe
and then he
ripped that trust in two,
and threw it
in your face.
He leveraged
his authority,
used it for
his own tack –
so, as a
matter of fact, did she,
not thinking
of its impact.
But let me
now remind you,
they pounced
upon your panic,
and there
was nothing you could do
to alter
that dynamic.
Of course
you wanted to be small,
and keep
yourself well-hid;
‘cause the
crucial point about it all
was that we
were just a kid.
Yet we have
travelled far, since then,
and so much
time has passed,
that I can
tell you, soon, again
we’ll love
our self at last.
It’s taken
all the years between
to get us to
this point,
for the pain
that started as a teen
was nestled
in our joints.
It took the
place of spoken words
you could
not shout aloud
in knowledge
that you’d not be heard
beyond the
secret shroud.
But now
we’ve had the chance to talk,
about what’s
in our chest,
we’re
shedding the traumatic chalk
for some
much-needed rest.
We still
have many miles to go,
and several
hills to climb,
but now I
let our body know
that anxiety
is fine
and so no
longer is it stuck
in
physicality,
but we can
wade through all the muck
to find
ability.
Though I
still battle demons
at meals
every day
there are
now many reasons
that tell me
we should stay.
I don’t know
where we’ll zoom to next,
but I’m glad
our paths once crossed,
and I promise
to try and protect
us both from
further cost.
Beautiful!
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