12-10-2023, 4 PM

Bittersweet Symphony & Insecurity (TW)

Sybil Cerezo (10/15/2022)

Sitting on my bathroom floor staring at a bowl of cherries for an hour is definitely not my ideal of a fun night. I’m not going to sit here and pretend like I was so very excited to take notes on what I observed on the fruit when the reality was it quickly became morbid. Being a Bipolar Schizophrenic, I find that it’s not very ideal for me to be alone with my thoughts especially if I’m not medicated. Once the dark thoughts on everything I’m insecure about started flooding in I began looking closer at the cherries in front of me.

From a distance one would think “they’re just cherries, red and sweet” but to me they are so much more. These cherries in particular were bright in color, a bit more firm in texture, and most importantly the exact fruit I used to sustain my anorexia. A bit of sorrow began to enter my body as I stared at how the bathroom light reflected on its skin, how bright it shined. It was almost a metaphor in regards to how the light in my eyes faded years ago, yet here these cherries were, I envied them. How could something so beautiful continue to seep beauty even after the negative impact it had on me? At quick glance you’d think they were perfect but staring at them for an hour I began to notice the imperfections on its skin. Some had small brown specks that signified them going rotten, some being attached to a stem and others simply being a red sphere with no brown stick being stuck to them. Lifting the bowl to my nose I could smell them, almost sweet but potent in a way that let me know that although they smelled sweet, they didn’t taste the same.

As I persisted in my observations I decided to pick the cherries up and organize them in the bowl, I pulled the stems off and stared at every single one before placing them back where they had been before. By doing this I noticed some cherries had what I would call “scars”, minor cuts in their skin that appeared a bit darker in color. I started to think that maybe they weren’t as perfect as I thought after all. My own body is riddled with scars, the difference is that mine were there purposely. The cherries didn’t ask to be cut into but neither did I. Carving into my limbs was a bad habit that unfortunately came naturally whenever I felt immense sadness or frustration. The more I spent time with this bowl of “fruit” the more human it felt through my thought process. Just like humans, cherries leaked a red liquid when cut or bit into, their skin bruised just like mine, and were easily ripped apart like my mental and emotional state. I slowly felt myself begin to cry, all the negative memories I have tried so desperately to lock away suddenly came flooding in. Thoughts of hurting myself burned my brain like the Notre Dame Chapel in 2019, the urge to relapse into the arms of my old friend anorexia worse than before, and images of myself lying in the ER with slit wrists began to flood my mind. This overwhelming anger felt as if it was going to rush out of me, it was nauseating and not in the slightest bit euphoric like my manic episodes. I took that bowl of cherries and I smashed them in my palms, reminding myself that the person I was remembering wasn’t who I am anymore.

Looking down at my hands now stained red and sticky from the fruit, I licked my palms and there it was, that bittersweet sour taste. Suddenly I was 13 again and the year was 2015 as memories of my days of infamy on “pro-anorexia” tumblr began rushing in. The amount of times I posted my frail thin body that resembled a corpse for all the world to see. The amount of comments flooding my page telling me how beautiful I was and how they wish they could be as thin as me.

Finally, in the last 20 minutes I broke and cried at the top of my lungs with a shower floor covered in tart cherry juice and pits. Due to my schizophrenia this experience really was vivid and I did hallucinate a little bit but nothing too extreme. After the hour was over I finally stood up, looked at my bared naked body in the bathroom mirror and cried. I didn’t recognize the person I was staring at, younger me would consider myself “fat” now and want to start eating the sour cherries. The same ones that somehow made me lose my appetite for weeks at a time. As I stood there with tears in my eyes an old song by Nicole Dollanganger began to replay in my head, her haunting voice singing “'Cause I know you can only starve so much 'Til you like how it feels. Sitting on a throne of bones, staring at that cold meal. If only I could make you believe you deserve everything, Every spoon and bite, anything you want to eat 'Cause I know you can only starve so much before you'll die. There's parts of you already gone I can never revive, Please Eat, Please Eat.” A bittersweet symphony to a completion and insecurities painted in the juice of sour cherries.

i just want to be numb again, is it too much to ask?

“Stage: Anger”

If there is a god, I have but one question

A question that burdens me every day

Every night, even as I sleep I can’t help but question

After every year, every single shedded tear

The countless times of refusal to look in the mirror

Not out of spite or childish fear

I’ve tried so hard to veer, towards you but you nor your love is ever near

They say you're always with me but you’re never here

And I question you father what am I doing wrong

Have all the times I’ve screamed into my pillow been your favorite song

is that why you won’t make it stop

Please father I am begging on my knees let me breathe

Reborn me into a better version, suitable in your eyes

But father i'm afraid that I am headed towards sin

Temptation from the devil cradles me & it brings me comfort 

that my shadow is not alone and the more time goes on my light begins to fade 

because I Am A shell of a human being

my ghost haunts this world and it is tired of wandering

So god tell me please what to do to make this all stop

Have I not paid enough for the sins of thy father

Have I not been scarred and bruised enough for your amusement,

does thou have no empathy, does thou not grow tired of my empty eyes,

so forgive me father for I have sinned, I have lied

my question went beyond just one, for if you do exist I then have many,

but overall, most importantly

Father, have I not had enough to be forgiven?

03.15.23

i need a cigarette 🚬

MILK AND HONEY pt.2

it was never about the money or the drugs

Why is it so hard?