What They Told Me

My therapist told me I should go to Huntsville Texas to watch the bats
fly out of the old abandoned prison they’ve taken over;
All 1 million of them, every night at dusk.
Statistically speaking, 10,000 of them have rabies;
10,000 chances of certain death.
Not that my brain was calculating that.
Not that I would ever Google that.

My dietician told me I should eat cheesecake every night
until I grew bored of it.
Because the first week I was at Opal they served us cheesecake for dessert and I cried big fat tears
and then I needed an entire process group to process…cheesecake.
It’s ok though because everyone else did too.
Our brains calculating the caloric damage, our eating disorders calling us failures.

My parents told me:
“We promise you aren’t going to die if you don’t get to sleep by 8pm - it doesn’t work like that.”
“Mad Cow disease isn’t here in America - eat the burger.”
“There’s absolutely zero way you can get pregnant from sitting on a toilet seat. Besides - you are 11 years old and haven’t even gotten a period yet.”
Funny that reassurance never worked, that I blanketed the toilet seats in paper for years.
But it’s what parents do when they see their child suffer.
If only they could drive out the shadows in the head
like they did the monsters under the bed.

The nurse assured me I’d be in the hospital for a few weeks tops,
no way I’d miss Christmas.
That the more I ate, the faster I could go back to high school.
That the Ensure Plus she brought me nightly wasn’t that bad.
I never told her but I actually kinda loved it and looked forward to it
I could close my eyes and imagine the Butter Pecan flavor was the milkshake I’d never let myself have.

My running friends wondered why I never went out to eat with them.
Was I afraid of eating or was I afraid of being watched while eating?
When you are open about your struggles suddenly everything can feel like a performance.
Sometimes it’s more relaxing to eat my Pop-Tarts in peace in between spoonfuls of peanut butter.
Or maybe that’s the disorder talking, the start of a relapse.

My ex-fiancé told me he’d never have kids with me
until I “got things under control.”
But also that I wasn’t that special - “you have problems with food? So does every other woman GET OVER IT.”
There’s a reason he’s an ex.
But there’s also a reason I haven’t had children.
Words cut deep and some wounds, even word wounds, don’t heal.

Social media told me “strong is the new skinny!”, “it’s ok to not be ok”, “body positivity” and “health at every size”
but it also told me that all the celebrities are on GLP-1s and maybe you should be too and that sugar is inflammatory and I guess “heroin chic” is back (who the hell asked for that?)
If we all know it’s feeding us lies, then why can’t we stop ourselves from scrolling?

The news tells me every day
that there’s some new disease to be scared of.
That cancer rates are skyrocketing
and you wouldn’t even know you have it
Hantavirus and Guillain-Barré and glioblastomas and ebola I’m pretty sure I already mentioned rabies.
Dr Google will tell you that you have all of them
and that every twinge is actually a heart attack.
I had a stint where I went to the ER six times in three months.
If they had a frequent flyer program, I’d be a Platinum Diamond Member

15 year old Amelia said “When I get old, like…30…I’ll just get over this because I won’t care what my body looks like anymore.”
How lame to be an adult dealing with an eating disorder.
“Recovery means it just magically poofs and disappears and you never think about food again, right?”
42 year old Amelia tells her “OH CHILD IF ONLY YOU KNEW.”

I tell myself, now: you’ve spent all these years listening to what they told you.
You echoed their frustrations, complaints, fears, and you’ve taken it out on yourself.
Have you ever stopped and listened to your own voice and what she’d say?
A tiny whisper, very faint, but present, saying: I am so, so proud of you.

Performed in Seattle, Washington on August 29, 2026 at Fremont Abbey)

(I started writing and performing poetry two years ago, mainly as a way to process and cope with my own mental health battles. In these past few decades, sport and athletics have been my means of expression, of belonging. With the future of those in my life uncertain, I’m experimenting with news ways of expressing myself.)