I Am

I AM Hungry with a hunger that does not originate from my stomach, but rather from my soul…
Insecurities that come not from my inabilities, but from my mind which propagates the lies
For I am wounded from the past and scarred forever more
I mourn for a childhood that was robbed of innocence and I cry out for justice, but my assailant has long left this earth and what good would a public trial do?
“Would they believe me, more importantly, would anybody care?” These are the question that my inner child asks and there is no one to answer her, but me.
I have stuffed my pain down inside of me until I resemble the thighs of a woman in panty-hose several sizes too small, I can no longer contain what has been pushed down and I feel it oozing out. I am a bulimic and shall be forever more.
I have lived in a closet of shame that no one understands. Sick, disgusting and lacking self control…I have told myself these very things and my mind confirms what I have known, I am a disgrace and will be, forever more.

“Wait!” My inner child cries. “I did not cause the pain!” “But, YOU did fill yourself like a balloon, not stopping until you popped!” My righteous mind chimes in.
“It wasn’t me who did those things!” My inner child says with her arms crossed and her chin thrust out.
“It was me, don’t blame her.” Says a small voice I barely recognize. That voice! I know it and yet I have to think hard to place whose it is.
“She is the TEEN.” I remark to myself. “I remember her, such a sad girl, but a damn good actress as I recall.” My mind remembers the fake smiles and forced laughter, the teen version of my inner child. I see the bags of potato chips and the crumbs falling off her chin….”eat, hurry, or they will know” she seems to be saying.
Retching, gagging as she grips the cold and uncaring porcelain bowl. Heart palpitations, will she die? The underlying smell of vomit and the mints she always carried. I see her now, a wounded bird that someone should just put out of her misery but they will not, for they only see her smiles. A damn good actress indeed!

I tell the voices to go away. I don’t have time for their whining. I must get up and be a happy, a well adjusted middle-aged woman who is still stuffing her feelings into panty hose that are several sizes too small…for I am a bulimic, now and forevermore

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One thought on “I Am

  1. Pingback: I Am | A Whimsical Nana

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