Rough Times Poem by Hannah Diane Williams

I'm beginning to realize that
Missing my disordered behavior
Is almost as bad for me
As when I was drowning in them.

I miss starving myself
And feeling the emptiness
In my stomach, heart and mind.

I miss dragging the blade across my arm
And feeling that sweet release
As blood poured out of me.

I miss chugging drink after drink,
Hoping my memory would eventually run dry,
At least for that night.

I miss purging myself of what I needed most,
And shaking so hard I almost fell
As my eyes watered and became bloodshot.

I miss these behaviors
And I'm wondering if that means
I'm not fixable.