Recovery from eating disorders like anorexia, bulimia and binge eating is possible. We offer hope to all our patients.

Sugar Shame

Shame in the form of
Chocolate fingerprints marked me as
Culprit from the age of five -

And I've been sneaking sucrose salvation ever since,
Salivating over a slow suicide coated in powdered sugar,
Leaving cocaine-like residue at the edges of
Lips that inhaled my secrets
Out of fear of being found out-

Seized by gluttony early on,
By the age of eight I was racing my 6ft. tall, 285lb.
Father in pizza-eating contests Designed for two-
The only time I didn't feel shame,
Only pride at stuffing half a medium pie
Into a pre-pubescent mouth used as a pawn
That never got my self-loathing in check-

By middle school I was wearing the sizes of grown women,
Inseams of jeans thighs giving from the Strain of adolescent pain manifesting in Clandestine trysts with treats
Resulting in spreading hips found to be Unpleasing by my Caucasian counterparts-

By high school, the White boys I wanted to date (In Brookline, MA, they were my only option)
Resisted my thickness in the open,
While striving to experience exotic engagements in private,
But I was too smart to be used like this-
Instead I pressed tooth-brush handles to The back of a throat that closed A little more each time I was Passed over for a friend in a size four
And I figured at fourteen it would get me attention
And I would only do it for a little while-

Ten years later I find myself in a twelve-step meeting,
Enamel stripped from teeth
Toothbrushes consistently by-passed
To find rest at my gag-reflex
Admitting to taking an incomplete on my vocal test,
My final as a voice major in college
Due to acid swelling up in my throat
As it emerged into porcelain thrones
Before which I kneeled,
Praying for a way out of this maze,
Stomach acid traveling back up and Past windpipes through the throat Stripped layers of vocal chords
That could no longer sing,
Only rasp from the sting
Of what had turned into ten years of self-loathing,
Nodules rubbing acidic residue into My voice box,
threatening to erode,
No longer able to produce notes- Not even the wrong ones.

In March of 2004 I found my home
Among people as sick as myself
And finally retrieved my voice
And told on myself-
"Hi, I'm Malika, compulsive over-eater, bulimic"
And as soon as the words Left my mouth I felt freed,
Even if it's only a daily reprieve,
Now I had some hope for peace,
No longer a slave to what I eat,
Now on my knees for God only,
I now love myself enough to accept my release.

By Malika, 2008