To My Parents

To My Parents

I am not a statistic

I am a person.

You tell me it's my illness talking,

That I am doing this on purpose

That I am stronger than my illness

So you punish me for acting disorderly.  

Depriving myself of a necessity used to be a choice

It makes me feel in control, powerful, strong

The devil and I are walking hand in hand

But “you’re just sick”.

The fictional voice in my head urges me:

“Don’t eat it, it’s poison. You’re letting them win”

The monster in my head fights back.

No one understands, I didn’t ask for this––

Or the nights I spend telling myself

“You’re okay”.

So, you put me in front of the mirror

And tell me

“You’re beautiful, please stop this”

“You’re ruining your future”

Mom, dad I’m fine.  

I try to escape

But the maze that is my mind is inescapable

And I am lost,

I’m lost with no sense of what I’ve done.

And you tell me over and over: it’s just the illness.

The tornado that blew through my life

Still wreaks havoc––

The mess that it’s wrath entailed

continues to persist.

It’s finally time to pick up the broken pieces

And learn how to live again.

So I tell you it’s not the illness,

I’m stronger than the devil.