The Worst Enemy Of Them All

The place, where the strongest and most personal texts are published. When everything becomes overwhelming, and my fingers instinctly find their way across the keyboard, this is the final result. I dont expect you to get them - but if you do, atleast you now know, that your are not the only person in this world, feeling lost and alone.

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1. ∞

 

When things go wrong, she sees no other option

The razor in her hand, waiting to get in action

Impatiently digging its way trough her skin

Leaving a unbelievable pain, an amazing sting

 

·

 

She likes the way it feels, which leads to a second round

The relief, a strength that rest in her stomach, newfound

Aware of the consequences, she keeps doing her thing

Faking a smile, even when her heart is bleeding

 

(Oversat til Dansk længere nede)

”Aren’t you going to eat lunch?”

The mothers worrying gaze stares into the daughters back, but the daughter only shakes her head. She really doesn’t want to eat, but her mother can’t know the real reason why. The thought about food makes the daughter feel sick, and she have to take a hold of her bottom lip, just so she can keep the dinner in her stomach.

“No, thank you.”

Her answer is as cold as ice, but she’d been telling her mother to stay out of it. To stay out of the daughter’s eating-habits, which doesn’t really consist of anything but water. And then there is the shower – the place, where the most harm is made. The time, when she lets the silver blade cut a nice crack in her almost see-through, white skin. That’s when she is feeling good – where she is feeling relieved and comfortable. When she cut, problems leave her body for a short amount of time.

But, of course, that does not last forever. The problems will return, just like the silver blade, and the most terrible thoughts. The thoughts, which destroys her from the inside and out, and those, which she always blame. She says, that it’s their fault – that they destroy her, even though she knows that’s not true. She blames the cute guy in her class, she blames her parents and she blames the dead flower on her desk. She blames everything around her, not knowing whom the real enemy is.

”Listen, you have to eat something!”

The mother keep talking, but this time her eyes and voice doesn’t seem nervous, more like tensed. Again the daughter shakes her head and focuses on her tiny hands, which innocently is placed in her lap. They lay they, as heavy as a bunch of feathers, covering up her skinny thighs, which contains nothing but skin and bones – but she can’t see it. When she takes a look in the mirror, she only see the person, she used to be.

The girl, who didn’t have skinny legs, and who didn’t had the perfect belly. The girl which was invisible in school, and who didn’t get the needed attention from teachers and friends. Later she discovered, that she didn’t really had any friends. It was back then, she begun cutting, and later not touching any food. Today she’s addicted to the razor, and her stomach is used to being empty.

“I had a large breakfast.”

Always telling lies – it’s become her way of surviving. She tells, that she already eaten supper, or that she’d had a large breakfast. The mother pretends to believe in her daughters’ lies, but in reality, she doesn’t. She knows about her daughters’ problems, but she is too helpless to do anything about it. And the daughter, she keeps getting told, how she’d been losing weight, or that her clothes are too big.

To begin with, she got happy when someone complimented her weight-lost. But she doesn’t anymore – now she sees the complete opposite. She knows, that things been taking to far, and she knows she is way to skinny – but what she doesn’t know, is what she’s going to do about it. When problems gets overwhelming, she sees no other option than the knife, and she never feels like eating anything – the heart says yes, but the brain says no. It’s like an instinct thought, placed in the back of her head, and even though she tries pushing it away, it stays put.

The mother leaves the daughters’ room, leaving her own child ruined and unable to help herself. And when the daughter looks away from her lap, and is instead focusing her cold, blue eyes to the garden outside, she realize something. It’s not the boys’ fault, the mothers or the dead flower – it’s completely her own. She is her own worst enemy, and she has been caught in her own trap. 

 

 

”Skal du ikke have noget frokost?”

Moderens nervøse blik borer sig ind i datterens ryg, men datteren ryster bare på hovedet. Hun har ikke lyst, men hendes moder skal ikke vide den rigtige grund til hvorfor. Tanken om mad får kvalmen til at stige i hendes hals, og hun må bide sig hårdt i læben for at holde det i sig. Hun spiste i går – og hun fortryder det nu. Hun spiste alt for meget, og selvom hun ivrigt prøvede, så kunne hun ikke få det op igen, og nu har hun det forfærdeligt.

