My mother just caught me smoking a cigarette. I cannot remember a time when I was so ashamed I could not feel anything. Maybe this is the only time. I am so deeply ashamed. And there is nothing else to say.

I am wearing this mask of clay and minerals. I am feeling this sickness in my throat. I cannot smell or taste but I can feel. I can feel the tightness of skin on my face and the scratching of sickness in my throat. And I am reassured by these feelings. I remember some things and I eat some grapefruit and I smile.

I am home now and there is this hollow feeling in my bones and thoughts. It is sort of as if all of my distractions have been scraped and stripped and scultped away so that all I have left is the reality that I am so far from the things I love. I have this brief interlude - twenty days - in which I can try to realign and reattach and reconstruct ( Read more... )

I stopped writing in my journal. I lost my pen. I haven't sketched in 6 days. No good.

I can't imagine life without Sophie.

And so I have this ripple ( Read more... )

I am inside-out.

Waste not. Look up ( Read more... )

My body gives me signals, I think. It tells me where to put things and when things hurt and how to react. But mostly I cannot abide. What does that mean?

I live in this little body, shaky mostly but sometimes sturdy. It is covered in something thin and mostly smooth but permeable more than I would like. I am a human. I am humbled by this fact and it revives me. I observe its functionality, willing my breath to be voluntary but comforted knowing that it's not. I stare at my arms, looking up and down ( Read more... )