Here and Now

If I just didn't care what I looked like, would I even have an eating disorder? Probably not. I have always been so concerned with the perception that others have of me. Always too concerned about what other people think. Why do I care? I think it is somewhat handed down from my parents. They were both always so concerned about appearance and manners. When they would take my brother and I out anywhere, we had to be be well behaved and polite. It mattered to them what other people thought, so I always tried so hard to be perfect for them. No one ever told me that there was no such thing as perfect.

I'm gazing past the chain link fence, to my son, standing on the sidelines. I sit and watch while the other parents talk and cheer. The men shout phrases that their sons don't hear. "Loosen up out there! Stay low... Get on top of 'em!" I open my book and keep to myself, avoiding eye contact. Always waiting. A chance to compare. Who is taller, brighter, faster, smarter? Chitter chatter. Tedious and boring, so I pretend to read, all the while, my heart is gazing past the chain link fence, to my son, standing on the sidelines. Angela Minard 2007

Warm autumn breeze blows the leaves from the trees. Dancing Fire Twist and Tease Until November leaves. Angela Minard 2007

Vivid, violent, raging dreams Their blood like a cleansing rain Infinite? At last...Liberation Free the pain! Awakening joy, a moment fleeting Lost... again With shameful eyes and hands stained Starving to exist Angela Minard 2007

Only a breath away, darkness blankets your quiet heart Hands tremble to awaken your soul Awaiting the light of day to open sleeping eyes Lazy smile We once again begin Angela Minard 2007

I cannot write of you, love lost... I cannot breathe in deep your smell, taken by the wind . My fingers cannot touch your skin. I cannot hear your voice, whispered in my ear. My eyes cannot recall your face... your lips... pressed against my own. I dare not dream of you. Forever... My lost love. Angela Minard 2007

So afraid... Afraid to sleep. Sleep and wake... With the blood. The blood that waits... Deep within. Pretending yet... yet again, not to see. This blinding pain blurs reality, and it hides... It hides in this shame. It is their shame. And all of this blame? All of this hate? All that I carry, and fight not to see. To see who is fading. Maybe... Just maybe... It is not me. When I believe... Believe it's not me... Will I allow myself to be free?