The most peaceful moment of my life happened

as I was laying on the ground of my doctor's office unconscious from malnutrition,

and I didn't realize that I'd passed out

until I was starting up at the faces of nurse technicians, my worried mother, and the ceiling above.


I'll never forget that blackness.

The release of everything I worried for, better than medicine induced sleep during the night.

But it ended.

And I was left to deal with the nasty beast of an eating disorder that drew its strength from the ghost of my memories;


a little girl crying on her bed

because her father didn't love her, her mother lived in an over-medicated stupor, and because the boy that promised

"I love you"

left her a week later for the girl with the breasts who had everyone dumb underneath her sensual sorcery.


Ever since, I’ve tried different methods

to relive that black expanse of peace; a froth of piercings, revolving hair colors, and cigarettes;

but they burned my fingers,

and their smoke drifted away all too quickly, leaving the girl in the scuffed jeans and leather jacket to cry alone on the pavement for months until I realized that


My beauty comes from my tragedy;

the ability to pick yourself up off the floor and face the demons that live in the potential overdose of medication lying on your nightstand and say

"Not today."

Because if I take those pills, and give into the infinite black, peaceful, abyss who’s going to be the antidote for the other people around the world  


that are chain smoking

and crying with their backs against a cold brick wall, thinking about the medicine in their cabinet, or the gun in their desk drawer

Because, no matter what, I have to tell them


"Don't do it"


"It gets better"


"I love you”


“You are important”



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