If words
could be unwritten and songs could be unsung,
If rivers
could run backwards and wrongs could be undone,
If the wisdom
that comes only from experience of years
Could be
learned in some way other than be crying one's own tears,
Our stories
would be different -- the scars left would be few,
If only we
had known back then the things that no one knew.
But on this
note of sadness, the story does not end,
For love and
truth do triumph and the brokenness does mend.
Anorexia
nervosa and bulimia -- how sad, the people say,
That a perfect
young woman would choose to waste away.
There must be a
good reason -- perhaps she was too fat.
For what other
purpose would she want to live like that?
Anyone with any
sense can see it's gone too far.
Why don't her
parents stop her? This is getting quite bizarre!!
She has become
too skinny -- while eating like a horse,
With hours in
the bathroom to pursue her secret course.
Her family's so
perfect -- not a flaw that we can see,
The American
dream personified, enacted in 3-D,
It must be all
the lessons, or the clothes we see her wear.
If it were me, I
would be grateful -- seems she doesn't care.
It really is
unusual, the way she spends her time.
She runs by here
at seven, then at three, again at nine.
She used to be
so happy, so alive, so much a part
That her
lonliness and sorrow racing by me breaks my heart.
What is it that
happens that turns laughter into tears,
Transforms a
vibrant girl into a skeleton of fears?
There is no
simple answer -- no forumla -- no gene,
Just conjecture,
speculation, based on what's so far been seen,
Of theories
there are many, but none adequately explain
How starvation
and vomiting can serve to lessen pain,
Some say it is
the mother; other say it is the dad;
While others say
it's neither 'cause it's just a passing fad.
My story
is unique to me although I have discovered
That others can
relate to it who have not yet recovered.
The gate was
narrow, the road was hard that led me back to life.
Perhaps by
sharing me with you, I will lesson some your strife.
Recovery was not
permanent until finally I could see
The behaviors as
the symptoms of what was hurting me.
For deep inside,
I was afraid and covered how I'd feel
With calories
and exercise and cooking gourmet meals.
My family did
the best they could with everything they had.
As I look back,
I see no blame -- no one of uss was bad.
We related in a
way I could not help but misperceive;
I saw love as
conditional, something one acheived.
I looked to
other people to make me feel okay.
When they asked
me who I was, I knew not what to say.
I wanted them to
love me for who I was inside,
Yet when
somebody tried to care, I'd run away and hide!
The dieting and
exercise helped me to escape,
It protected me
and shielded me like a big black cape.
Silently I was
screaming out for a helping hand,
Just someone who
would listen and try to understand
That what
started as a diet was no longer any fun,
But a prison and
a fortress that held me like a gun.
To ask for help
meant admitting that I'd let you down.
Smiling hurt too
much to fake; I didn't know how to frown.
I write as one
recovered and one who's filled with hope
That the energy
misdirected can be used to cope
With a world
that is uncertain and a family that has tried
To do the best
with what it had in order to survive.
The darkness of
despair and fear can be pierced with light,
For once love
fills the void within, there is an end in sight.
The process of
recovery brings healing to the home.
It stills the
hunger deep inside with a peace as yet unknown.
Anorexics and
bulimics! I challenge you right now
To trust in
someone close to you and let them teach you how
To face the
fears down deep inside beneath the fear of fat,
For that is just
a smokescreen and covers where they'r at!!
Parents,
spouses, friends!! I challenge you as well
To seek support
from others to whom you choose to tell
The pain that
you endured and the ways that you have tried
To reach out to
your loved ones -- afraid they might have died.
The path is not
an easy one; healing may take years,
But victory is
possible for everyone who hears,
It rarely can be
done alone, and thus one must supply
A source of
truth and love upon whom you can rely,
Some choose
faith in God above, others a human source --
In either case,
,healing comes when love's the driving force.
Deep within
we're all the same and search in our own way
For wisdom, love
and truth to give meaning to each day.
If words could
be unwritten and songs could be unsung,
If rivers could
run backwards and wrongs could be undone,
If the wisdom
that comes only from experience of years
Could be learned
in some way other than by crying one's own tears,
Our stories
would be different -- the scars left would be few,
If only we had
known back then the things that no one knew,
But on this note
of sadness, the story does not end,
For love and
truth do triumph and the brokenness does mend.
