When I told you that I was still sick,
and that I was going to get help,
we hugged and cried and you gave your support.
And while I was in treatment,
you sometimes inquired,
responding to my positive updates.
But after I left that place,
we never talked about it again.
You assumed the best and I let you
See, this problem thrives in darkness,
I hardly confront it with myself,
and even less with others.
I know it’s not that you didn’t care,
but the fact that you never asked,
If you had asked me straight
I might have lied,
but at least then you could say you tried.
There’s never time to ask the question
with one right answer,
the one that that you won’t hear.
And so it continued,
with you cloaked in wishful thinking,
and me hidden in my shame.
Until, once again, I intervened
tearing open that inner door
shining light on the destruction.
Its like I’ve always known,
that even with all the support in the world
this problem is mine alone to solve.
Aww, a beautiful sad poem that re-iterates the deep desire for ED to stay hidden. Keep talking, we’re here to listen.