Lies. Lies to her family, discarding of nourishment into the bin of trash. She can't care anymore, her voice is but a whisper, dizziness, blackouts onto the cold floor.

She enjoys it.

It means she is starving correctly.

Water hurts her tiny stomach, its not allowed.

Only emptiness, both physically and mentally.

6 minutes to get to the living room.

3 hours to get dressed and ready.

By the time she is done she has ran a marathon and must crawl back into bed.

There was nothing to get ready for.

The bed hurts her bones.

The Hungry Ghosts are calling her. It is time to exercise.

Fake energy arises from beyond anywhere understandable.

Body check.

How lovely the bones, but they are not enough, must strive for more, more tininess.

You must be better than the others who are playing the game.

Fasting , fast, fast.

Where will this get you? Nowhere, yet somewhere apparently.

The unsubstantial amount she once had never got her anywhere anyway. Perhaps it allowed her to run her life as society labeled she should, going about the daily tasks of a student. But unhappiness consumed her, she couldn't make it for she didn't believe in herself, so why was she bothering with following the rules of what one should be doing at someone her age?

It was fake recovery, sure she looked fine. But that was all metabolic malfunctioning issues. She was by no means consuming even near survival rate.

So why feel and be hungry?

Why not be hungry and numb and thin?

Exactly, that was the answer...starvation.

It won't make anything better, yet it makes everything better.

It makes no sense, it makes all the sense.

Keep painting, this is her soul, and this is her body.

The Hungry Ghost

Confusion explodes in her mind. She is completely entrenched in a whirlpool of distorted thought. Thought all too real yet all too deranged. Thought which makes absolute sense yet makes none at all. The whirlpool is all too strong, there is no way out, one can only sink deeper in its grips.

RELAPSE

That is all there is.

Don't fight it, you won't win.

And so she lets go, starving, fasting, dying.

It hurts so bad but it numbs all else; there is no time left to think about the pity of her lifeless world. No more need to think of her incompetence in a world that carries millions better than her to do which ever work she dreamed one day would be hers. She would never make it anyway, but that doesn't matter now because she is dying.

No water is allowed.

Just pain and numbness from it.

Just lay down, don't move too much and so death will be simpler. But she must get up for she must burn off energy she doesn't possess.

The bones are lovely, she wants more.

But why? No one will see her, she is too weak to carry on with the ordinary tasks of life. A force of energy to exercise is the only one there is, all else is beyond the bounds of possibility. It is quite the odd thing.

She sheds layers and it feels good but only for a second for each day she is assigned with a goal to shed more. It is like the Hungry Ghost Realm of the Tibetan Book of the Dead, where the satisfaction comes not so much from possessing but from the search itself. You want to hold it, have it, but once you possess it you no longer have the enjoyment of holding it for it is already yours. But you also don't want to let it go, so you keep it, and search on for the next thing to possess. The goal is to lower the number, the search is more like the act of starvation and burning of energy in order to wake up to the result you want, once you attain the result you must continue the task to go lower.

What for? She will only die from it. But it is too strong and creates absolute sense in her mind.

It is the only thing she knows, the only thing she can do right.

And so it goes on in this way, she is dying.

But thats ok.

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.

Dear God, can you hear me? Dear God, What a beautiful dream.

I do not deny anything because I don’t see the purpose in that. I act vicariously through the part of me I dislike most. I entertain the illness I dread seeing as it is the only thing no one can take from me. Beyond it is a world that will phase me and hurt me, but within it no such thing exists. Perhaps this is why recovery is so hard, it causes one to feel, to endure the pain and seek resolution from it. But no such thing comes my way. I know the illness hurts and is deceptive, but which hurts more? This I am not sure of but regardless what choice do I have when its addiction is ever to difficult to refuse for long periods of time. If only I did have a resolution maybe I would be ok.

In this world I have myself and myself only, but myself is not enough, myself is unknown. But no one else can give me myself or what I need. For so long I have given to others but nothing was even reciprocated. For too long I have people-pleased, listened, reached out, helped and healed. In return I have barely received any of the such, but when I did it was because I paid for it. How is that fair? I am sick of being walked on, sick of being a doormat, but at the same time how can I not help but think I deserve it? I must be one heck of a shitty person. I like to think this is why I inevitably ended up the way I am as opposed to any other. I think it was my brain’s way of saying f* you society. I was only to rely only on the internal, core power and holding it was saying: world, look at me. I can live without it. I can live without feeling. I am super-f*ing-human and I deserve a goddamn medal. My way of saying, No one can hurt me. Only I can hurt me.

How do I escape this? How can I stop asking this same question over and over! What is wrong with me? What did I ever do to deserve this? I do not want to invest any more time in these thoughts. I want to live every day as if it were my last and take every opportunity available to me without caring whether or not others think its stupid, good, or bad. I want to decide for myself and be content with that decision and not let others influence my thoughts thereafter. I just want to feel like I belong and find things I like about myself, find a talent, and then hold on tightly to it as I attribute whatever it is to the world. I want to be good at something!

What a dream that would be, can I just be granted such? I promise to forever be grateful :)...please?

This is what I paint.

What is it like to wake up every morning and pretend that you aren’t dying?
I don't pretend I'm not dying, we all are. I completely accept that I will one day have to face the fact that I'm going to stop breathing. It's not something I like to think about at great length but we can't deny it will. However what it is like to live feeling like you are already dead? What is true happiness? Will I ever stop getting by and actually living? No matter how hard I try it just never seems attainable. What forces are against me? Why am I so feverishly against myself? After various readings I've concluded to be against psychotherapy...many philosophers have labeled it poisonous and until others influence me to believe otherwise I am now whole heartedly contrary to it. This is one of my various downfalls...I am so easily influenced, unable to formulate my own opinions. I do try, but they are quickly torn down. I don't know where I am getting it and I continue to paint but I don't know where thats getting at either.

What’s the difference between ‘living’ and ‘existing?’
I spend a large portion of my life just existing. Skating along and doing whatever anyone tells me I guess. I mean I don't feel I consciously do whatever anyone tells me, but when I take a moment to think about it than I must right? I mean I am persuaded by everyone else's opinions- both those around me and those in the media, magazines, books etc. Its a crazy type of existence- never knowing what to think, hopping along from one idea to the next. Can't someone just give me a clear cut formula... can there not be one channel to live by? Living is finding yourself, developing your identity, and learning to get through obstacles. All things I seem incapable of doing. As previously stated, I do try, I also pretend, but I always fall again. Like Munch I paint this soul...but how much longer can I paint it? Never something new to add on, a repetitive image..so morbid, loosing its beauty. What is the point when life is so bleak, when all one does is question themselves. When they just wish they could be like someone else and say whatever is on their minds and let a personality shine through. When you wish you could be like someone close to you and get jealous when you feel they are stealing away your other friends lively, fun, and full spirited selves. When they are smarter and easy going. Perhaps if I had fame and money than nothing could touch me, I would be above all the regulars and jealously would be their turn to keep. Cruel that is to say but when all else fails you just don't know what to think. Than again fame...me? How laughable. None of the sort could ever be possible for an individual so incapable of anything at all. Wanting so bad what I see others have and already concluding it will never be me...how sad, what then is there to live for? A tiny, thin, unthreading string keeps me going somehow...but something has got to change. Time is running out....the screams of food deprivation call my name to succumb into bone and retreat back into a place I will exist, be known and cared for by others. Is love all she desires?

How do I paint that? Just like I paint the rest of my soul...dark, not much else to add.

I do not really know, but in the mean time I shall continue.