Hunger

Hunger

I was in a state of starvation from age thirteen. My teen years were nothing more than a gradual form of suicide. I starved myself for the perfect body. I craved attention, I craved power, I craved love. I was sick, in the mind, and in the body. I lost my youth to this illness, to this cancer that eats you from the inside out. This disease, that eats away at your body and your sense and your hope. If you’re lucky it will spit you out or throw you back up, like the food it teaches you to despise. This is a hunger. A famine. It will infect anyone without the strongest sense of self, something so valuable you can’t even buy it.

This malady is a true murder of crows. It claws at you, it picks at you, it hangs above your head and relishes when you fall.

I was thirteen when I contracted it. It being a sickly relationship with food, and with myself. I’m still standing, but I will forever bare the scars. I live with a weight that I can never shed; the heavy shadow of regret.

Anorexic: someone suffering from anorexia; the severe lack of appetite and inability to eat. I lost my taste for life, too.

I wanted to be beautiful. I wanted to be skinny. I yearned for a boy to look at me in that way. Those three things would mean perfection and happiness, that’s what I had thought. I punished myself for not following the rules. Everything that entered my mouth was sign of my weakness. Nourishment became my enemy. I found solace in the pain of hunger, knowing that I was in control. I would spend hours in the front of the mirror, disgusted and hating what I saw. Like this, no one would ever love me. I would walk until my knees ached, and exercise until my muscles burned. Any comments, any pity or concern, propelled me, encouraged me. I had control over them, too. I wouldn’t let anyone see me eat. I wasn’t sleeping, but it felt like my brain couldn’t stay awake. I had no energy, and eventually I had to stop my exercise regime and my muscles wasted away.

I became the epitome of emaciation. I was just a ghost. Skin. Bones. A heart supposedly beating. I walked the corridors of my life, people always staring, gawking at what was left of me. Was this what I had wanted?

I starved myself. I starved myself until my stomach was a hollowed-out cave, and each rib stood out, translucent skin pulled tight across them. A young women with no breasts, just a flat chest like a young boy’s. Losing weight hadn’t shed my old self and revealed a butterfly. It hadn’t exposed the beauty within, like I had so vehemently believed. There were no curves to be seen. Just the awkward angles of jutting bones. Even my cheek bones poked out; my face was a skull.
My head seemed to wobble on my neck. I was disproportioned, in body and spirit. I lost sight of normality. I was drowning, but I didn’t have the strength to swim. I lost so much.

My body did what it could. It grew a fine layer of hair over every part of my body in an attempt to keep me warm. It was greyish-white and soft to touch. I was messed up, inside and out. No one would ever want me now.
So I spent my days looking at old photographs of a girl I once knew, at times I missed, and thoughts I longed for. Happiness. Fulfilment. I had felt either in a long, long time. I became addicted to magazines, and the people, the perfect people.

I decided I would get my life back on track .Finding the strictest diet I could, I halved the intake. Turns out it wasn’t so easy to go back the way I had come. I threw up often; partly my body’s fault, partly mine. My teeth began to rot. Now even my skeleton, the one thing that was solid in my life, was beginning to fall away.
There was no where I could go. No where to run.

That’s when I went to the hospital and became an inmate. I was diseased.
Tubes feed me daily; I was a baby bird learning to fly. My body was on the road to recovery. My mind, however, was never going to be ‘fixed’.
I good deal had been broken over those years of my life. Whole years; gone, eaten away like a feast on desperation.

Beauty.
It’ how you are inside.
It’s in the eye of the beholder.
Beauty is but a frame of mind.

In a world that worships perfection, the meaning of beauty is lost. There is no cure to this illness. Those young things will continue to despise themselves, and crawl the paths that I have, convinced it won’t happen to them. Beauty. Is it really worth it?

What does it actually offer us, except something forever out of reach?

A Mind of its Own

A Mind of its Own is a book written by Cordelia Fine, who has a PhD in Cognitive Neuroscience from University College London and a first class honours in Experimental Psychology from Oxford.

These two quotes grace the cover of the book, and in my opinion, sum up the book perfectly.
Alexander McCall Smith said, 'This is one of the most interesting and amusing accounts of how we think we think-I think'.
And, 'A fascinating, funny, disconcerting and lucid book. By the end you'll realise that your brain can (and does) run rings around you', is what Helen Dunmore had to say.

