I forgive her

I forgive her

She was selfish in her suicidality
She was frustratingly reckless
She fought with me ruthlessly
And her parents tirelessly

She was exhausting and exhausted
Undone, promiscuous, troubled and angry
She was self destructive and destructive to others
She was also halarious and childish and lovely occasionally

She burnt alot of bridges
Bloodied clothes and sheets and carpets
She was so sad sometimes that she knocked everyone to pieces

She was dealing with alot
And she was a lot to deal with
She got sick and then she got better
Because she was naive sometimes unfortunately

She was a dreamer
Romantisised blue skies, beaches and flowers
She was also beautiful
And painfully rageful and stroppy

She was manic and constantly over-excited
She felt she was a burden to others
And was a nightmare to live with
She was loved by almost everyone but struggled to give it

But I remind myself that I was young
And I still learning and I was tired
I was finding my feet
And I really did try my harest

She was all of these things
But she was entirely and unapologetically me
And so I forgive her

By Emma Catherine

thelilaclysander.com

A walk in April

A walk in April

The sky is as blue as my veins
Crystalline
Aquamarines
Of a beautiful Friday evening
I spent the day capturing flowers
And holding her hand
I lay down on the grass as green as springtime
And rested my head on the ground I have fallen down upon many times
I was cold still but the sun was warm enough
She fell asleep a couple of times in the peacefulness
It was a beautiful day
In a world that is often ugly
We walked a little bit through the park
Treading on the ground where I buried my nightmares
We made something lovely of our life today
We made a day that we hope we will never forget,
After days that we hope we will never remember,
Despite it all.

By Emma Catherine

thelilaclysander.com

A Caged Bird

A Caged Bird

There are things I will never miss about anorexia.
I will not miss
Staring in the mirror
While the shower steamed up the corners of the glass
Watching my naked body
Like a caged bird
While my eyes began to sting
As I fought to keep them open
Out of fear that
Should I shut my eyes,
I would open them
And be twice the size as before.
I do not miss the freezing showers
Chapped fingers tentatively turning the dial to cold
As I carried out my latest new trick to poison my body.
I remember the droplets shooting off my cheeks
Quicker than I could count calories
As my teeth chattered
From the icy water cascading down my malnourished body.
Blue hands and lips were a reasonable price to pay for skinny.
I don’t miss standing on the golden sacred scales
And hitting rock bottom
Only to realise it was just a balcony
In a 100 story block of flats
That I had yet to fall down.
I don’t miss the feeling of frightening bliss
When every mouthful
Was the most wonderful relief for my tummy
And the most vivid nightmare for my mind.
Sometimes I miss starving myself
But I don’t miss starving my family
Of love
Kindness
Warmth
Affection
And
Hope.
As much as I believed I was soaring when I was starving
I was simply flying a descending plane with my eyes shut
Steering myself towards the ground
With the people I love as the passengers
Sacrificing myself ceremoniously
And bringing the rest of the world down as collateral damage.
Most of all
I do not miss hindsight
I do not miss the perfect irony
Of shrinking myself small enough to hide
From all of the things I was painfully afraid of
When really I was igniting the dead wood of my life
Into a rageful roar of flames
That almost killed me while I was trying to quench the heat.
Although I am warm now, rosy, happier,
The little fires still sizzle in the ashes
Of anorexia.

By Emma Catherine

thelilaclysander.com

Pretty

Pretty

Pretty
Is the judgement they make about me,
Before a single word has floated through my lips.
Pretty
Was the most wonderful complement
To the girl I was when I was seventeen
When I thought that looking like a doll
Was the most interesting thing about me.
Pretty
Is a double-edged sword.
It is a game of roulette
Where the word is loaded like a gun
Either with admiration or hunger.
Pretty
Feels like the debt I owe the world to exist as a woman.
A price plastered to my cheeks with my blusher
So that I can be sold into acceptance
So I can be noticed, not invisible.
Pretty
Is the affliction I have fought with for years,
The same affliction that wore me down to the bone,
The damn affliction that left me running through endless tunnels
Towards the light at the end that I swore I could see
Even when I was blind,
Even when it did not exist.
You see,
Pretty
Is often confused with perfection,
As if beauty can somehow equate
To a concept so toxic
That it is bound to kill when left untamed.
Pretty
Is the excuse that pardons
Assault
When grubby fingers pull at my dress at the bar
And palms graze my breasts
When I never gave permission for them to be there.
Pretty
Is a disease that I never wanted
A mutated quality I resented
When all my friends grew up wanting to be beautiful
And I just wanted to be
Something.
Pretty
Is a gunshot through my chest
When you really do assume
That it is the most spectacular thing about me.
Pretty
Is as ugly as a lie.
Pretty
Is a widow
Trying on her wedding gown.
Pretty
Is a disease I never asked for
So, forgive me when I cry in sorrow
When instead of asking my name
You remind me
That all I am to you is
Pretty.

 

By Emma Catherine

thelilaclysander.com