Don’t Eat
Content note: this poem describes disordered eating, including purging.
It started with the health fair
I understand why they had it. We’re fat.
Fourteen year old kids waddling around in school,
Rolls of fat falling over their designer jeans.
Why can’t they just eat less?
Why can’t I?
I’m not far off from them.
The doctor showed me my growth curve.
90th percentile.
A little heavy. Cheeks a little too wide.
I’ve always tried to eat healthy,
But I need to try harder.
Fruits and vegetables they said.
I listened.
Try and eat less carbs.
I understand.
Every day I ate a little less.
Made the right choices.
It felt good. I was healthy. I was right.
Food was wrong. It makes me fat. It’s bad for me.
Now I sit down for dinner.
“Why aren’t you eating?” asks my mother.
I stare at the plate. Calories. Fat. Bad.
“I’m…not hungry.” And suddenly it’s true.
I don’t feel hungry. I don’t want to eat.
“You must be starving, eat!”
I lift the potatoes to my mouth,
But my brain stops me.
“Don’t eat,” it whispers. “It’s wrong.”
And I believe it.
My parents grow worried.
I finish my basketball game and feel dizzy,
And they flip out when I tell them I skipped lunch.
I stop eating breakfast but they force me to drink a protein shake.
I stop eating lunch but my friend tells the counselor at school.
She was bulimic. She still sees a therapist.
She tells me it’s dangerous, that she’s been down this road before,
And that I have to eat.
That evening I eat a large dinner.
Then afterwards I quietly excuse myself to the bathroom.
The food is heavy in my stomach.
I put my finger down my throat and gag,
And out comes my dinner, into the toilet.
It feels wrong. I know it’s wrong.
But my brain tells me I shouldn’t have eaten.
The soft foods are easier.
They feel more like a liquid and I can get them down.
I know I need something to keep me going at basketball.
But the solid foods, the taste…I can barely chew it.
My mom calls the doctor on the phone, hysterical.
“She’s lost 10 pounds in the last month!”
Good. I need to.
“She refuses to eat, I have to force feed her at dinner!”
I wish they’d stop nagging me. I’m not hungry.
An appointment is scheduled.
My dad drags me into the office.
They talk.
The doctor asks questions. My dad starts to answer.
The doctor stops him and asks me to answer.
So I talk.
I tell them the truth.
My brain tells me I shouldn’t eat.
I made myself throw up once.
I don’t think there’s anything wrong with my weight.
I understand I need food to live, but why so much?
The doctor talks. He tells me I need to listen to my parents and eat.
That my weight has dropped 5 pounds but I’m still at the 85th percentile.
I ask him if I have an eating disorder.
He tells me no, but he is worried that I am developing one.
Anorexia. Bulimia. The words are thrown around.
I think of my friend, and suddenly I’m scared.
I don’t want to get sick and die from a disorder.
But my brain keeps whispering
Don’t eat.
If this feels close to home, you are not alone. Talk to your PCP, who can help you find local care and stay with you along the way. You can also call the National Alliance for Eating Disorders’ free helpline: (866) 662-1235.
