Anorexia nervosa. Battle of the mind. Battle of the body.

It all describes the same struggle. It was the disease that landed me in the hospital.

Therapy of all kinds was scheduled. Art, music, family, group, writing.

Writing. A way of describe the demons in a way everyone could relate.

Look right, look left, write here, write there, breathe in, breathe out.

Put pen to paper and just write. Write.

Writing was a way to release the tension we all buried deep within us.

No one wanted to be the one to say admit that we were being suffocated, but

writing was a way to break from the grasp around our necks.

That big black hole had already swallowed most of us. Don't eat that. Don't sit. Don't drink that.

You don't deserve to be happy. You don't deserve to live. You deserve to die you fat pig.

Look right, look left, write here, write there, breathe in, breathe out.

Put pen to paper and just write. Write.

Writing was our cry for help from the slow death we were in. Vocalizing our thoughts meant we received help

to combat the specific errors in thinking.

We weren't writing poems because it was a required therapy, we were writing poems to save our lives.

Becasue when you put pen to paper and just write, it was a way to escape our disease and search for life.