She stretched out, leaned in

felt every inch of this body 

this home,

that’s become so alien

turned into a battlefield 

scars stay where love should be

a war, branded upon

she breathed in


she touched her soul once again 

looked upon the child still inside 

the multitudes that exist within her

right on the other side,

of paper thin walls 

close enough to break

one touch would let it all explode

let it all go.

she sees it, hauntingly close 

the answer is within, it has always been right here inside

there are mountains and galaxies

stories and magic, inside.

she wants to live

yet she turns away

quietly whispers

i’m sorry

i’m sorry for branding this war upon you

i’m sorry for turning home into hatred

i’m sorry I can’t find it in me to love you

to make peace, or find the courage to leave this illusion i’ve constructed 

i’m sorry I can’t come home,

not yet



It feels like I’m standing on quicksand 



everything is slipping beneath me

and I just can’t seem to find my balance

can’t seem to find anythinganyone

to hold onto
or maybe I just refuse to

maybe I just can’t 

hands still scarred 

from the red hot embers


that’s walked away

/it hurts to hold

it hurts to need/

I wonder what it’s like for them

to have something solid to stand upon

something other than yourself

your walls

your demons

I wonder what it’s like for them

to live without a fundamental pain

without believing you

are wrong

your feelings are wrong

/you are a mistake/
Space between my heart wider than any galaxy

it can only take so much before it begins to shut down

build a defence

I wonder what it’s like to be normal 

to not live in push and pull

to have and to hold without fear

to feel, without shutting down
It’s a lonely existence here

I crawl out of the quicksand 

back onto solid ground 

constructed from numbers and loneliness 

and a fake sense of control

this is why you don’t let yourself feel

because then comes the pain

the quicksand

and it’s nobody else’s fault but yours
I create my own storms

and I don’t know how to get out

It hurts, having to deal with all of this. Are people sick of hearing about it yet? Is my therapist sick of it yet? Because I am. I am so sick of it. I am sick of myself and my brain and my stupid inability to just be normal. I can’t deal with relationships or feelings or emotional intimacy like a normal person. I can’t deal with anything like a normal human it seems. It’s always a push and pull and anxiety and self hatred and insecurity and fear and walls. I contradict myself and I fight myself and I can’t even change it if I wanted because I’ve been programmed this way for far too long. I feel like a robot that’s been put together badly, all the wrong parts in different places and falling apart. I feel so broken, not in a painful or melodramatic way, but as a matter of fact, like that’s just the way I am. What, am I supposed to blame my parents for making me this way? For rendering me unable to accept my emotions or myself, unable to cope with feelings, unable to love or ever feel loved? What am I supposed to do? Here I am, left with the craters of their mistakes /me/ and I have to somehow savage this on my own, fix myself.

I’m sick of having to try, I just end up a bigger mess than before. But then I know I need to try, because there is no other way and giving up or retreating to old habits gets me nowhere. I’ve tried that too many times and it doesn’t work. And yet, I’m tired. Does anyone even know how tiring it is to keep trying or how hard I’m even trying? Not just to keep going, no, I can survive- but trying to push myself and work on things I should work on and trying to be fucking happy (which is impossible it seems). It flows the same as the recovery / relapse struggle because this attachment & emotion struggle is v intertwined with my ED. I’m tired of struggling alone and I just want to retreat to my safe place. Alone. Funny how I feel lonely and abandoned and scared so it pushes me to be alone even more. Because people are scary and feelings are too much and the outside world is too much. I am too much. I’m starting to think if this is only the tip of the recovery iceberg and it’s this hard, then I don’t know if I want to deal with the real thing. 

Find her

I want to be that girl

Kindness in her smile

Fire in her heart

Eyes the window to an ocean soul 

a gentle kind of ruthlessness

I want to be that girl 

Boundless and free

Fluid as the trickling stream

Fierce as the crashing waves

Feelings as the kaleidoscope of raindrops

Every bit as alive, as the wind in her hair and the sunshine on her face and stars she dreams of.

I want to be that girl

who has fought her way through every storm and walked out knowing she is capable of anything. 

Knowing there is beauty in things nobody sees

Knowing there is power in softness and strength in defeat.