Forretten, som bestod af skaldyr og et stykke brød, klistrer stadig til hendes tørre strube, og den salte smag af jomfruhummeren breder sig i hendes mund, nu hun tænker tilbage på det. Oksekødet fra hovedretten, hvis røde, blodsprængte kød smagte så umådeligt godt aftenen inden, men nu har hun aldrig smagt noget grusommere – og desserten. De to stykker kage, med den lette jordbærflødeskum på den luftige vandbakkelsesbund havde føltes som skyer på hendes lyserøde tunge før, men nu ligger det som bly i maven.

”Nej tak.”

Hendes svar er koldt, men flere gange har hun bedt sin mor om at blande sig uden om. Blande sig uden om hendes madvaner, der ikke rigtig består af andet end vand, og hendes alt for lange bade – de bade, hvor skaden sker. Der, hvor hun lader det grå blad, skære en fin ridse i hendes næsten gennemsigtige, hvide hud. Det er der, hvor hun har det bedst – hvor hun føler sig lettet og tilpas. Når hun skærer i sig selv, så kommer problemer ud og forlader for en kort stund hendes spinkle krop.

Men det er ikke for evigt. De kommer igen, ligesom barberbladet kommer igen, og tankerne kommer igen. Tankerne, der ødelægger hende indefra, og dem, som hun evigt skylder skylden på. Hun siger, at det er deres skyld – at de ødelægger hende, selvom hun egentlig godt ved, at det ikke er tilfældet. Hun skylder skylden på den søde dreng i skolen, hun skylder skylden på sine forældre, og hun skylder skylden på den visne blomst i vindueskarmen på hendes værelse. Hun skylder skylden på alt omkring hende, uden egentlig at være klar over, hvem den virkelige synder er.

”Hør, du bliver altså nød til at spise.”

Moderen fortsætte sin snak, men denne gang er hendes tone og blik ikke nervøst, nærmere anstrengt. Endnu en gang ryster datteren på hovedet, og slår blikket mod sine små hænder, som uskyldigt hviler i hendes skød. De ligger fjerlet på det hvide tylskørt, som dækker hendes spæde lår, hvor der intet fedt er tilbage på – hun ser det bare ikke selv. Når hun kigger sig i spejlet om aftenen, ser hun kun den pige hun engang var.

Pigen, med de lidt for tykke lår og den ikke helt flade mave. Hende, som blev overset i skolen og ikke fik den ønskede opmærksomhed fra lærer, familie og venner. Senere fandt hun ud af, at hun aldrig havde nogen rigtige venner, og at det hele have været en indbildning. Det var den dag, hvor hun begyndte på det hele – ikke at spise, og senere at skære i sig selv. Den dag i dag, er hun afhængig af barberbladet, og hendes mave har vænnet sig til at være tom. Spiser hun alle tre måltider i dagens forløb, får hun kvalme og finder sig selv hængende over toiletkummen med en finger i halsen på sig selv.

”Jeg spiste stor morgenmad.”

Evig og altid fylder hun sin mor med løgne. Hun fortæller, at hun allerede har spist aftensmad, eller at hun spiste stor morgenmad. Moderen lader som om, at hun blindt tror på sin datters løgne, men det gør hun ikke. Hun kender til sin datters problemer, men er for hjælpeløs til at vide, hvad hun skal gøre ved det. Og datteren, hun får gang på gang smidt i hovedet, at hun har tabt sig yderligere, eller at hendes tøj er blevet for stort.

I starten blev hun glad, når hun fik det af vide. Men det bliver hun ikke mere – nu ser hun det fuldkommen modsat. Hun er blevet for tynd, det er hun klar over, men hun ved ikke, hvad hun skal gøre ved det. Når problemerne bliver for meget, ser hun ingen anden udvej end kniven, og hun har aldrig appetitten til at spise noget – hjertet sig ja, hovedet siger nej. Det ligger som en tvangstanke i hendes baghoved, og selvom hun prøver at skubbe den væk, bliver den liggende hvor den er.

Moderen forlader datterens værelse, forlader sit eget barn ødelagt og ude af stand til at hjælpe sig selv. Og da datteren kigger op fra sit skød, og i stedet retter sine glansløse, blå øjne mod haven udenfor, indser hun noget. Det er ikke drengens skyld, moderens eller den livløse blomst skyld – det er helt igennem hendes egen. Hun, er sin egen værste fjende, og hun er fanget i sit eget spind. 

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