I just found this poem while spelunking around on my hard drive. I wrote this in January of 2006 after I'd gained back all the weight I lost on weight watchers and starting trying to make sense of my compulsive eating. I don't know if it's any good as a poem but it definitely says what I needed it to say.
This far into my journey I feel like I should be further along.
Recovered, not recovering.
Which begs the question, what am I recovering from now?
Depression? Sexual abuse? Bullying? Bereavement? Abandonment?
When do I get to be who I am instead of what I’m surviving?
Why do I eat.
I eat because I’m scared that the food won’t last
Somehow, inexplicably, it will disappear so I must eat all I can now.
I eat because food is my friend, it keeps me company when I’m alone,
it keeps me occupied when I’m bored,
it fends off the memories and the fear
it loves me unconditionally
it doesn’t care that I don’t belong
I’m still trying to prove to myself that there is some place in this world for me.
But so far I’m not very convincing
Maybe being big is a way to force the world to make room for me.
When I’m small I fit comfortably between passengers on the subway
and I can buy clothes anywhere I choose
but somehow fitting makes me unfit
this fitting in is not comfortable
On one hand I agonize over finding some space to belong,
on the other hand I know that I wasn’t born to fit
I was made to be the wrench in the works
It used to be that my presence, my very existence made those around me uncomfortable.
Now the person who’s uncomfortable is me.
When I’m big I’m unattractive and intimidating
When I’m small I’m weak and inauthentic
How will I find the balance between power and beauty?
How will I stop looking for salvation in a smaller dress size and a bar of chocolate?
