The Not Me

But damnit, I'm trying to find me again.
Back there in the depths of my eating disorder and the pit of my depression...  I don't have any clue who I was. 
I kept some journal entries and poems during that time.  When I go back and read them, my throat starts to close up and my eyes begin to sting...  All I can think is how freaking sick whoever wrote them was.
Then I remember; that person was me.
Well, sort of.  The lost me.  The tortured me.  The sick me.  The Not Me.
The Not Me was a sad, sad creature.  I know; I lived in her shoes for way too long.
Lucky I buried her, eh?
fadingvioletdawn fadingvioletdawn
18-21, F
May 9, 2012