dear bulimia,

I loathe our relationship.

you’ve raised me up higher than I ever could have dreamed,

only to throw me down

from a higher point each time,

cracking my bones and drawing blood on the concrete.

but I keep crawling back to you,

over and over I destroy myself for your satisfaction

constantly shifting positions to avoid resting on one bone

for far too much time,

taunting and torturing myself in drops of water and crumbs of salteen crackers .

you promised me that I’d be rewarded for my efforts,

that people would look at me

with humble eyes

you wanted great

I provided spectacular

but then you realized you  asked for superior,

and suddenly

all my work turned to nothing.

and as I double over in the bathroom

tears mixing with saliva

as my brain strains to calculate each kilocalorie

sitting in my distended stomach

where are those kilocalories now

lying at my feet

fulfilling your promise that I’d never feel

the pain, never face the fears.

but my friend, I believe you forgot

the disclaimer

of losing just about everything else.