Don’t Stop Believin’

I choose “eating disorders” as my topic

for a class writing assignment,

hit the library, and

scan through pages of microfiche

reading

• health journals
• magazine articles
• psychology studies

each scrolling across the murky screen

illuminated by a yellowed bulb

as I research

• bulimia nervosa
• anorexia nervosa
• eating disorders not otherwise specified

The language is boring and

an·o·rex·i·a

/anə reksēə/noun

loss of appetite

seems dead wrong because

I am nothing but

appetite.

My mind murmurs at seeing

my symptoms in broad daylight

in plain ten-point font.

My food-thing feels less mine now;

it never made me special,

others share my self-loathing.

Even Princess Diana’s been

tossing royal cookies for years,

and comedy queen Gilda Radner,

who is more majestic

in my eyes,

claims she’s thrown up

in toilets

on every floor

of 30 Rock.

I don’t find clear answers,

but continue

studying the evidence.

A name for something

means someone else has done it.

And that means I’m not alone.