a self-destructive mind to match my self-destructive body. (a tribute to autoimmune diseases & my diseased logic)

i am lemon yellow
& leaking from the wrists.

in battle by myself,
again,
i am trying to fight
the part of me
that thinks i can survive on tea & smoothies
because everything else
makes me sick.

‘trying to get better’ is my full time job & i
work all the overtime
for the paycheque i have yet to get.

on doctor’s orders i
cut out cane sugar, cut out gluten, cut out dairy, cut out starches, cut out beans,
cut out all the things that give me medical mood swings
& make me feel like shit.

permission to restrict? no problem
almost afraid to admit
justify my insane meal plans this time because
celiac disease
is such a convenient excuse.

disordered eating;
disordered mind
saying the only things anorexic about me are my
eating habits
& my BMI.
always questioned but escaping diagnosis
because i don’t try to lose weight &
i don’t think i’m fat
i just don’t think

i deserve to eat

but they never ask me that.

my doctor prescribes me 30 pounds;
she recommends 3,200 calories a day
my mouth coats with cotton
there is no fucking way —
she’d settle for 2,500
but while we’re wishing unlikelies
can she prescribe me wings? so i
can soar away from the world where even
1000 calories sounds like a challenge.

i’m just naturally underweight, my mind says
i was born with the ability to survive
on sunshine & well wishes & words.

scapegoat celiac perfect excuse for why
fasting feels fine;
& why it’s normal to me
to not be hungry, to stop long before i’m full, to restrict when i’m stressed;

& to always be stressed.

it’s not until i see pictures
when i’m unrecognizable —

knobby knees, arms like sticks & small clothes that don’t fit.

they say the camera adds ten pounds
but to me it takes away twenty;
always a shock to see on film
what i can’t in the mirror.

denial so tight i confuse it for skin.

i am stiff joints & shaky arms & stumbling,
i am feeling like a fraud but still
i am running until i see spots.

i am used to feeling
my heart fluttering when i’m sitting
tripping over it’s own beats &
trying to escape.

now i am justified
celiac disease provided permission
to scribble another fifty things on my can’t-eat-this list…
disgustingly proud, glorified for restricting suddenly being so healthy
after a positive TTG blood test.

cruel irony in that

i am autoimmune; most food makes
my body attack itself from the inside —
medically diagnosed self-destruction & i wonder how the hell
could my mind ever be fine.

early mornings bring alarm clocks & back the thoughts

have you ever found
your mind works better when there’s nothing in it?

today i am cleaning out my head
so full i’m afraid i’ll choke
so instead
pierce a hole above my ear and
overflow it all over the floor
like vomit, flooding irrationality to wet down my carpet red
spray coat the wall in splatters of black & blue as
my yellow yesterdays drip down the windows
skin feels hot from where my insides spilt
all my bad memories burn my arms like my mind

i’m all green & grey & so far from all right

i’ve even shot some on the ceiling, & in the places that i can’t reach without moving the couch
my mind is emptying everywhere but
i’m not worried about the stains

i’ve done this before & i know
the next moment when i wake up
all the mess will recollect
be back neat & naughty
all locked up
surprising me the ability for so much shit to fit
in the space above my shoulders.

just to let you know we were here.

the world flew past like i did
on borrowed wings
the ability to not give a shit
came at a high price

took me a couple years to realize

the worst part of irrationality
is the discovery you were wrong
fifty years later when you’re standing at grave stones &
still stumbling over words.