i.

stall, eyes rolling,

rolling, rolling BACK

into SKULL

ii.

bullet spearing

skin, reaching

deep into heart within

iii.

autumn winds

pressing close,

poking holes into my skin,

ripping deep,

it cries out in agony—

asks me what i’ve done

to cold body

iv.

whispers tucked

beneath orange leaves,

cradled by branches bent,

hands close, folded tight

v.

MISS YOU

vi.

wretched voices in my head,

tell them to “shut up, shut up, shut up!”

vii.

tuck bats under

ears, hang by

toes, whisper

pretty words

viii.

hear your voice in

night ears, you tell me

that you hate me,

you hate me,

(you hate me),

and you carve those words

right into my skin,

beneath my collarbone,

blood-red promises

you swear to keep

ix.

and i tell you

that it’s

okay

I spent a good amount of my high school years hooked up to IVs, being told that not eating 'wasn't going to make me pretty'. (That was my mother.) I had extra time on assignments, was allowed to drop classes I couldn't be present for, and deflected pitiful glances from classmates. Seventeen, for me, tastes like laxatives and mouth wash.

It's funny how when you weigh ninety pounds, you still steal all the air out of the room.

I didn't know who I wanted to be. This is more important than 'what' you want to be. I knew I didn't want to be sick. But I also didn't know who I was. They tell you, 'seventeen is so young.' But these were the same people who didn't know how many calories are in a fig, or how many reps on a elliptical is takes to burn off the creamer in my coffee.

Pathetic.

That was the voice in my head. I went to college, dropped out, and ended up in a mental hospital. You know what hurts more than your mother refusing to visit you? Staring recovery in its face and realizing it's who you have been all along. That you'll never escape who you are at your core.

I don't believe in fate. But God makes plans, and we laugh.

Currently, I don't like what I do for a living. I wish I had more initiative. Where's the girl who could run on the treadmill for two hours straight? She's now thirty and streaming Hulu.

Have dreams. When I was in rehab for the sixth time, I was forced to eat a potato chip and cried. When those tears fell, I didn't want to be who I had become. It took years to change. I dreamed of a day when I could eat with abandon. It came.

Eating potato chips isn't an accomplishment. But it's my story. I think you need to look at your story, and with your dreams, knowing who you are, go from there.

It's not easy. But that day I was forced to eat a potato chip? Other girls were forced to, too. And they said: Alison, I saw you eat one, and I had the courage to do it, too.

Be that girl. Show them all who you really are.

to the people who tried to shame me,

do you ever wonder if it worked?

because I spend days thinking of all the hurtful things I said

I spend days pondering what I should’ve done

or how I could’ve been better

I spend days counting the days till it will finally be over

to the people who screwed me over

do you wonder if I’m fine

for I create clocks and fixtures in my mind to hold my thoughts hostage to specific times.

I wander through alleyways of these passage-veins that circle and circle throughout my brain

i create cycles of patterns looping round and round so that I will not forget

to those who laughed

to those that left

I am one of you

one who let go of human empathy to stick to the concrete sound of melancholy memories

drifting to haunting taunts

as I screamed at those who were inferior

at those who were crazy

at those who were hurting

at her

at the one person I truly. loved.

to those who punish themselves

who create killing karmas to punish their own actions,

it’s okay.

the truma will soon fade to a less frequent pain

it’s okay.

the world is a terrible place,

but you have a lifetime to improve it

to believe in yourself in others

to hope

to breathe

to live

to those people

to those people who really need to hear it

its okay,

I forgive you.

Sometime in college, I read somewhere that your personality is the average of the five people you spend the most time around. It stuck with me. I never questioned the correctness of the quote. In my book, it doesn’t have to be accurate to be true.

But here’s the thing—it’s completely true. And accurate.

We like to think of the human brain as a computer, but it’s actually way cooler. It’s a living thing and it’s constantly changing. We will never fully understand it, so we can never totally optimize it. I’m grateful for that. If you solve all the mysteries of the universe, romance dies.

Anyway. The brain has about 86 billion neurons, each one forming thousands of connections with its neighbors. This network is spontaneous order in its purest form, constantly modified by each moment of your life.

Every single experience and interaction you have changes the structure of your brain. You form new connections, and those connections break, adjust, and get rerouted. The aftershock of these changes can be felt all the way down to your DNA, the instruction manual for your entire existence.

When you meet someone new, your brain changes. You learn their name, their face, the things they like. You want to remember these things, and in doing so, they become a part of you. When you meet a person for coffee, or dinner, you are gifting them the world’s tiniest piece of your identity.

What a wake-up call. We’re a mix of the genes we’ve been dealt, but we are also the sum of the decisions we make.

Who have you decided to spend your life around?

They say “all’s fair in love and war”

But what happens when the lines blur

And you can’t tell pain from pleasure

When the anticipation of each caress

Is built on fear as much as lust

They say "all’s fair in love and war"

But there’s an ache behind my eyes when I’m alone

And your grip’s a little tight when you hold my hand

So I wonder if you’re cheating after all

Or if I’m just not playing hard enough

my neck hurts

from watching the sky

waiting

for a sign or

until time runs out