In the beginning, it was a blanket
caressing me with gentle assurance.
Wrapping tighter and tighter,
soothing my pain and hurt.
A hug from a friend.
Keeping out the monsters,
comforting me in solitude.
A cocoon of safety.
Building walls,
guarding my broken heart.
A watchtower.
Barring the windows,
locking the doors.
A prison.
***
I wrote this poem while I was in a higher-level care treatment center for eating disorders. It was Christmastime, and rather than being home with my 4 kids, I was getting weighed every day and had someone check my plate after each meal.
I also couldn't use a blow dryer or have shoes with laces.
An eating disorder starts out amazing.
It wraps you in assurance that it will solve all of your problems.
And often, it comes with the perk of losing weight, which brings a slew of compliments and praise.
So why wouldn't you keep going?
It keeps anxiety at bay.
Or so it seems.
It helps with depression.
Because you're skinnier, so how could life not be great?
It keeps out the monsters from the past by keeping your brain foggy.
It numbs. It quiets. It guards.
But then, it imprisons.
And by the time you realize it, it feels too late to escape. You can't survive without it, but you also can't survive with it.
And suddenly, you're at this crossroads. Do I let go of this blanket that has blocked all the pain? Or do I step into the pain in the hope of finding freedom?
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