Pain.
Showing in the jutting ribs.
Loosing pounds on the scales.
Turning away the plate of salad.
Pain.
Showing in the sleepless nights.
The angry tears over a cancelled evening out.
Being scared of a group of friends.
Pain.
Showing in the stumble across the floor.
The last drops drained from the glass.
The hazy oblivion to the reality of the minute.
Pain.
Showing in the sharp edge of the knife.
The hidden marks on the arm.
The blood seeping out into a puddle on the skin.
Mirror reflects, mirror distorts,
What's in my head, or what's in yours?
Who is right, who is wrong?
If you can't see, why shouldn't I?
If it's in my head, and I don't tell,
Then who can say, it's right or wrong?
If it's something that only, I can see,
Then how can you say no, because you can't?
If you can see a girl who cares,
Then I can see a girl who hates,
If you can see a girl that wants the best
Then I can see a girl who wants the worst,
For you trying I see lazy, your honest, lying,
For your success I see failure, your knowledge, ignorance,
For your moving forards, I see moving backwards,
For your strength, I see weakness, your winning, loosing,
When you tell me you think, my decision was brave,
The reflection I see, laughs at a coward,
The choices I take, that tell you I still want to live,
Tell me I haven't yet thought, of a way to die,
When you see a mother and daughter, hand in hand,
I see me reaching for mine, and her not replying,
When you see a father laughing, with his little girl,
I see the pain that mine brought me, when I just wanted love,
When you see a girl laughing, I see myself crying,
When you see a girl skipping, I'm running away,
The happy chatter you hear, echoes as screaming,
The smiles that you see, trickle as tears down my mirror,
If you see white, and I see black,
Is it really grey, or is one of us wrong?
If one bit is wrong, then can nothing be right?
Can many good things, make one bad turn white?
When you see light, I see dark,
When you see day, I see night,
When you see dreams, I see nightmares,
When you see hope, why can't I?
If I take the truth, and smash my mirror,
Will that make me see, wat you see in yours?
If I take the truth, move from night to day,
Will the shadows vanish, will I see hope?
If for a minute, my mirror was a window,
And if for a minute, you could see what I see,
Would that change my shadows, into light for a while?
Would a smile for a minute, be a smile for me too?
I have always held much-used phrases in a certain amount of contempt. Catch-phrases, quips, sayings ... any over-used string of words which gets reeled out at a moments notice without any apparant thought on the part of the speaker. They're corny, cheesy, largely irrelevant to the topic, often insensitive to the situation, sometimes hurtful and confusing for the person at which it is aimed ... but often holding a good deal of truth and sometimes a not insignificant amount of wisdom.
I still try to avoid using these phrases and sayings as a general rule and particularly if I'm talking with someone who is struggling with something. Sometimes, however, an occason will arise when a particular phrase is perfect, or a saying will come to mind and I will be struck with the validity of what it is trying to convey.
This is just such an occasion and just such a saying.
Many things in life are an uphill struggle. Especially, it seems, the things which are particularly worth fighting for - and fighting for hard. It really does feel like you are walking uphill on a day when you have very little energy.
For me - and I'm guessing for most of you out there fighting a similar battle - trying to stop the relentless cycle of eating and throwing up is a constant struggle of trying to push a heavy rock at least 4 times your size up a very steep mountain. Maybe add a humid climate, summer tempretures and midday sun to the scenario and the picture is starting to look scarily realistic.
It often feels impossible. To use another well-worn but equally perfect phrase it is genuinely a case of one step forward and two steps back. Or maybe take off the one step forward part.
I start off with good intentions ... and then slip up again. I had a bad run of three days in a row, made new resolves, got through two days without being sick ... and then once again I was kneeling on the bathroom floor, clutching my toothbrush and demanding angrily of myself why I had done it - yet again.
I have many excuses in answer to my demands. I also have a reasonable number of ligitimate reasons which I know to be very real causes for what has now been all too long a daily struggle. But neither excuses or legitimate reasons can be allowed to stop me from reaching a goal which I AM going to get to - never again binge-eating and throwing up.
I don't know how long it's going to take to get there or how many times I'm going to mess up along the way, but I'm going to get there.
If I reached out my hand,
I'd be able to touch it, feel it,
If once I touch it, I'd know it was real,
I could not pretend any more,
If I shut my eyes and screw them up,
If I think very hard of something else,
If I drink enough to forget for a while,
Then I can pretend for a moment it's just a dream,
A dream I dreamt a long time ago,
A memory of something which doesn't exist,
Pictures of an event that never happened,
A reality that's twisted beyond what could ever be,
If I breath out deeply I have to stop,
And look at the mist that hangs in the air,
Hangs in between me and my mind,
Stops me from touching the things that I see,
My breath is a mist on a piece of glass,
It lets me see, it lets me look,
But keeps inside so I can't touch,
Helps me pretend it isn't there,
It's like knitting a jumper without any wool,
Baking a cake without any flour,
Drawing a picture without any paper,
Learning to fly when you don't have wings,
If you don't have a magnifier you can't see the spot,
If you don't have a watch you can't tell the time,
If you don't have a dictionary you can't find the word,
If I can't touch the picture I can't know it's real,
A crack is forming round the edge of the glass,
Round the edge of my mind it's showing colour,
Red is staining my black and white,
The nightmares in my head are becoming real,
If I crack the glass there's no protection,
If I crack the glass there's no pretending,
If I crack the glass I'll feel it's real,
If I crack the glass I'll be living the nightmares,
As I punch my fist, through the glass wall of protection,
The canvas becomes flesh, the paint becomes blood,
The pieces of glass from my picture of pretence,
Mark fresh paths of blood across the scars on my arm,
The glass must be broken, the nightmares be lived,
The painting become live, the truth be known,
I must feel the pictures, know them in the daylight,
I must watch the trickle of blood and touch what is real.
As I'm kneeling on the bathroom floor with my head over the toilet, hoping that this won't be the time one of my flat-mates finds out about my eating habits, the over-familiar feeling of failure rushes over me and threatens to make me gag much more effectively than the toothbrush I'm sticking down my throat.
Why am I here again? What happened to bring me to this point - again? Why couldn't I stop myself? Where did my determination and self-control go? Where did my resolve not to let this happen again run off to? Why do I even think this is a remotely good idea?
I can't stay there forever. At some point my body runs out of energy to carrying on throwing up, despite my desperate attempts to make sure that every last bit of food is gone - beyond the chance of giving me even a few extra calories. Once again I'm cleaning up, brushing my teeth, avoiding meeting my own eyes in the mirror - too ashamed of what I've just done to face even myself.
Facing myself is exactly what I have to do right now. Again I have to look at myself, admit that I hate myself and hate what I'm doing - and admit that I have to start again from the beginning.
Another all too familiar feeling rushes over me - the feeling you get on Day Zero. The first day of a long, up-hill struggle. The first day of a battle with no forseeable end that you know in your gut will likely come crashing in on you 1, 2, maybe 10 days later, bringing you right back to Day Zero and starting again - again.
