Saturday, 30 January 2010

Isn't It Ironic.

Eyes fixed, head down, her rage and bitterness fueled a pace close to a run as she walked away from my desperate calls in town today. My eyes burned as I watched the dark dufflecoat hanging off a painfully thin frame, grow smaller and smaller.

She is angry with the unfairness of it all (as she sees it).

Much of my life (over half) has been spent embroiled in her destruction.
Forced to watch her desperate attempts to starve herself to death.
Forced to listen to the cries of my family, as they witness her withering body, her protruding bones,
angular agony.
Forced to look into the inward turning eyes of a father, driven to weep, hollow, heavy sobs,
my eyes swim, and I shake.
Forced to watch the hand wringing desperation of a mother
a face broken, the smash of rejection clattering within,
and I writhe at night, tearing at my sheets
Forced to watch a beautiful little sister, rock on her bed
silent tears flooding the channels of her bitten lips,
and I, a pinball.

Forced to watch a sister
starve to death
I wanted to put
DNR on her bed
I wanted to hold her
until she was safe
I wanted to beat her
until she couldn't hurt us anymore
I wanted to make her suffer
as she had made us
I wanted to take her pain
and live it instead
I wanted to love her
I wanted to kill her
I wanted to protect her
I wanted to hear her
I wanted to be loved by her.



I believe that, at some point (and I know the point was somewhere during my second or third severe bout of clinical depression) a part of me died.
I no longer feel specifics.

Today she told me I was anorexic.
She told me I had a problem.
She told me it wasn't fair that I could lose weight while she had to go to hospital for five days a week and be forced to eat.

And I stood against the freezing cold in the city centre, trying to draw myself in, as I watched her disappear, willing her to look back, just once.
And I looked at the people circling my axis, and wondered if they would feel the black residue if they walked through the point where all the words had spilt; I wondered if an air space could hold a decade's pain for just a moment.

The agony of the irony is somewhere, and it is too much to bear. Too much to allow. Too much to deal with any other way than to put it on my skin and watch as it runs out.


  1. listening to your agony, and knowing how far beyond your words the torture extends . . . so much pain . . . anger . . . hatred . . . yet simultaneously, still so much love . . . seems impossible for the two to coexist peacefully, and yet, it seems equally impossible to seperate them without something getting destroyed . . . .

    I hear so much "life" in the "nothing" you describe . . . . and I feel great sadness for the suffering . . . . at the same time, I am deeply inspired by your courage and strength . . . . . .

    always holding you in heart . . .

    ((( hugs )))

  2. your deep. I wish I could make it better. I'm praying for you and for you sister. Stay safe ok.

  3. This is powerful writing. I am happy that you are finding words. Sending you hope.

  4. Glad that you find words for this pain. glad that you keep writing. You pain is so very deep. I am so sorry for all what happenend in your life.

  5. Anon - You know.
    I'm so sorry I haven't replied to your mail. I'm swamped.
    Your understanding is almost painful and I want to yell, 'stop being so kind'.
    I feel like I deserve nothing.
    That the nothing feels far from being that... perhaps you are right. I find it very hard to understand things at the moment.
    Sending you love.

    Sarah - Thank you.
    I didn't know how to respond to your post about kindness. When I read it, it had such an impact, and yet, I shouldn't understand it in the way that I do... I have not suffered the terrors you have, or known such terrible rejection and abuse.
    Thank you for being here. x

    Vicki - Thank you. Hope is a commodity in short supply... and the words about being enough..? Good words... x

    Paula - No need to be sorry. It is nothing oompared to many people and in many ways, the guilt I feel at writing about this stuff, and even feeling depressed, is so huge that it feels suffocating.
    Thank you for your kind words. x

  6. Hi Wonderingsoul-

    I have been overwhelmed on many levels. I am here though, holding you close -unable to imagine your agony - but I know agony so I know, ya know? As we all are shifting on swirling sand I know if we all hold on to one another we will find solid ground. Will you hold on to me, with me, please.

    Love to you
    Gail peace....