Contemplation

In the early hours of day
In the early stages of grief
In the early years of my life

I find myself.
Quietly sitting up in bed, not really asleep, not really awake.
Just quietly staring, quietly passing time.
My fingernails caked with blood from unconscious scratching.
My mind numbed with meaningless songs and sitcoms that don’t make me laugh anymore.
My heart too heavy from everything and nothing.

Sitting upright quiet rooted in fear rooted in absolutely nothing falling asleep waking up nonchalantly from frightening dreams that frighten me but also harden me.

In those raw moments, in those blinding dark nights
I almost crack, I almost cry, I almost beg.
Pleading for this grief to not be mine. Pleading for a release, for a little relief. Pleading to be unloaded.
But I’ll let you in, on a dirty little secret- I’m afraid.

So I bury myself alive, bury myself sick.
all by myself in a silent little room just for me, while everyone
runs
fearfully
from me.
Leaving me
to quietly contemplate on the paths that were less traveled.

Personal Growth

It’s been so long since I’ve blogged, and so much has happened since then.

For starters, I completed my O Levels, and don’t have anything to study for, and in fact I got my results back last month and did pretty well, so that’s a relief thiin more ways than one in terms of progression to my next school. I never thought I’d say this but doing well in a major exam has provided a lot of affirmation, made things easy in terms of options, and generally boosted my self-esteem. I’m also working now, at a preschool as an assistant teacher before I start school and start getting #credentials.

It’s amazing how much has changed in the time that’s passed since I last accessed this blog. Still writing my poetry and being geeky.

Not all changes have been good I admit, and I’ve been dealing with tough stuff now, but I am definitely a much more focused and strong person than I was all those months ago.

I’m passionate about children, and taking care of children, and teaching so I’m definitely interested in the childcare industry. No one I actually know reads this blog, so I can brag a little and say that I’m pretty good at it surprisingly. Being at the childcare centre, being with the children, makes me indescribably happy and makes time melt away rapidly.

I’ve also realised it’s the only thing I’ve been doing, so I thought I’d return to writing, making sure I maintain SOME eloquence. I don’t want to lose my writing ability.

So here’s me, I’m back, with ridiculously intimate poetry (which is the only way I can spill my guts) and posts. Suggestions on posts (especially things that are relevant to teenagers) are more than welcome.

My tumblr is sarahwei.tumblr.com and that is the best possible way to communicate with me be it with feedback or advice or asks. Bear with my many gifsets of Friends, please. Have a beautiful week ahead!

20 Little Ways To Buy Happiness For Less Than 10 Bucks

Thought Catalog

1. Buy the coffee you really want.

… not the homeless latté you fix up at the milk bar so you don’t blow your whole paycheck on a coffee habit, but the extra-large, extra-whip, 5 pump hazelnut with two extra shots. Doing this one day a week might be a little extravagant, but hey, sometimes you need that.
COST: $6

2. Alternatively, order the pastry that’s calling your name from behind the glass case.

I’m still convinced my coworker is being sponsored by the almond croissant industry to hawk their wares, but pick your poison and ask for it on a plate. Take a few extra minutes to sit down with it (and your fancy coffee with all them bells and whistles) and really savor that…

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Plans For Eating Disorder Recovery

So previously, I talked about my eating disorder, EDNOS, and then more recently flat-out bulimia.

Last week I was at a sports day event with my school and I felt so sick from all the laxatives I had taken, not to mention I was severely dehydrated, and so I collapsed and was really ill in front of everyone. It was incredibly humiliating, and some people said things that I don’t even want to think about.

I was ill for the rest of the day, and suddenly this question occurred to me. It was a question my counsellor had been asking me repeatedly in our sessions: “Why do you need to be skinny?”

And it just hit me like that this time. I don’t have to be skinny for anyone at all, I need to be well for myself, and I need to stop running from the truth!

You know, I think I will blog about this whole cause for my eating disorder thing. I’ve figured it out and penned it down.

Okay, onto my plans:

1) I will be following the guidelines for recovery. It seems very feasible, logical and completely healthy. I’ve discovered this blog, which has been really helpful in reassuring me that it is OKAY to eat and perfectly sane and normal!

I will start to join my friends for recess and lunch in the canteen and eat sufficiently. I started today and explained to them my situation, and they’ve been really helpful and I am going to start buying foods other than fruit and fat free yogurt.

2) I will be exercising on weekends. Moderately.
Even though MinnieMaud guidelines discourage it, I will do gentle to moderate intensity exercising like walking and cycling. I think it will help me to release endorphins and improve my overall physical health.

