Seven Billion

Decisions, decisions, decisions, decisions – too many decisions.

They surround me,

points of light in a world that is

spinning; spinning.

I want to cry: hot streams of tears that will empty me of my


But I can’t.

I must wear my blank face, my dead face,

so that the voices don’t catch on that anything went


I must endure the strain in my throat that makes my voice dry and hoarse;

the questions that make my head whirl like a globe on a stand,

full of people, countries, oceans.


A.N. I let the anxiety of perhaps having not made the right university choices overwhelm me; it was all I thought about for several weeks. Being the first time that I had to make such a big life choice, I was determined to do it well. I chose. I got cold feet. I regretted. I panicked. Yet I could do nothing about it. All I could and all that I can do is remember that everything happens for a reason.



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.