A – a letter to Anorexia

[My apologies for the delay in blog posts, but you know how busy life can sometimes get, and I would rather write a quality post, or at least attempt to, when I am not dashing about the place like a headless chicken on recreational drugs.]


Hello, anorexia.

Let’s pretend for a little while that you are human, and not a mental illness cloaked in a black hoodie and scythe.

You would make an utterly brilliant politician. All of those magnificent yet empty promises, the never-ending lies and backtracking, the ineffective policies that cost more than they benefit, the hypocrisy that you refuse to acknowledge.

Yet, like most politicians, despite blatant ineptness, you are somehow… very persuasive. And powerful. You amass supporters with ease. Great big chunks of the internet are dedicated to your policies. You have your own hashtag, for crying out loud. There are even some people who think you’re a bit of a celebrity: glamorous, attractive, they so dearly want to embody you. Your subjects are often fiercely loyal and highly competitive. No other politician but you will demand such high standards, such perfection, such dedication.

Election time comes back around, but you don’t need to campaign. You remain in power, despite being asked to step down. Your ‘no’ is stronger than theirs. You are a dictator now. You oppress. You terrorise. You tear people apart, gram by gram. You kill and maim. Yes, there is opposition: there are many who rebel and try to show your followers your true monstrosity. But your doctrine has leached into our culture. Your ideology is acceptable in magazines, on social media, in the school playground.

I am not afraid of you anymore… but your power is frightening.

You can defy physics and make your subjects see things on their body that aren’t there.

You metastasize in someone’s brain like a tumor, and replace compassion with revulsion. You pinch, bruise, cut, scrutinise, faint, purge, shiver, sweat, torture.

You manipulate logic and reality. Numbers are warped, death is life, loved ones are conspirational, hatred is good, weakness is strength. The distinctions between you and them continue to blur until you take everything from them and leave behind a lonely, cold, and limited existence.

I know that your followers didn’t even vote for you in the first place. There was corruption right from the beginning. Hell, they could have been on another planet and you still would have found them.

You tell your victims that you give them control, we both know that’s not true. Control is being able to command and make the right choice. How is it control if choices are governed by fear of persecution? How is it control if hunger is ignored, rest is refused, warmth is denied, gentleness is rejected? That is bullying, not control. They are not in power, you are. After all, how else could one think that death is a better option than saying no to you? How are you helping them, when you push them to their limits and beyond, in such a way that all that is eventually left is loss and pain? You say that you provide a solution, but we both know that it was you who made up the problem.

Still… you should be afraid of my power too.

I admit, I know that you can’t be beaten by words. Simple promises made to oneself that this is the last day of restriction, this is last day of over-exercising, no more suffering, time to get serious… they hold no power over you unless they are followed through.

But I also know that you can be fooled through actions and love. Strength and dedication wears you down. Yes, you will make an escape from your empire as miserable, terrifying and difficult as possible, but it’s your loss – you will never see the light that the escapees get to see when they make it out. It’s a special type of light, only for them. It’s one that is deserved for bravery and fortitude. It’s made up of joy, freedom, pride, life, hope, peace, health. It’s made up of realisations that birthday cakes are good, not annoying; resting is relaxing, not troubling; food is a pleasure, love is allowed, and acceptance is okay. Out of your clutches, there is no guilt, there is so much less pain, there is the true sense of lightness.

Dictators can fall, and I toppled you long ago. It did take a lot of time, energy and courage, but on the other side, it’s easy to see how pathetic you are.

Sucks to be you, loser.




Hello dear readers, I hope you liked this! A bit more literate than normal, but that’s what happens when creative juices get bottled up, hahaha. I encourage you to comment, like and share. Also a couple of people commented on this blog recently, for which I say many thanks for your kind messages, they made my day and I truly appreciate them.





A – Anxiety [An Interview]

Interviewer: Good evening everyone, today I have been given the pleasure of interviewing Anxiety. Anxiety, thanks for joining us, how are you?

Anxiety: You know, that was a really rubbish introduction. I hope not all your interviews start as lamely as this.

Interviewer: Um… that’s not very nice. But anyway, tell us, what are you up to these days?

