I have never been to great at math.
Numbers looks like hieroglyphics that
have yet to be tanslated into english.
Its symbols look like my 5th grade art portfolio scribbles,
when a plate is set in front of me
when my friends invite me to dinner
when I simply go to the grocery store,
the calculator in my brain goes into overdrive
counting the calories in every bite
adding them to ones already consumed that day
subtracting from the total intake on days I do workouts
too exerting for my failing body
dividing nutrient of a saltine cracker
trying to see how long I could survive off just one.
You would think for someone who hates math so much
their mind would always be counting,
but things are funny that way, aren't they?
It's funny when people cannot see behind the lie that is,
"I'm sorry, I'm a picky eater,"
It's funny that there are people who awe at my
It is just fucking hilarious that in the English language
"dieting" and "dying"
sound so similar.
My therapist once told me that it is because
I often feel so out of control that I try to control
every aspect of my life that I can.
That I am searching for a balance,
but I am pretty sure the only thing I will find
is my fucking death sentence
because when bringing a spoonful of ice water
becomes something painful,
I have never felt more defeated
never felt more out of control.
I know what I am doing is wrong,
but I would rather take a full schedule of math classes
than deal with this nonstop calculator in my head
because math is hard,
but solving for X is a lot easier
than solving myself.
As I sit here in my bathroom crying
at the numbers on a scale
I think back to primary school,
crying at the mumbers on my math homework.
the one problem every kid understood
except for me
because 1 day of not eating
does not simpy 2 days of not eating
but rather 2 days of dying.
They say recovery is beautiful
so I must be ugly.