Tag Archives: shame


13 Mar


Feathers rustle as dust settles…

Snowflakes in a silent desert are… different.

These fall black.


There was a Holocaust here.

Who dare speak of the suffering?


Hair mirroring the very flames inside her.

whispers of “A Girl on Fire,”

Burned at the stake,

a spiritual pyre.


They knew.

she’d seen evil glow,

burning inside the Devil’s eyes.

She was the One

who’d dare glimpse the deepest dark.


a body consumed in the fire,

torched in torture.

Her heart: self-scalded.

Sea of Shame sizzling in the sea of flames

until the excess enkindled, the surplus seared down to skeleton.


Even bared bones

Don’t make it through the Crematorium.


Now, a scattering of ashes,

wind carries away Pastness.


And just as it seems

her Spirit rests beneath the dying embers:

a spark.


The Phoenix rises again…

Creating as a Cure

30 Jul

 Forgetting. We all do it, and more often than not, it has such a negative connotation:

“Grandma forgot to put sugar in these cookies again. I think she’s going senile…” or

“Damn it… I set my coffee on the roof of the car before I left, but forgot to transfer it to the cup holder before reversing out. Bet someone got a jolt of java driving behind me.” or


See what I mean? Forgetfulness gets such a bad rap usually. But when it comes to ED recovery, or just living happier, I say a little dose of temporary amnesia is beneficial. It’s nice to be able to zone out from all the stressful thoughts that usually run through my head concerning weight, food, body image, insecurities, fears. That list normally occupies 90% of my thinking everyday, which I’m trying to change because really, it’s such a waste of intelligence. I think my gray matter needs a detox from all the detrimental thoughts the ED bombards it with, and that’s where art comes in.

For the longest time, I thought since I did so well in school, excelled in math and science, loved puzzles and nonfiction, I couldn’t be “creative” or “artsy.” When I was little, I loved drawing, painting, dancing, baking, and most of all, daydreaming. But as I matured, I picked up the message from society that I was supposed to be successful, bright, and driven, and any of those activities were distractors. Hippies, children, professional artists, and people with a dominant right brain could do art, but not me. No, if I wanted to study science or math, I had no time to “waste” on being creative.

Art, however, is an expression of emotion. In retrospect, I see a correlation between the development of my ED as a coping tool for my feelings quickly after I pushed the creative activities I loved out of my life. To survive the difficulty I was going through and no creative outlet, I turned to my eating disorder. Perhaps it’s the only thing my ED was good for- it helped me through an extremely heart-wrenching emotional time by giving me a sense of order and stability when everything was chaos. No, it was not the best coping tool, but it kept alive and functioning. I felt, and still do sometimes, that the mental struggle will overwhelm me; a riptide of anxiety, depression, or grief that will never let go.

 So, I starved away the sadness, binged back the tears, fasted of fear, heaved up the humiliation.

But I am a different person now. Through art, I don’t need an ED to forget about my troubles and numb myself from feeling. Today, I turn to photography, scrapbooking, knitting, pinterest collaging, cooking, writing(this blog!) and simply forget about everything but the art I am creating. The ED was successful in helping me cope because, through it, I lost myself. Literally. Art has helped me lose the eating disorder, and find myself again.

If you’d like to see some of the photography I’ve been snapping up, take a look at my new “Photography” Page at the top of the page.

Don’t FORGET to create something today!!!


11 May
She stands in the light.
My fingers are outstretched towards her
Stretching, straining, so close...
But she is beyond my reach,
Basking in the sunlight
with bliss written upon her face.

He stands in the dark.
My feet are itching to run from him
fleeing, flying, far away...
But he will surely follow me,
Creeping in the shadows,
with thirst etched on his face.

She will never escape him,
bound by invisible shackles to the Past.
He will never relent,
gripped by the desire of the Now.

He is the Disgust, the Disgrace, and the Dishonor,
the Guilt and the Gross,
the Wicked, and Worthless, and Wrong.

He is the Anxiety, the Anguish, and the Ache,
the Scandal and the Stigma,
the Torment, and Torture, and Trash.

He is the Heartache, the Humiliation, and the Hurt,
the Blackness and the Blueness,
the Pollution, and Putdowns, and Pain.
He is the Shame.

And She is... 

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