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by Jenna
(Angola, New York)

Down on the ground
I do not make a sound
White as a ghost
Trying to be the most.

Left little room for myself
While my friends watch my health.
I gave them a scare
Which told them to beware.

To watch my weight
Reach eighty-eight.
But it's never good enough
Because I don't have the right stuff.

Oh how i admire
The weight i acquire
Wanting to binge
My friends start to cringe.

What a bad year
With my deepest fear
Has finally leaked
And help I seeked.

Though the struggle I hide
From the other side.
The pain is too deep
Through my life does it seep.

I try to keep walking
While the Prozac keeps talking.
And Jenna's now fake
From her troubles at stake.

To show them I'm well
I put me through hell.
To them I please
And beg on my knees.

I don't know what's real
Or what I really feel.
It's so deep down
That grey, grim frown.

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Article by Shaye Boddington
Author of
and creator of The Bulimia Recovery Program and Community

The Bulimia Recovery Program