Knowing she is beautiful the way she is, messy and human 

Knowing sensitivity is a gift, and she can touch others because she has the heart of a dreamer and a child and a lover

I don’t want to be pretty, or normal, or perfect

not anymore.

I want to be fearless,
I want to be alive,
I want to be me

How can I find her?

i’m sorry i’m so difficult

All this talk about

running away-

as far as you can,

to the middle of nowhere.

if only you stopped to think

what if

all you ever wanted to run from

was the pain?

what if

after all this running,

you realize the monsters

were inside all along?

what if

you’re so used to running,

you can no longer stop

and nothing feels safe anymore?


You know, maybe why I yearn to get away so badly- is simply to find a place of solace. But is it really just a more beautiful form of escapism? Am I still running away, like I have all my life? Why does it seem like that’s all I know how to do? What if I never run away from the very thing I’ve been trying to all this while- pain?

we talk about this in therapy- I isolate. That’s how I protect myself. I build walls and I run away, from people, from things, from pain. Even the people I love, even the people I don’t want to run from. When it gets hard, I run as far away as I can because that’s where I know it’s safe, that’s where nobody can hurt me. They don’t understand what it’s like to grow up so incredibly alone, to have lived with this gaping hole of emptiness all my life. They don’t understand what it’s like to feel so unwanted and unloved and inadequate all the time. At some point, it’s easier to pretend the damn hole is not there, to pretend you don’t need people or love or care instead of acknowledging the pain of needing and not getting. At some point you believe it’s your fault, your inherent lack of worth that makes you so unlovable. it bubbles and boils into a self-hatred and need for self-destruction. At some point, you get used to running you can no longer stop.

After all, it’s my safe place. My safe place and my prison. nobody can hurt you, except yourself, and god knows I am my own worst enemy. nobody can hurt me more than I can, nobody can leave me because I isolate myself. I’d isolated myself so well I almost forgot what loneliness felt like, almost forgot I even needed anything. Then the fucking realization hits, that your eating disordered behaviors and self harm and drinking and all impulsive things you do stem from this very need to get away, the crux of self-destruction. When you realize you do want to open up and you want to just rely on someone for once but the fear comes, followed by the insecurity and self-hatred. So what if things are different now? So what if your parents have changed or the people around you have changed? The monsters are no longer around you, they’re in your head. So you isolate again because that’s what’s safe, and the cycle repeats.

i always regret saying too much, caring too much, loving too much. i want all my secrets back. i always end up hurting too much. i just need to be alone. don’t worry, i’m fine, really. i just need some time. i’ll be okay soon, just.. leave me alone. i don’t need anyone. i’m a burden. i’m a mess and if anyone knew, they would leave too. it’s fine. i don’t need anyone. i just want to help them, be there for them. that’s one thing i can do. i can deal with my own problems alone. it’s okay, don’t worry. let me just be here for you. 

Maybe the only reason why my therapist has managed to get so far inside these walls, is because I can’t do the same things I do in every other relationship. It’s literally her job to care about me… though I do make it really hard on her. I open up slowly and close up a lot. It was a struggle at first, so much push and pull- even now sometimes, my defense mechanism is to retreat. I do that a lot less now, admittedly, I’ve come to trust her and rely on her for emotional support much, much, more than what I’m comfortable with. It is uncomfortable, and I am terrified of losing her, and I hate admitting that I need emotional support but she’s been so loving and understanding and patient over time.. she’s also learnt to pry a little and not take what I say at face value, which helps. I wonder if any real relationships would ever be like that, if anyone would ever care enough? if anyone would ask if i’m okay. if I would ever be okay with relying on someone. it’s not that I don’t trust them- I don’t trust me.

