I want to paint my soul but my ego is always present. My ego is my soul. Or I have no soul, or they are just so meshed together that I don't know what one would be without the other. Classes are constantly teaching me healthy practices to partake it, meditations,ways of living that will bring a sense of contentment and peace within my mind. Why then can I preach these teachings to others but never take the advice for myself? I can't say I haven't tried- I have and I have seen glimpses of sunshine in the past- but only when I paid for it. I can't pay for help anymore- even if I wanted to. And so I attempt these tasks as life but my mind is just too f*ed up. There is no other way to say it. The beauty of life is just out of my reach, its in another dimension. I have tried soooooo hard so hard- so so hard words can't even describe it, a struggle and battle between positive and negative self talk every day- I even wake up in the middle of the night with these thoughts, and still it's unattainable. I know what I need to do, I have all the tools, a vast amount of knowledge in the field, and yet I just can't...it's as if I am possessed by a demon.
Should I be blogging something else? I just can't hold it in. This is after all what I paint. My life...my doomed life. No matter what I do, what they say, what I say, what I try...ABSOLUTELY NOTHING helps me, making it that much harder to give myself nutrients. No one has any idea how freaking painful this is...no god damn person. I am soooooooo sick and tired of my brain. So sick and tired of starving and restricting in EVERYTHING. I am sooo sick of being sick!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I need a miracle, and I think the city is making me sicker.

I said I am tired of my brain-mind...whatever it is, controling my body. So why is it both a sense of control and yet it is considered being out of control? Why do I hate it so much but keep doing it? Why do I need it so much, how does it make me feel better yet worse? Why can't I just fix these things soI can stop attacking my body. Why is it that I always get temporarily "fixed" and then slowly, unconsciously, everything that haunts me comes creeping back? Do you know how painful it is to keep going through this sh*T...to think you finally solved it- only to fall right back down again and then you are told its ok it happens, try again, and you believe it and you do and you fall again and you keep doing this because these people are sooo sure it will finally click. BUT it never does, how am I not suppost to want to give up? And why do I want to get sicker but then again don't want to? How the heck is that possible.

F* it just keep painting.

PAINT PAINT PAINT.

"Before coming to this hospital, the doctor had been introduced to a form of art that was said to contain healing energies. He knew first hand this was true because of his personal experiences with earlier patients. It seemed the style and form the art took on connected with the person and brought peace and healing of the soul. The first thing he did when he assumed his new position was to give each patient paper and paint and showed them how to start in the center of the page, leaving it white and working out from there, using only their hands. The awakening that took place through this therapy was extraordinary and many lives were helped through this creative outlet." - Debbie Rankin

It hurts...my stomach hurts. My heart hurts. My body hurts. My soul hurts. My mind hurts. Why do I hurt. Why don't I ever stop hurting. I am defeated. There is no money for help. I am starving.I paint to distract myself...there are so many layers on the canvas. Any color once there is now covered by darkness. You can't see her but shes there in the center...look closely, no closer! Her face is covered by strands of hair. She doesn't want you to see her! She is looking down, closing herself off in tense posture. Do you see her thigh? It is massive. She hates it, my god shes disgusted but she still ate the lettuce! What was she thinking.
People don't know how ghostly she once was...they don't know she is even sicker now, though one might not see it.
Ignorance.
Stop looking.
But please look.
She's is crying for love. She is bleeding black..red would be too bright. She hides her ribcage, oh I can feel it! And she smiles...but you won't see it.
She won't stop running even without a morsel. She can't remember what that tastes like, she can only have the green stuff. Dry.

Can you see it in her painting? Look look! There it is, but its covered by darkness.

She is no longer splashing or forcing anger onto the canvas. She is too empty and un-energized to be angry, she smiles and dabs the paint in slippery nervous and slow strokes. Her smile is concerning...it is not fake or real. Its almost psychotic. She is so lost she doesn't know what to do.

She stops painting...how hideous..no one will ever see this.

And she will fail- as usual.

All that surrounds me is darkness and I know I am alive but all I feel is death. Must I accept that its over...all my dreams gone. But dreams is all they were for I am non-existent, too incapable of having any dream become a reality. There is a whole world out there better than me, nothing I dream will go unaccomplished...accomplished will be these goals yes, but by someone who exists. Too sick to even help others, a sickness that will be the end of me- though that end has already arrived, all there is left is to wait for is my physical death.

My whole world is the pain inside me. Why do I even bother getting through the day if an empty fist is all I will ever hold. Why do I still feed the body that has nothing to offer, a feeding that is meager but enough to sustain living...at least on some days. Its getting worse but I pretend its getting better...fading but so scared to hurt the only people who love me- my mother and sister. My father will be ok. It hurts to feed and it hurts not too..I live for those 2 people, without them a teen would have died. However are they enough? Surely I will give out, I always do..but always resurface, never for myself but for them.

One day I won't resurface.

I paint this pain...but I don't know why. Why am I even in school. Why do I keep going to class. I don't know, must be for other people. What will happen when I graduate- if I do? Then there is no plan, I will never make.

I guess I am painting.

I see no answers, no solution, I can only have so much hope.

The life before is only a memory.

I wonder why I still walk through this place.