Kinda Hard To Feel Without A Heart -- RD Present: Caf� Brio

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Date Posted: Sat, Jan 28 2006, 5:05am PST
Author: Lizzia
Subject: Kinda Hard To Feel Without A Heart

I walk toward the cafe, a faded yet fitted denim jacket slung across my slim shoulders, my russet brown hair tied scruffily beneath sunglasses perched on top. I stride in with ripped black jeans and knee high black biker boots. Their steel stiletto heel digs in slightly to the dirt outside, leaving pinpoint marks as to where i've walked. My feet don't hurt though. My small waist and flat stomach are hidden beneath a coffee white vest top, my bra straps sliding down my arms. I shrug them up slightly, and continue my walking. Tubigrip bandages wind their way up both my arms, not supporting, hiding. A gentle breeze picks up, and my hair falls down, the glasses teeter precariously. I take them off, put them in my pocket, and ruffle my hair.
You could say I was a young beauty, 18 years old, slim, bumps and curves in the right places, tall enough. But I wasn't, not to me, not to my eyes. I was slim, but i was too fat. Anorexia was remnants to my ironing board tum, and my slimmer legs. But i was nothing compared to what I had been. 17 and 5 1/2 stone. Not good. I lost my hair, my beautiful auburn hair that has taken a year to regrow, and they worried I was infertile. I am. No children. Ever. I don't think i should have them though. PND. Post Natal Depression. Im already a depressive. See these bandages? They hide my cuts, scars, wounds, and holes. No, they're not for show. I'd rather curse a sprain than curse a cut. Plus it freaks people out. When I was in my anorexia ward, they put me on suicide watch. Im still on AD's, and they worry about me too. So i left. No note, nothing. I tried to find people like me. I dont fit in with normal people, and they told me of a place that i could fit in, where i'd be welcome.
So I'm here now. I hoped my history would leave, but you can't sever away what has made you now. I still have issues, you can see the red beginning to twing beneath the bandage. But i don't care anymore. I've gotten to the point i don't care for anything. I've been torn apart too many times. The only history I let myself remember is the one of my pain i caused. I do not remember my parents. I dont want to. But why should I remember the other things then? Because they're still here...The demons, they still haunt me, and maybe, they haunt you too....
I walk into the cafe, my hazel eyes skirting around, apprehensive almost in their movements. A see a few people about, obviously making friends. Friends? I knew nothing of the word. The ones I had had deserted me when they found my problem. Noone came to see me on suicide watch, not even my parents. It was then i decided to leave. Yeah. But im going to shut up now, im bringing up a past i had forgotten. I see a small chair sitting in a corner, sitting with it's empty partner, it's hard wooden back softly inviting me. I head over to it, and from a small pocket in my jacket, i manage to retrieve miniscule pad, probably 10 x 12 cm. Following suit, comes a miniature black pen, and i click it to activate the ink flow. I flick to a clean page, then softly caress the starched sheet. Soon it is stained, and i am writing, putting my feelings into a rhyme of thought.

*Hear My Cry Softly
*Watch Me Weep In Pain
*Listen To My Screams Of Anguish
*Feel The Scabs Again
*A New Place And A New Start
*Yet I Feel Like Somethings Wrong
*My Demons Have Followed Me Onwards
*Still Lulling Me With Their Song
*I Cannot Help But Hear Them Chant
*As They Tempt Me To Distress
*I Need A Friend To Hold My Hand
*To Feel Their Soft Caress

I guess you could say my poetry was a way to release my thoughts, but hey, i don't know, it helped me a bit, and it stopped me feeling hungry, and stopped my harm for a while. That's the thing, I eat now, well, better than I did, and i'm gaining weight, i can feel it pulling on me. But the better I look in myself, the worse i Feel in myself. Go figure. I suppose, there was a weight i was happy at when i was real bad, and then everything was perfect, but out of habit, i couldnt eat to keep that weight. So here i am, resting on 7stone, trying my damndest not to let the food hurt me again. Or the blades. God knows what hurts me now...everything i suppose.
Im still sitting in my chair, so please, someone, let me know you're there....

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