An Interview I Did on Overcoming an Eating Disorder…

Some have you have seen this already, but I wanted to share this on here for those of you who haven’t…

http://theblackdogblog.com/2013/07/katie-heeran-gets-busy-living-an-interview-on-eating-disorders-yoga-freedom/

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The Sick Girl

She walks in with her too-loose sweats

Flat ass

Casual tee

Eyes darting about

Until they reach their destination:

The cookie display

The snack-tray

She fingers a bag of BBQ chips

Pursing her lips

Hating and loving the salty sweet things

She gets to the front

She’s ordering

Yep

I can always spot The Sick Girl

I see her mind darting internally

As fast as those eyes

A million thoughts about

What to buy, what to buy!?

But one bag would never be quite the thing

To stop the Pastry Sirens from their incessant singing

And One Cookie is like blasphemy

I mean, really?

Really!?

Really. You must be joking.

As if there were such a thing as One anything

When it comes to her Insatiable Feeding

She can’t fill the hole in her Soul

With any material

Or flour-and-sugar-filled thing

But she’d get an A-plus for trying

And trying

She orders safely ‘til she can go crazy

“Non-fat latte, please.”

Yep. I can always spot The Sick Girl.

She’s at the supermarket now

Free to unleash the Craving Beast

With her unwashed hair in her face

Or Hat or hoodie

Attempting to be incognito as her bony fingers throw in

5 more boxes of Lucky Charms

Or Haagen Daz

Or chocolate-caramel bars

Her manicured nails distracting from

Her knuckle scars

On fingers that help her get every last bit

Out

They help her shout in that silent kind of shout

Because she doesn’t know what the hell to do

But try and numb the pain all out

I would try and meet her gaze and say

Everything will be okay

But the truth is I don’t know

And she thinks she’s hidden, anyway

There, on bright florescent light display

In aisle 3

She’s standing, then, in front of me

The clerk tries to make conversation

As she scans across things no one should eat

The Sick Girl can’t mutter back a single word

‘Cuz talking about the weather is just absurd

When her life is forever hanging in the balance

And you might Judge her but I do not

For we should never mistake Pain for Malice

I walk out, I say a prayer

One day she will be the one in line behind

The Sick Girl.

(Or better yet, there won’t be a Sick Girl to be in line behind.)

Death March

I see you all out there –

Dying

With desperate claims of

“I want to be thin!

I will be thin!

Nothing matters but thin!”

And you live in this smallest of worlds

Like your smallest of bodies

Trying to die with at least some victory:

A cry: I was the thinnest!

A bag of bones in a grave.

Oh, yes, girl – you won.

Just look how you won.

Oh, I see you all out there –

Dying

With the extra flesh and fat hanging off your

Helpless body,

Stuffing more food into your face

Creating a barrier between your soul and the world

With your desperate claims of

“I deserve this food!”

Treat? Or punishment of the severest kind?

Your largest of bodies in the very same smallest of worlds.

Small little worlds seem so safe. Ha.

Watts said,

“There is no safety. Seeking it is painful.”

I see you all out there –

Dying

With your sweet, still-beating hearts.

The hearts you have always had, that have been hurt

And trampled on, and damaged…

Are Hearts begging you to face What Lives In Them.

Oh, the true power you would find there!

Have you not already lived the Worst?

Have you not already felt the Pain of the very Worst?

I see how you cling to your faulty thoughts as you walk lifelessly to your graves –

Believing that your only power…

Is in choosing…

How

You die.

But that is not your only choice.

I am one of you

And I chose

Life.

And I am calling to you as I watch your Death March.

“You don’t have to go! Oh child, you do not have to go.”

Join me

And we can walk a different road

Together.