Eating to die?

I stared at the biscuit box,

the chocolate, crisps,

empty cases and a loaf? just

bread crumbs, and wept.

I cried for the pain that I

was trying to suppress,

the old hurts that oppressed.


and I knew that I was heavy and

hopeless, I would have to go

through this again, and

again, I wept over the waste.

I loathed the loo where I

would be last, holding

myself in contempt

and disgust.


I saw myself as beyond

bad, gravely guilty and

prayed for strength to

see food as others do,

those who do not fear a 

forkful, and me scared 

using it to hush the

screaming child   in me.


My brother died in a 

dreadful way and in grief

something changed. I

was hopeless and hurting. l

felt like he saw and grieved

for me. I was ashamed that 

he might know and feel pity.

But did he speak to God? 

His parting gift to me?


Courage came and I gave 

my child a  voice to be heard. 

It took time and talking,

it took crying and walking

away from the things that

cause my resolve to crumble. 

I crawled like a baby, and 

slowly, held a new rope.


I fell, but ruled out the

feelings of fractured failure,

the nagging voice that sternly

speak, you’re weak, you won’t 

win. I listened for the voice

that says, I love you as I

see you now. I’ll be beside

you, and together we will


look back and see how

his hold has lessened.

You have changed, and now 

tell others that there’s 

sometimes a way away from it?

And they might too cry out and 

send their 






Published by


margins are a great place sometimes because it is where change happens fastest but it is also a horrible place when we are stuck in them and grace is the moment when we can see that someone cares.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.