3) I will hereby unfollow all thinspo and fitspo accounts on Tumblr and Instagram!
It is NOT healthy for me to look at slim, fit girls eating oatmeal and fruit at this point in time. I will most probably get triggered.

4) I will NOT weigh myself.
This is seriously triggering and will be the hardest thing to not do, but I believe I will have the strength to not see myself as a number.

– Eating 3000 calories in a day is both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. But I CAN do it! I will be getting better for my own sake, and because goddammit, these illness is killing me from the inside out and the outside in.

– Ok, I will end off this blog post now as my huge bowl of vegetarian pasta is getting cold. I’m doing well so far. I will drown out the voices.

– Believe that you are capable of love, and can make it through!

paint

i feel like i’m drinking paint sometimes.

thick, mushy, swirly-

i know that we all are.

yours seems so diluted sometimes. i ball up

envy and fear rolling over each other

my sighs are echoing through the house again.

heavy breaths that float through doors

and whisper

regret.

nightcall

i’m not sleeping. properly
too busy handling the night calls.
my silhouette casts soft shadows
all over the wooden of my floor.

my gut vibrates miserably again
knees weak, shaking like a leaf.
everything swirls and swirls and swirls-

don’t wake me up please.

i’m not sleeping. properly-
too busy answering the night calls.
too busy emptying my shame.

The Delirium Of My Illness

I bought them. I bought laxatives. I bought laxatives- and I ate them. It started out as a once a week thing if I needed to binge, but slowly got addicted to them. I doubled my laxative intake. I stared at my now visible ribcage in the mirror. Soon I noticed my shoulder bones popping out a little. I was getting skinny. In weird places. You could see my spine and ribcage and shoulder bones but I still had child bearing hips. Huh.

I dreamt all the time. I dreamt of buttered bread and milk, of fried chicken and fries, foods I continually deprived myself of, lying to my mother, lying to my best friend, lying to all my friends, lying to everyone, about how much I ate, what I ate. To them, I was a carb addict, when in reality, I wasn’t eating lunch and often threw out my breakfast.

I shook. I shook a lot. I shook from the caffeine. I gulped black coffee and Diet coke together, hands shaking. The caffeine kept me awake, but it also kept me anxious. About everything and anything. I worried, cried and slept, even with the caffeine running through my blood.

I became a hypocrite. I worked on helping eating disordered friends, helped them with meal plans, got upset when they weren’t eating enough, begged them to stop torturing themselves, when in reality, I couldn’t stop.

I was up at emotional hours. 4am everyday, purging, shitting water, shitting blood, shitting food if I had binged. I would stumble back to my room, sweaty and gross and tired, and do sit ups, counting my ribs, whispering numbers over and over.

I was dehydrated. I dehydrated myself both intentionally and unintentionally. The unintentional bit was when I purged and purged and lost water and minerals from my body. I dehydrated myself intentionally by refusing water.

I was sensitive. So, so sensitive. I was easily agitated. I cried and binged when a teacher who disliked me and knew I had an eating disorder told my good friend that she was so skinny (and that I, was not) and I was so damaged by that.

I could never seem to shut the voices in my head up.

I started living for the adrenaline rush. The rush that came from starving myself, the rush that came from bingeing, the rush that came from purging. I lived for my growling stomach and my full one and the caffeine and the running and the compliments.

It got to a point where it wasn’t the food nor the weight anymore. It was about using bulimia as a coping mechanism to control all that was in my life. If it was a bad day, I would binge and purge. Or I’d starve. I didn’t so much as care for my weight now, I was living off the high, the feelings. I was addicted and messed up and soon I couldn’t recognise the girl I used t be.

I am frightened.
I am frightened of my body. I am frightened of my brain and the fact that it can destroy me when I am the one who should be in control of it.

I am jealous.
I am jealous, of the successful skinny anorexics but mostly of the people that can eat normally without thinking about the calories and fat in their food. I’m jealous of the loss of innocence and of the waste of my youth.

I have lied. I am not vegetarian because I so solely care for the animals, although it did develop at a later stage. I did it to control all the red meat and cholesterol and calories in my diet. There are 440 calories in a double cheeseburger.

I am a liar, I am a green-eyed monster, I am a coward, I am a hypocrite, I am an addict. Mostly I am delirious and damaged, and definitely not in the romanticised way.

When We’re Busy Being Broken

when chair legs scratch us
when dried lips become the better of us
when we’re falsely lighting the end of us
suck it in- empty, strong, flowing–
to the currents, all over
in my veins, my beating blood
when we close our eyes and inhale
ragged breaths, choking
ghosts slip surreptitiously down our cheeks-

and you will never trace the road of my sorrow
the bones like an arrow
bleeding, bleeding- bleeding where they can’t see.