The day passes in a blur of thoughts and urges,
Often competing for her attention.
Numbers and words,
Screaming...
They never leave her alone,
Never give her even a moment of peace.
All she wants is happiness,
But what is that really?
Her illogical brain says thinness,
The sizes and numbers dropping,
Perfection...
That's happiness.
Then again, the "other" part of her brain,
The part that whispers gently,
It tells her that happiness is freedom.
Freedom from the pain,
Freedom from the internal battle constantly raging...
Freedom.
Peace.
The right choice is obvious,
But it is far from easy.
She wants to choose the latter,
Yet she continues to choose and believe the screaming.
Can she win this?
Can she find the real definition of happiness?
She's not sure...
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the poem i just posted earlier in c.c
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