Anxiety: You should also sit up, slouching like that your stomach looks really awful, it’s poking out like a sack of potatoes. You should suck your stomach in or the whole camera crew will start talking about you behind your back. Also your suit is really ugly. Then again, I don’t think you could wear anything that would make you look good.

Interviewer: What are you talking about? I don’t know whether I want to continue interviewing you… You’re quite critical, you know that?

Anxiety: Well DUH. Took you long enough. You’re pretty slow and dumb for your age.

Interviewer: I think that’s enough for today. Um, thanks for your time, please don’t come back.

Anxiety: Lol you think you can get rid of me just like that? Gosh you’re an idiot.

Interviewer: What do you mean? Please leave now!!

Anxiety: I can’t. Doofus. You have a weird voice. Have you ever realised that?

Interview: Please go, you’re making me feel really uncomfortable.

Anxiety: Ha, you think this is uncomfortable? Just you wait. *gets up and randomly sits on interviewers’ chest, squishing them.* How does that feel?

Interviewer: Argh, I can barely breathe with you here. Also you’re kind of heavy and my chest is almost hurting from your weight. Get off and go!

Anxiety: You listen to me. I am a parasite. You can’t get rid of me that easily. No one can, no matter how much they want to.

Interviewer: This interview is turning out more… negative than I expected.

Anxiety: What did you expect, dumbo? I am perfectably capable of being a debilitating disorder. I am not just a phase or a passing thought.

Interviewer: Do you mean to say that there are people have to put up with you constantly?

Anxiety: Yep, lots of people. I can make you feel worried, scared and nauseous about everything and nothing. Sometimes just a little bit, and sometimes a whole lot. I can make you feel like a ticking bomb. You’re lucky, you ungrateful human interviewer, because you are just meeting me in fleeting. Imagine putting up with me every second of every day.

Interviewer: I don’t think I want to. Why do you exist then, if you just make people miserable, tense and criticize them all the time?

Anxiety: Some chemical imbalance in the brain or something, sometimes a response to trauma, or sometimes just for the lols because the person already has a head full of worries and it’s amusing to make it worse.

Interviewer: Ugh… How can someone get rid of you then?

Anxiety: People try all sorts of things! I admire their creativity, but of course I would never tell them that. I will just remind them that they a failure for something-or-rather, anything I can find. Some people take medication, which makes me sleepy, but most of the time I’m still there, throwing a party in their stomach. Or lungs. Or head. Or bowels. With really loud doof-doof music they can’t ignore. Some people resort to behaviours or addictions, to get rid of me for a few minutes. These ways are easy and quick, but end up making me stronger!

Interviewer: Oh no!

Anxiety: Oh yes! Of course, there are ways to get rid of me fully, but that takes time, bravery, practice, resilience and lots of effort. Once someone knows how to deal with me, I eventually give them a bit of space. Although, now and then, if someone has fought me off almost completely, I’ll come back some months or years later down the road, give them a little fright, throw them a surprise party. But they are able to throw me off soon enough.

Interviewer: You seem to like parties…

Anxiety: Oh yeah! I love all the chaos and noise. It’s so fun to make people terrified.

Interviewer: Don’t you ever just go away one day?

Anxiety: Not really. I much prefer to argue with someone. I’ll make you feel worthless, and it’s your job to shout back at me that no, you’re not worthless, you’re valuable and loved. Keep arguing back at me, proving me wrong, and then we’ll see.

Interviewer: I feel sorry for those that have to live with you. People must be really strong to deal with you.

Anxiety: And you’re a weak sissy. But yeah, putting up with me is a 24/7 job with no holidays or leave. I tell them that they are weak, but I must admit, anyone who puts up with me is pretty resilient. They just need to know how and keep at it.

Interviewer: Anyway, we are actually (finally!) out of time now. It wasn’t a pleasure to know you, I hope I never see you again.

Anxiety: Bye, loser. You never know. It can happen to anyone, anywhere. By the way, you’re a rubbish interviewer.

Interviewer: No I’m not. I think I did OK.

Anxiety: That’s the spirit.