this post might just hurt the most.
unraveling the truth from the perception
is causing me quite a bit of misconception
and even more fear of the repercussions.
i can no longer deny my dna,
it came up just the other day.
knowing the oddity,
when i recognized the new pattern,
my new habits of living;
things i felt were so positive,
with my new found fire and passion.
Nervosa
by Evan
Look at me, we are dual TV screens,
Look at me, the new me,
It’s been years…. a few years.
Sometimes people lose touch, break tree branches,
Bark turns into pieces- it’s slow.
Careful now, don’t touch,
Side step the crackling leaves.
I’ve lost touch, some things are obsessive,
Behavior can border on nervous,
This piece, our second installment of the night on creative works on eating disorders comes from Kate Chandler, titled “Doubt: Sarah’s Poem.”
I remember when we were younger
we would play outside your house
riding on your huge dog like a pony we would mount.
It’s funny, that dog used to mean the world to me
yet somehow I can no longer remember his name.
Today, our fourth installment of Eating Disorder Awareness Week is two poems. The first, posted below, is from Kelsey-Brooke Scheumann, who submitted a poem titled ‘The Deadly Promise” to Dear Hope in the past. ‘The Fine Print’ picks up where the previous poem left off.
You lied to me.
I fell for your twisted game.
I signed your contract.
Bond to you, for years.
I traded in my friends,
my joy, and my youth
to keep our deadly promise.
Our first submission piece in Eating Disorder Awareness Week comes from Morgan, titled “He Called Me The ‘T’ Word.”
Throwback Thursday, time to choose a tacky photo to make a thoughtful post about good times from years before:
“#tbt to freshman year homecoming- miss yah girly”
Steady stream of likes flow in, slowing to a trickle as the day goes on.
3 hours after posting, there was a dink of a notification:
“Looking really thin Morgan, *thumbs up emoji*”
Looking really thin Morgan.
Looking really thin Morgan?
Below is Ethar’s poem “Almost”, and her artwork of what helps her make it through the day.
“I will go down to the lake
And dip my toes in the blue-green water,
Tadpoles tickling my feet.
It would be a cliché scene
If it weren’t for my bottle of morning Prozac
Sitting beside me,
On the grass.
The Deadly Promise
The real me is disguised
by this massive unwanted weight.
Staring blankly into the glass,
praying to be given the most
valuable quality, that of perfection.
I don’t need anyone.
All I need is you.
My happy little addiction,
sweeping me away into your
false, troubled world.
The more withered I get,
the stronger you and I become.
Together we are reckless,
doing anything it takes
to be empty and accepted.
I can never be too critical
you always leave room for my improvement.
You promise me joy.
So I follow you willingly
into the depths of disappointment.
It’s never enough for you.
Therefore it’s never enough for me.
I signed your contract,
because I worship your
ability to beautify others.
Make me like them, my friend.
Transform me into something magnificent.
This poem was submitted by Kelsey-Brooke Scheumann.
Remember you are not alone.
You are loved.
Want to submit to this site and share your story, art, or article related to mental health or mental illness? Email wemustbebroken@gmail.com
My passion grew
unknowingly
with thorns
outside eyes view.
Shadows,
with no known source of light
left more questions
than admittable answers.
Watching microwave numbers
countdown to zero,
acknowledging time passes
is a privilege in concept.
Teased with control,
long abandoned
when the hands unfroze.
So on a rainy day this past summer, I woke up with depression at its finest, where it was one of those days where I felt so drained of energy that I definitely was not going to be able to go to work. I called out, slept for most of the day, and managed to write this. I hope it can be relatable to those of you having a bad day, or those of you who may have felt similarly. Here’s “Monday”-
I’m not taken aback by the beauty of the sun or moon.
But that’s okay, at least I’ve learned in time that there are very little differences between objects labeled mine and days considered wasted time. Entitlement is a false concept paralleling a religious purgatory.
“The human body is the best work of art.” Jess C. Scott
There were mornings,
where all the mirrors were covered with a net. One that would catch your projected insecurities, and house them there until they grew too large to ignore. Becoming a permanent part of the reflections they presented. Every time you dare to glance over they would be the first thing your eyes catch, the monstrous voices of self ridicule further exaggerating them in your mind until it was they were only part of your distorted reflection you could think about.
Dear Hope 