"The Colour Of Hunger" 9/17/2012

[TiaLynn]

Stability. Home. Things I once knew. They are all gone. Ever since the incident, I don’t know who I am, where I am, where I should be, or what is going on half of the time. The only thing that used to comfort me was my paints. The colours I could make. The things I could do with a brush… You would never believe if I told you. I have no proof though, now. All the work and happiness left when I did, when I died. That was a me you’ll just never see, no matter how hard you look.

Looking over the seas from the tree I used to always sit in, I drank it in like a bittersweet lemonade on a hot day. I remember all the colours, to this day. Like a painting in my memory, it is etched to the back of my eyelids when they’re shut. My hand caressed the bark gently, as it did every day. Taking it all in, I observed each crease and bump I touched. The browns and shadows were overwhelming each time. I’d memorized it, but yet found something new each time.

But after the incident, this place was no longer my safe place. Not my home. Not my salvation. Nothing. It was a place to sit. A place to breathe alone, sharing no oxygen. A place to exist. After that, all the browns mixed together in a large blurry clump of nothingness. It was one, uniform faded brown that had black spots in it. The hate entered my heart when I was here, again. The sadness. It all returned.

I started coming here after it all went downhill to avoid the meals my mother made, carrying a small notebook tucked secretly in my pocket, complete with a pen. I would take with me a lunch bag, and pretend to fill it with food, and said I was going for a walk so she’d be happy I’d eaten. But I carried an empty bag each and every single day. Eating and sleeping were nothing to me, now. Nothing mattered. Perhaps if I could feel something, I was human… That was my thinking then, anyways. The torment of my own body as I gnawed at my own skin and twitched in the god forsaken tree, the hunger ate me away. The browns were more blurry than ever. That damned tree.

To this day, I can never feel or see anything but the brown blurry abyss of no return whenever my body yearns for its own salvation. I was to be its savior, but I torment it so. I blamed myself, and always will. I let myself down. And now I must pay, for eternity. Now, the hunger has a colour.