The Mercy Killings Of Our Eating Disorder Machines

Why do we keep doing it?
Even after we come up empty?
Why do we fight our bodies,
when we know, somewhere inside,
deep inside
that they are not the enemy?
Why do we choose to engage in this particular struggle
as oppose to another?
Maybe we're all more comfortable here,
limited, yes,
but somehow safe that way ~
confined within our shrinking selves
our own walls closing inÉ
Tucking us in,
a lullaby
no one else can hear.
But why do we persist,
even after we come up lonely,
in our self-imposed isolation,
year after year?
What do you expect will be different?
From yesterday to tomorrow?
From last month to next year?
At some point we all recognize the dance ~
the strange, comforting rhythm,
of sickness
followed by intervention
of promises
followed by broken ones
of secrets
followed by necessary lies
of just-once-more-getting-away-with-it
followed by our own fears,
our loved ones' criesÉ
That soon-painfully-predictable cycle
of ultimatums and boundaries and limits and lines
followed by the Hopelessness
felt even by the professionals,
by those that have been successfulÉ
That unbearable, sticky Hopelessness
that gathers speed and starts to nag at us
That tiny, silent sigh of relief,
underneath the showcase of protests,
when we are finally stopped by someone else ~
a doctor, a treatment center, a life support machine.
Is that the end we're hoping for?
Someone,
something,
else to support our life,
even if it's a cold, unfeeling machine?
Why do we go on, refusing to do it,
To support our own lives?
Why do we wait?
And suffer
and live
a life of pain
'til something, someone, else is forced to break in?
Why do we keep doing it?
Long after we know
that we will always come up empty?
Why do we fight our bodies,
when we could just start to believe,
somewhere inside,
deep inside
our cold, unfeeling eating disorder machines,
that our Body,
our Life,
is not the enemy?