In my struggle with my Eating Disorder, I have come to realize that an eating disorder completely takes away from who I am. It seems like ED takes over my body- talks for me, thinks for me, while the real me is shoved aside, rarely allowed to act freely. ED forces me to wear different 'masks' for different crowds. Masks that lie to those who love me most. Masks that pretend I am okay. Masks that look like perfection.
The following is a poem/piece of writing I wrote a few years ago when I was nearing the termination of my treatment for Anorexia:
The Maskless Wonder
Walking through a crowded theatre
Appearing confident,
Well put together and happy
Faking a melodrama of casual pursuit
Lying through broken lips
Stories of perfection ooze through the listener’s ears
Perfection so rounded it’s unattainable
Her world has turned into a stage
A stage which presents various masks
Masks of physical perfection, of health
And complete emotional stability
Never to anger, cry and of course never to rage in a war of jealousy
Never to sneak a cookie or piece of chocolate
Never to fail a test
Masks that mold so naturally and firmly to her face
That they won’t come off anymore
The mask that holds a pillow in her lap each time she sits down
Masks that deceive every single one of you
This theatrical mask is untied in rare moments of freedom
It crashes heavily to the floor
Revealing a forbidden weakness
A glance at an unspeakable flaw
She cries, yells, screams and fails too often
Eats too many sweets
Skips workouts
She laughs and smiles
The laugh of her soul rings freely
The audience of people watching her play suddenly become brighter
They are appearing in bold shades of red
While before they were presented in shadows of charcoal
Other people were overlooked because her view was always mirroring the grotesque image of herself
Seeing each stranger’s perception of her
Imagining stories and opinions that seem so real it distracts her from the true experience of the moment
It restricts her
Eats her
Leaves her
“HOW DO THEY VIEW ME?”
Smart? Fat? Gorgeous?
irrepressible thoughts escape through her
Shoving their way repeatedly to get where they want to be
Terror strikes her
In an awakening second
Her masks are hung side by side on metal hooks
She changes each one minute by minute
Their unique lies fit millions of moments
Until years spent hiding desperately behind them have left her nothing but a pale face of emotionless stain
Her hands are trembling
Because she’s not sure if she can do this final task
This stage and these masks have been her element
Her truth
Her armor
Her identity
Without them, her theatre may be empty
The audience may not stare in amazement
Or clap at her glory
They may hate her show
They may even turn and leave in disgust of her plot
But her play is going to be her own
So… she pulls the last match out of the box
Hesitatingly, she strikes it forward
The immediate glow of fire breeds itself profoundly
As her hands release it towards her array of masks hanging in a row
Each mask catches the rush of the melting flame
Disappearing into ash piled up on the cherry wood floor
Each one passing the destructive wonder on to the next
Until at last… nothing remains
But HER
She sits alone in her huge empty theatre
The lights are dim to reflect the red seats and their stillness
The silence is felt for the first time in its reality
Her legs dangle off the edge of the stage
She kicks them back and forth
She doesn’t know whether to laugh, cry, run or dance
She‘s not sure what she wants, craves or desires her play to be
It will come to her, in time
She’s staring out of her two green eyes
Seeing only what they see instead of deeming on the false perception of others
Living her own journey
Maybe marked by failure, cookies and laziness
But still the same,
It’s her journey
Her play
Her theatre
Regardless of the audience feedback
It’s starring only what she now knows…
The maskless wonder…
Walking through a crowded theatre
Appearing confident,
Well put together and happy
Faking a melodrama of casual pursuit
Lying through broken lips
Stories of perfection ooze through the listener’s ears
Perfection so rounded it’s unattainable
Her world has turned into a stage
A stage which presents various masks
Masks of physical perfection, of health
And complete emotional stability
Never to anger, cry and of course never to rage in a war of jealousy
Never to sneak a cookie or piece of chocolate
Never to fail a test
Masks that mold so naturally and firmly to her face
That they won’t come off anymore
The mask that holds a pillow in her lap each time she sits down
Masks that deceive every single one of you
This theatrical mask is untied in rare moments of freedom
It crashes heavily to the floor
Revealing a forbidden weakness
A glance at an unspeakable flaw
She cries, yells, screams and fails too often
Eats too many sweets
Skips workouts
She laughs and smiles
The laugh of her soul rings freely
The audience of people watching her play suddenly become brighter
They are appearing in bold shades of red
While before they were presented in shadows of charcoal
Other people were overlooked because her view was always mirroring the grotesque image of herself
Seeing each stranger’s perception of her
Imagining stories and opinions that seem so real it distracts her from the true experience of the moment
It restricts her
Eats her
Leaves her
“HOW DO THEY VIEW ME?”
Smart? Fat? Gorgeous?
irrepressible thoughts escape through her
Shoving their way repeatedly to get where they want to be
Terror strikes her
In an awakening second
Her masks are hung side by side on metal hooks
She changes each one minute by minute
Their unique lies fit millions of moments
Until years spent hiding desperately behind them have left her nothing but a pale face of emotionless stain
Her hands are trembling
Because she’s not sure if she can do this final task
This stage and these masks have been her element
Her truth
Her armor
Her identity
Without them, her theatre may be empty
The audience may not stare in amazement
Or clap at her glory
They may hate her show
They may even turn and leave in disgust of her plot
But her play is going to be her own
So… she pulls the last match out of the box
Hesitatingly, she strikes it forward
The immediate glow of fire breeds itself profoundly
As her hands release it towards her array of masks hanging in a row
Each mask catches the rush of the melting flame
Disappearing into ash piled up on the cherry wood floor
Each one passing the destructive wonder on to the next
Until at last… nothing remains
But HER
She sits alone in her huge empty theatre
The lights are dim to reflect the red seats and their stillness
The silence is felt for the first time in its reality
Her legs dangle off the edge of the stage
She kicks them back and forth
She doesn’t know whether to laugh, cry, run or dance
She‘s not sure what she wants, craves or desires her play to be
It will come to her, in time
She’s staring out of her two green eyes
Seeing only what they see instead of deeming on the false perception of others
Living her own journey
Maybe marked by failure, cookies and laziness
But still the same,
It’s her journey
Her play
Her theatre
Regardless of the audience feedback
It’s starring only what she now knows…
The maskless wonder…
ME
-Grayce
**none of the writings on this blog may be used, copied or pasted anywhere else without written permission from us, as the authors** thanks, Jade and Grayce
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