Sigh

I’m still trying to decide if your words feel like  A kiss A blow  Or the forgotten whispers of a stranger.  - H May 26, 2020

I used to create when I got like this Fell deep into chasms, felt inspiration spark.   But now there's nothing. No desire to write. No desire to eat. No desire to talk, move, or do. I guess that is what happens when you truly genuinely  give up.  -H May 11, 2020

I knew she should never be gone, I knew she was going to come back Taunt me mercilessly, Make me regret every bite As if she filled it with venom. I knew little Anorexia would want to play again, and soon Bulimia, too, once Anna got too tired, Once starvation became difficult she would press on, "You're weak, you're a quitter; But there's still another way". I have no regret. I have no disdain, For my little long lost best friend. I only regret now when I eat Because then, I won't be loved. And here's the thing, the saddest part of all. Every time she comes back, I am never disappointed. I rejoice my willpower has been rejuvenated. -H May 8, 2020

It is getting real, real, real fucking bad again. -H May 8, 2020

I am constantly being plagued by the reoccurring thought, "hang on, it gets better". But it's been 8 years since I first fantasized /  drowning in red, suffocating in finality.  I'm starting to realize  It might never get better. -H May 1, 2020