Twas the night after Christmas

TW: References to eating disorders and suicide

Twas the night after Christmas when deep in their minds,

the demon awakened with words far from kind.

The hearts of the sufferers sank with self hate

 as they questioned what they did to deserve such a fate.

The victims were restless and listened with dread

while words of abuse danced in their heads.

The demon in his glory and us in our hell,

had just wished our happiness a tearful farewell

When out in the darkness there arose such a chatter,

I tossed in my bed as he screamed I was fatter.

Away to my stomach my hands flew with great speed,

clawing at the flesh, I made myself bleed.

The light of the moon on my tear stained cheeks,

showed the darkness in my eyes as I succumbed to critique.

When, what to my tortured self should appear,

but an ice cold laugh and an even colder jeer.

“With a little old remark, a dagger to your soul,

I take you back, you’re under my control,

More pitiful each time you come back to me,

When will you learn, you’ll never be free.

To the end of your life

Right to your grave.

So cry! Cry away!

My dear sweet slave.”

As guilt grows that before the silence was bearable,

when coupled with darkness, it longs to be shareable.

So out of the depths of my heart the pain creeps,

ready to awake my family from sleep.

And then, in a whisper, I hear his threat,

of not to do something which I will regret.

So I draw the covers up to my chin,

and  promise to be quiet from hereon in.

I shake with disgust, from my head to my foot,

but in my room I resolve to stay put.

I can’t tell my family, they simply can’t know.

To save our Christmas, it has to be so.

My eyes – how they burn! My lips, how bitten!

Of my demon I was once so smitten.

His constant reminders of my imperfection,

I somehow heard as words of affection.

The hatred in his voice as he reviled my being,

and his ability to change what I was seeing.

I long for the days when my mind was my own,

I yearn for the days of being alone.

The sound of his voice and the echo of his snigger,

soon turns everything into a torturous trigger.

He is evil, dangerous – he longs for my death

No, he will not stop till I take my last breath.

I speak not a word, I survive with distractions

This is a war I must win with my actions.

I have not triumphed, but neither has he,

because I still believe that I can be free.

My demon has grown quiet, to his haven he’s retreated.

No need to stay – he senses I am defeated.

But he did not hear as he proudly withdrew,

“I am more than my eating disorder and I will beat you.”