So, you might have noticed a change in the blog... this may or may not come out coherently...

I went through a strange thought process of learning to try and express my thoughts and the most recent events and confusions in my life. I've been struggling with my identity for a while, always defining myself in relation to others. But over a short span of 2 weeks my life changed astronomically... or at least it did in my head.

I learned that I can love unconditionally, I also learned that I often love very conditionally.
I learned that the scars in my mind are only there because I keep them there.
I learned that God will answer prayers, you just have to know what to ask Him for.

I said goodbye to a relationship of 3 years, the only romantic relationship I've ever been in, as well as the future I thought it would lead to.

I am learning to be myself, alone, just me. Whoever I may be. Unaffected by anyone or anything else.
I'm learning to accept the right that God gave me to create, and call myself a creator.
I'm learning to not be afraid of expressing myself and the things that I truly enjoy.

And so... this blog is something that I'm truly passionate about. I know this because I usually can't ever keep up with anything for this long of a time period. And the fact that I keep coming back and posting on this blog really means A LOT.

But I realized that it wasn't really true to my expression and who I am right now as... ME

A SICKLY EATER is sort of how I see myself... both literally and metaphorically. It's my crime and my conviction. I went through a period of time where I was so lost and so afraid of everything. And for some reason, food was how I would deal with it. I would always be eating, always feeding myself, always feeling sick but never stopping. I was trying to fill myself up, but it was like stuffing a scarecrow full of straw.

I feel like we often do things like that, not just with food, but with anything. We fill voids with useless things without substance, like strange creatures always consuming but never feeling full.

But there's a sort of humor in it, being a sickly eater, like No Face in Spirited Away? Because, I think, in reality we're all sickly eaters. And we're all trying to find the things that fill us up.

For me, it's the empathy and sharing of perspectives that comes with the creation of art. It makes me full. This blog is as much my creation and my art piece as any of my paintings or sculptures, it's the documentation of my life and my own search for what makes me, me.

It's my homing beacon, from one SICKLY EATER to all others. Hi, we're not alone.

I cheated a little bit... I had some people come to see me. I do have a couple friends.

Two days ago my strange and muddled mind thought it would be a great idea to travel, on my own, to the one place I know terrifies me. 

New York City.

Why?
There were plenty of reasons but they're a bit hard to remember right now amidst my mounting anxieties (over nothing). As a country girl, the sounds of the city batter against my brain like unwanted neighbors trying to force their way in, but I will try and recall those reasons as an exercise to try and keep myself sane.

I came here to be alone. To be in a place by myself, where I never believed I could survive,   Where social encounters with my peers are not guaranteed, where I will have to make a real effort to connect with and get to know people.

I came here to listen. I realized that despite not knowing what exactly it is that I want to do with my life, I'm happiest when I am around people and creators who share stories and allow me to be in awe of and inspired by them.

I came here to see. To see with my own eyes the works of art that I've only ever admired on computer screens and book pages. To see sights that are foreign and frightening to me. To see the life that I thought I would hate. To see the parts of me that I am truly ashamed of. To see the parts of me that are better than I thought.

I came here to change. I've lived most of my life locked inside the four walls of my bedroom. Because I was  taught to be afraid of the things that might be outside: conflict and pain and humiliation. I was too afraid to pursue the life that I wanted because of all of the warnings of how horrifying life could be. But at this point in my life, I've realised that hiding and living in ignorance is so useless. Pain still finds me, and I'm trapped in this greyscale life where I'm limited by my own fear and mediocrity.




That being said, this is sort of my own personal social experiment on myself so I'll be documenting my thoughts. The words that follow are going to be completely honest and completely asinine and whiny. Please enjoy.


10:05pm
I'm finally in my cabin at the hostel. I actually kind of love it. The whole place has a very 1950s vibe. But my mind is being the pessimist as always.
"YOU REALIZE NO ONE GIVES A SHIT ABOUT YOU. Out of all the people you notified about this trip not one of them texted to make sure you were okay except for the one guy you don't even know. Youdon'thavefriendsnoonelovesyou. Ifyoudiednoonewouldnotice."
...We're ignoring that as best we can.

After the terror of navigating the city streets and subway lines by myself, my faint heart is struggling a bit. I'd originally planned to go out for a drink, but my backside seems to have somehow developed roots and planted itself into the bed. My pride won't let me be needy. I chose to be alone, I can no longer rely on others to make myself feel strong. I AM STRONG.

...But I'm too much of a coward to even take my laptop and food out to the common areas to eat and edit the images of the day... I promise I will do that as soon as I post this.
** Update: I never went to the common area, I took a shower instead. Which I've now decided was actually the harder option...**


I am relatively proud of surviving to this point. I packed lighter than I ever have in my life. I managed to navigate my way here without carrying my tablet around with google maps open (although I did end up walking past a few of the subway entrances I was supposed to take). I stared down any persons who seemed suspicious (the poor people were probably innocent) and I managed to cross all streets without running or jumping too conspicuously at the car horns. I made it to the safe house.

62 hours to go. Tomorrow is another day.

People die, good things end. It's strange and terrible how the world seems to keep turning just as it always does. How I'm still standing and staring at the news articles and obituaries while the events of my life go on untouched. I keep thinking that if the world were just and fair, it's only a matter of time until it's my turn, my tragedy. So much of my life is spent waiting for that moment.

This piece was created to consider the unique loss of loved ones, meditate on the sustenance their lives provided, and remember the birthright of those still unfallen.

Freedom, ironically enough, usually comes at a price. There's nothing quite like leaving your own life to go and experience life as someone else, somewhere else. All you have to do is find a place and someone who needs a position filled. A kindred spirit for hire.

Fat Elvis French Toast ...apparently invented by our lovely server

Carnage and a takeout box

So you'll always know what record is on...

White Peony Tea and a soppy postcard

Gift shop

If I'm honest, pastries are never worth the price unless you're picking them fresh off the baking sheet.

...but at least they look nice

Rhubarb and Strawberry Mini-Pie and a Lavender Soda ...while trying aimlessly to be productive

Details are everything

I forgot to buy an Apple Butter