We Won’t Make It

I’m scared that I won’t make it –

That my future will be crushed out of me

When the engine fails and the plane

Plummets

Down

Down

Down,

Metamorphosing into incandescent wreckage

 

And

 

I’m frightened that he won’t make it –

That he’ll miscalculate. And OVERDOSE.

And at midnight the call won’t be his –

No,

It’ll be from the ambulance crew that

Couldn’t

Save him

 

And

 

I’m terrified that they won’t make it –

That they’ll be run down or stabbed or bombed

Whilstouttogether

And that I’ll lose both my rocks

At once,

Leaving me no ground to

Stand on

 

And

 

I’m just scared that we won’t make it.

 

A.N. I’ve become painfully aware of the fragility of life over the past few weeks, in light of the bombings in Manchester and Afghanistan in addition to other tragedies that I’ve been hearing all over the news. I won’t pretend that it hasn’t affected me, because it has. It’s changed my whole outlook: I no longer see the days of myself and others as unlimited, but numbered; I no longer believe that these news stories won’t happen in my own world, because my Earth and that Earth are the same. In some way, it is good to be in touch with this reality as it means that I am a lot more appreciative of what I have. On the other hand, though, I recognise that I can’t let these happenings distract me from making the most out of my life. After all, if I can stay level-headed then perhaps I can make a change to even a fraction of this mess.

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Trapped

I, snarled in thick limbs,

Cried myself to sleep last night.

Can you see the salt?

 

A.N. The story behind this haiku is greatly personal, but I would like to share it on here as both an explanation of the words and a record for myself. I composed it as I fell asleep the day my psychologist had told me that I would have to keep gaining weight to be at a lower risk of relapse despite being a ‘healthy’ weight, albeit at the very bottom of the range. I must have known, deep down, that this would happen, but I held out hope, and even tried to argue against it. That night, hyperaware of the extra fat my body had accumulated, I broke down. That’s what EDs do to you, I realise: make it seem like a couple of numbers on a scale and vital body fat are the end of the world.