Sometimes the realization hits, that I’m so sick of running, but I can’t stop. I can’t stop because once I do, all the pain will catch up to me and I don’t know if I can deal with that. But god, I have been running round and round and round and I don’t know if I’ll ever get out. I want to run away, far far away. where to? I don’t know. away.


why do I find myself constantly yearning?

for life and adventure and a momentary thrill

for love and sheer unadulterated bliss

yearning for deeper valleys and higher peaks

yearning for more

to hit a new goal weight, a new high, to see how far I can go

I don’t know if it will ever be enough.

why do I find myself attracted to everything that takes me away?

away from life, away from reality

away from pain

I run away in art and daydreams

in books and magical fictional worlds

in travelling and exploring

I run away in numbers and numbness and control

even if it’s just a mirage

I run as fast as I can, until I find myself


// I suppose that’s just who I am, and it manifests itself in different ways, good and bad. I see the good in everything, viewing brokenness through rose-tinted glasses- but I fall trap to idealism and escapism. I’m drawn to the stars and the ocean and the great unknown, I’m drawn to self-destruction and numbing pain- anything that will take me away. I find meaning in anything and everything, I see more and feel more and want more. Sometimes it’s never enough. This chaotic, kaleidoscopic soul of mine will take me on adventures and travel the world and climb mountains and meet people and learn and live. It will also lead me straight into the dark woods, jump headfirst into the rabbit hole and never find a way out, trapped by chains of fear and insecurity and the pure wrath of self-hatred. 

perhaps if you knew me, you’d get a better glimpse at how my eating disorder is a part of who I am, or how the best and worst parts of me are actually the same- and I can’t quite figure it out. 

fading into nothing

There is one particular disordered thought I’ve always had, but never quite been able to express to anyone.

I’ll recover only when I’m hospitalized

Because only then, will I ‘sick enough‘ to be able to recover, even if recovery has always been the long term goal regardless. Why has hospitalization always been a goal? Why do I crave all the physical signs of damage to my body, as if to prove something? Why is sicker, better? The endless tugging, desire pooling in the crevices and empty spaces of a heart left in pieces. Something inside applauds the missed period, the dizzy spells, the constant shivering and cold, sharp bones- while the healthy blood tests and healthy heart and healthy body leaves an inexplicable, stinging pain. And the most painful of them all? A healthy weight.

It’s not the kind of thing you bring up in everyday conversation.

The desire comes and goes in waves, but the fire never really put out. A part of me quietly shuns these thoughts and desires that nobody-can-ever-know, a certain shame in the knowledge that all of this exists in the workings of a disordered mind. Yet all the gears click perfectly in place. It makes perfect sense in the hierarchy of the disordered mind. If every dizzy spell and low number is an accomplishment, hospitalization is the ultimate victory. If I’m hospitalized, that surely means I’ll finally be sick enough. good enough. I’ll finally be good enough, for once.

That was my benchmark for recovery.

A part of me still wants to get to that point, but part of me also realizes how stupid it is to destroy myself and my body for a fake sense of control and a temporary peace of mind. I want move forward, and yet I want to fling myself as far back as I can before doing so, as if I needed to make the journey harder than it already is.

There are many times where I doubt it, the thought comes and goes, circling in an orbit- but deep down, I want to recover eventually. I need to pick myself up, stop being such a coward and chose to recover. I need to stop being scared of living and actually just fucking live. I need to stop being so absolutely terrified of happiness and everything good that I actually want. I’ve spent almost an entirety of my teenage years living this way, I don’t want to spend my whole life living surviving with these disorders. I need to recover eventually.

I need to, but I don’t want to.


Yes, even after all these years and everything I’ve learnt- I still feel like I need to be ‘sick enough‘ before I can consider recovery. I don’t know what ‘sick enough‘ looks like or if I’ll ever even get there, but I want to try anyway. I want to wander so close to the edge that if I reached out far enough, I might finally soar. I need to. I need to just be good enough for once in my life, good enough at something. I need to be thin, I need to be sick, I need my body to fail on me. I need the numbness euphoria of emptiness. I need to fly and I can’t stop until I hit rock bottom. or maybe I’ll finally fly away from everyone, and everything , and all this pain, floating into nonexistence.

like a train going on full speed ahead, I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. I couldn’t even find the will to want to.

Perhaps I’ll never recover, or maybe I’m not even sick at all to begin with. Maybe I’ll never be satisfied, never be sick enough. Maybe the taste of heaven we’re so desperately searching for is but a highway to hell. The thing about living with an eating disorder, is that you’re not really living. A life dictated by numbers and fears and numbness is not much of a life at all. When I step outside of this disorder to look around, I realize I’m so very, very lost. At least the numbers are a compass, easy to follow, even if it leads me nowhere.