Before I read this book I hadn't even considered that we weren't in control of our own minds. Yes, we sometimes tend to remember events in a way that reflect us better, but how could we not trust our own brain? Well, in this book I was told a good few reason why we shouldn't trust our very own brain, and how we should be wary of it.

You will learn so much in just 170 pages, and after you turn the last page, you will know all about 'how your brain distorts and deceives'. Fine gives examples with every statement that she makes, explaining the concepts in easy-to-understand ways, using barely any university terms. For every thin we learn about the brain she provides an experiment that has been conducted that prove its truth, or that provides some evidence that supports its truth. Not once did I consider this book as research, homework, or the like, it was simply fascinating reading, and I definitely will delve further into this topic.

The book is divided 6 chapters: The Vain Brain, The Emotional Brain, The Deluded Brain, The Pigheaded Brain, The Secretive Brain, and The Bigoted Brain. Each topic was highly interesting and kept me turning the pages.

The Vain Brain discusses the 'protective layers encasing your self-esteem [that] reveal the multitude of strategies your brain uses to keep your ego plump and self-satisfied'.
The information in this chapter, and through out this entire book, is so true. It makes sense, and not only that, I've seen evidence of our delusional brain in the past couple of weeks at school. A girl didn't get a great score on a test, she turns to me and laughs, I didn't even try, she says. Her brain was just protecting her from the prospect of failure. Don't be ashamed of your brain and its methods though, please; as Fine says, 'without a little deluded optimism, your immune system begins to wonder whether it's worth the effort keeping your alive'.

I do hope your eager to read more, but I must forewarn, the information revealed in this book made me rather disconcerted, and even a little scared, at the prospects of that 3 pound mass in our heads.
But as the say, knowledge is power, and when it comes to our brains, it looks as though we need as much as we can get.

Where do I see myself in 10 years?

Where will I be in yen years' time? Where do I see myself?
Well, I'm sorry, but I just do not know.
I could be in my 5th year of studying medicine.
I could be working in a low position in the New Zealand consulate.
I might be in France, sitting outside a run down café, considering my career as a struggling writer.
Maybe there is going to be a time-warp, and I'll still be sitting here in English, waitingfor my creative writing grade. I could be anywhere.
Do you really expect me to know what I want to be when I grow up? I'll tell you one thing for certain, I'll want to be young again.
One day I'll have a career, one day I will be dedicating my life to something. How can I know what that is yet? I'm only fourteen years old, people!
Do I want to think about aging, growing old?
No, right now, I don't want to think about the future. All it achieves is more questions that I can't answer. Answers I can't find in any text book or through any amount of research.

Will I be involved in the UN? Wanting so badly to make a difference but only ever talking. Just talking and talking, producing treaties with no binding power on every problem in the world.
Will I be a lawyer, a reporter, a politician?
What do I want? Do I even want anything?
I suppose I have always dreamed of being a household name, not necessarily famous, just renowned in my profession. I want to enjoy my job and not think of it as work. I want to be making some sort of positive difference. I want travel. I want a wage with which I can live comfortably. I want to publish a book. I want people to study me in school, or study my texts and speeches, to use quotes of mine. I guess I just want it all. But that's one thing nobody can have, and I know that sooner or later I am going to have to make some decisions. Eventually I will start to explore options, but for now, I plan on enjoying being a kid.

I can't fight time, I can't stop it, and time waits for no man. The future scares me more than you can imagine. As they say, fear is the unknown. What if I never amount to anything? All that dreaming, all that ambition; wasted.
Now I would just like to fleetingly mention talent. If I had something I was blatantly good at, I would have a clear cut path to the future. Some sort of sign to follow. But I don't have any talents. I'm okay at school, though I haven't got a high IQ and I'm not gifted. I can sort if write stories, but I'm hopeless when compared to anyone else. I am in limbo; mediocre at everything.

So, where do I see myself in ten years time?
There is no way for me to see, and the fog that blocks my vision will only be dispelled over time. As I learn, about the world and about myself, and grow, in wisdom and as a person. As I just grow up.
I'll be somewhere in ten years' time, when I'm 24. I just don't know yet, so I'll get back to you.

