I have seen you through various stages of madness

Your love is an innocence
stripped of its right.
Battered and bruised
left living in fright.

Your love is an innocence
taken.
Red blood in snow
contrasting and forsaken.

Your love is an innocence
lost
thawing snow
left naked in the morning frost.

What have you done? Where can I go to make you see? Words seep out through my eyes- looks like teardrops on your cheeks, that rain. Sorry is a sorry word that can mean nothing. It leaves you empty. It never does its job. No words can amount to describe the regret I feel. I don't think you will ever understand my love.

I rise to meet you and I cry. I rise to meet you. I rise up O'Lord make me rise up to meet you, self. I touch you and I cry. I shy away and I am burned. Help me rise up O'Lord to meet you, self.
Youth I have lost you. Floating on a string of time, past. Accidentally reappearing in images created in my head. What I thought you were. What I would like to think you could have been. But Youth is gone, floating, tangibly out in space, gone.
And I cry O'Lord because you won't help me rise up to meet you, self. Because you gave me a chance in the form of another, a redemption, and I am constantly haunted by the image of him gone. You showed me goodness in the chance for me to be reborn, but I am not. I am the same with or without him, but he makes me want to be better. NOW do you see the difference? I could never grasp it before but now that I have wrote it I know it to be true.
And I cry O'Lord because I can't rise up to meet you, self. I look right at you and through you. Deep within you crawl. I crawl to you within to escape to mold out me within you who came up to the surface but for three years now submerged I within I you are. And I'm sorry. For no matter how many times I cry I can never rise up to meet you, self.
Because if I lose him I have cried a beautiful love, gone. And through the thorn the Celtic bird cries out its song of life. I will never love another like I have loved you. And I'm sorry because I always feel so small around you, so unworthy. Because I have been to the place to see just how worthless I really am. Because I know. And those that live when they wanted to die are faced with how worthless they are. And I am left to live with it, I punish myself every day just by being who I am. I can see your goodness and if I could take all your trouble away so you could never have to know it I would, because if time ever weighs down on you like it has on me I could never learn to forgive. Because I want you to never have to work or experience anymore of what you already have. There is not much life left for me to give because I starved it away, so I want to take all of your pain so you, an untouched goodness, can have that right to the pursuit of happiness.
Help me rise up O'Lord.
I give up if you are gone.

Consumption

This is not something that I like to talk about and I hate those that use outings such as these to do so but tonight was what I would like to call a bit of an "excess." Insecurities can lead to side affects of all kinds. But when the insecurity is a side affect of something else- something bigger- then what is it that I am to do? I hate talking about food, my struggle with "food" and my past bodily issues. I have yet to accept them for what they are because I know not what they are. What is it that I'm supposed to be accepting? There was what it was before and then there was what I was told it was, and what my young mind accepted. All of this is pointless rhetoric and the point that I am trying to get at is tonight. I do not live at home anymore and I do not know if it is because I am not in my safe zone that I feel these night time cravings but I get them. And I know that they are more for something to do. Because for so long the only way to please people for me was to eat and so eat I did. So I now recognize feeling better with eating. But I need acceptance- still. I need someone to eat with; to tell me its okay to eat and eat a lot. Tonight I got my wish when my friend "pigged" out with me. For her its normal, and it probably would have been for me too if my state of mind(s) were healthier. But for me it was a binge, and I get disgusted with myself because I know, I know I am above that. Binging and it's term was something made known to me after the fact that I was sick, after it was a disease and not just something innocent, after I was medicated, therapi(zed), and "cured." Even the term "anorexia" disgusts me because that is not what I am. I am not that term but forever more I will automatically associate and be associated with it. An unwanted shadow. It is frustrating to try to untangle myself out of a mess of thorns I myself did not create. I once told my mom that I have never been the same since and she agreed. And that's sad. I get moments of motivation- motivation prompted by sickness- to be better. To exercise and clean and look, feel, and be better. All in the ending goal of a better outward image that will in effect make my interior feel good. But I know that it will not, that in truth it is the other way around. But four years later I am still struggling with this. I shall never get it because sickness was implanted in my mind and I can not shake it. I would not take it back but I would do it over to wish that I could be in more control.

Echo

Haha how old this picture is. I honestly am unsettled (?) by my appearance. My hair is much shorter now and is only in the process of going even shorter.

I have noticed that there is a distinct notification when people "come into their own" (at least that is what I call it.) When they are no longer searching in their teen years for that right look, no longer swaying between what they know they are and what they want to be. They just woke up one day and all of a sudden are. Not doubted, not unsure, it is something so natural that you seem to think that it always should have been.

I wonder when my time will come. I wonder if I have already passed this transitional stage and have came into who I am and am left unsatisfied. I wonder if that is the same for everyone. I wonder some days if I am even the same face in a mirror, in a picture.