Suicide by Knife and Fork

When I was younger, I was abused by my great grandfather. I had gone to my grandmother and with my childish vocabulary & tried to verbalize what had happened to me. She told me that she didn't believe he had "hurt me" and if he did I deserved it. Then she told me here, "have a cookie, you'll feel better". And thus an eating disorder was born.

I'll never know if my grandmother understood what had been trying to tell her or not. Perhaps she was in denial because she had been abused by her own father or her children had been. Maybe she couldn't face what was done to me and felt guilty. Maybe she figured I was young enough that I wouldn't understand what had just happened to me or that I wouldn't remember as an adult. I'll never know. As a teen for several years, I was bulimic (its almost Halloween so I figured time to let this skeleton out of the closet). When I delving into these issues several years ago with my therapist, I wrote the following poem.

Slow suicide

By knife and fork
Slow suicide
No way to express
the distress
So instead
I anesthetize
Numbing down
The pain
From which I hide,
as I swallow
It all
Tears often only fall
On the inside