41 40 39 38 37 36 35

Will it ever be enough?

Will you find me then?

The very last voice holding onto reason

is fading into a mere whisper,

and the others growing impatient.

I’m sorry if I lose myself,

in an endless pursuit

for perfection and control

a rose-tinted portrait of your ultimate goal weight / like somehow, seeing that number would bring order to a chaotic mind world, make everything okay again

a taste of euphoria

a peace of mind

or simply, self-destruction?

numb the world / pretend everything is okay / something to hold onto / spinning until you’re off the rails

fading into nothing.


Though I suppose,

You can’t lose yourself if you’re already lost.

Whatever it takes

I just need to find myself,

even if it means going further into this labyrinth

and praying I come out alive.

Perhaps I should have stopped and turned around, but

perhaps this will take me where I need to be

i don’t know.

I just hope we find ourselves somewhere,


and all I can hope is at the end of it all,

I stumble outside the labyrinth

ready to live.

flavors of life

I see good things I cannot grasp,

laughing with friends over a meal after school

a mug of rich, hot chocolate on a rainy day

sharing an ice-cream sundae on a date

cooking grandma’s special chicken curry

having a the best sandwiches after a long walk

enjoying a cookie and a coffee, just because

a blissful unawareness of numbers

I see nuggets of happiness

head tilted back and laughter erupting

little fingers grasping onto mum’s hand

sunshine beaming through the foliage

people talking and walking

and living

Flavors of life.

I see the sunlight as I stay in the shadows,

comfortable and alone.

I don’t know what it means to live in the sun

how to grasp the good things,

life, and happiness, and freedom.

it’s not just restricting calories

it’s restricting laughter and memories

and all the flavors of life.

Bitterness, sweetness,

a melting pot of spices

warm cinnamon coffee and good conversations

takeaway street food and walks around town

chocolate ice cream and a long cry

freshly brewed soup and a family reunion

leftover cheesy pizza and disney movie nights

when did we start counting numbers

and stop savoring flavors?

I don’t know how to eat

i don’t know how to live


It’s been a sad day.

Sadness isn’t always a raging hurricane.

Sometimes it just is.

Just here.

A gentle pitter-patter of raindrops.

It’s quiet presence,

slowly chipping away at the soul.

It’s been a sad day

but this too shall pass.

you are also fire

I’ve always been a child of the water

the Pisces, the fish

quiet, intuitive, mutable.

But I’m also starting to realize

maybe I have fire inside me

not a cracking, burning flame

but it slowly simmers inside.

I will never be the sunlight

never be loud or bright or bold

but I am at home in the night

soft, sensitive

a gentle moonlit glow.

All my life I’ve felt less than,


All my life I’ve lived in the shadows.

But I’m slowly starting to realize,

I have light inside.

And I think

Someday, this light will take me places

Someday, the flames will fuel me

I have fire inside.

Fire that comes from feeling too much

Loving too much

Caring too much

Fire that comes from knowing exactly who I want to be, what I stand for

Maybe he was wrong

Sensitivity isn’t a weakness,

It is my light.

Now I know,

I don’t have to shine bright like them

I just have to shine like me, softly.

And someday I will shine

unafraid of laughing

unafraid of feeling

unafraid of living

I am water, but I am also fire.


avalanche, I called it

everything seems to be split into two

‘before’ and ‘after’

I don’t remember how things were before

I don’t remember how it feels to live in this body

all that’s left now is a shell

I’m slowly float


floating away

it feels like everyone can see them

the hands around my waist

hands on my thigh

hands around my neck

maybe if they saw, they would understand

the hands all belonging to different people

please don’t touch me

i no longer know which hands to trust

maybe if they saw, they would understand

it’s not just the hands

it’s the words hitting where it hurt the most

it’s crying and fear

it’s the complete loss of control

it’s every time I wanted to jump off

it’s having to deal with it all


so much pain I never knew where it started, or stopped

so much pain it was always easier to rip myself apart

if only I could step out of this skin

just like the cuts that once covered my body

the hands now seem to brand me

except nobody can see them

or why I can no longer put myself together

i was broken to begin with anyway

defected goods

does an avalanche matter?