The Cold Truth about the Future

This is what I wrote for our formal assessment in creative writing assessment in English this term. Our subject had to be our town in the future, and it had to be over 300 words long. This subject quite appealed to me, since I have been thinking about the future a lot recently. I got Excellence for this, which I am quite happy about. I hope you enjoy it.

The Cold Truth about the Future

Snow poured from the sky without mercy. The wind howled, screaming like lost souls. Its icy grip was strangling the very air. Its glacial tendrils pulled at the sky, tearing it down. It was nothing interesting, just another snowstorm.

The dull metal walls of the school stood strong against the frozen rain, impenetrable and stoic. Somewhat like a prison. The giant flexi-glass windows revealed students within, sitting at desks, learning about the world. The windows were thick, their image slightly distorted. It was like opening your eyes under water, the world still there, just changed; softened.
My footsteps dared not make a sound as I traversed the snow covered path. Turning the heat up in my coat, I tried to distinguish the shapes hidden beneath the blanket of white. Everything was the same colour. Having just fallen from the sky, it seemed to glow, transforming everything into an ivory blur.

Last week in history, we were studying our country, New Zealand. Apparently it used to be famous for its beaches. Where there is now just frozen navy shallows frozen to the bare shore, there used to be soft, warm sand, and water pleasant enough to swim in. I know our teacher would never lie to us, but no matter how hard I try, I cannot imagine it. That era is not even real now, too much time has passed. The present is separated from those years by a chasm impossible to cross. With each sunrise and sunset, with each dark, arctic winter, the bridge that had connected us to that time was burning.

The world around me now is a different place to what it used to be. It was once an innocent child, and now it is an adult. It has suffered the trials of growing up, and as a result, become stony-faced and emotionless. For a long time, I had never questioned the earth. But as I grow up, and understanding imbues itself upon me, I am discovering that humanity is no where near perfect, and how our selfishness as a species has come close to destroying our home. So many mistakes have been made, sometimes I wonder at the fact we’re still around.

You see, it never used to be this way. Nature had been unchanging. Then, a little something called global warming started happening, and eventually, something had to be done. It was our mess, but instead of cleaning it up, we just eliminated it altogether. We always had been good at disposing of threats, instead of solving them. The white-coats of America decided to scientifically modify the climate. This was done by moving the planet slightly out of orbit, away from the sun. An ice-age in a test tube. It’s a shame they didn’t realise the consequences of such a move on country so close to the Antarctic. Soon after, the town had become a place plagued by blizzards. Whole species of plants and animals became extinct, along with nearly everything we had ever known.

I enter my history class now, and in turn, stare out at the layer of frozen water covering the school. It hides everything. Covering the past like a good alibi; covering our tracks.
Here we are, enveloped in snow, trapped within our past mistakes. History can be a disconcerting place to explore, but the answers are always there; all you have to do is look. Unlike tomorrow, which remains unknown.

That Night, on the Precipice of Magic

You hear about it in movies, you read about in books; how one noise or song can take a person back to their memory. That is exactly what happens to me when I hear This is how I Disappear by My Chemical Romance. The strong, unforgettable opening bars take me back to the Vector Arena, where I saw My Chemical Romance live. December 6th.
The best night of my life.

Standing, unbelieving, in the crowded arena. The lights dim; 150 days of counting down has lead to this moment. The stadium is dark; screams erupt. I can't describe the feeling. Joy. Excitement. Ecstasy. None of those words even come close. I look over to the wing of the stage. I see Ray's unmissable 'fro. I see Mikey holding a bass. I see Gerard freaking Way. Me and Amy glance at each other. Her expression is mirroring mine. Eyes wide, conveying the question, 'can this actually be happening?'.

We grab hands and jump up and down, and just scream. The emotion inside us has to come out. They take the stage. The lights are still low. Then, that's when I hear the noise; the symbol crashes four times. The sound of that first song. But that wasn't how I disappeared; that was how I felt more alive, felt more really there, than I can remember.
Gerard screamed, Go! And everyone went crazy.

They were right there. They were so close.
We danced and sang and cried, yelled and jumped and cheered. Every moment was amazing. A world apart from a damn CD. A world away from reality.
How can I describe it to you? I can't give it justice, that's for certain.
But when I hear that song, I takes me back. My mind travels through time and space, and I'm standing in seat 37, watching magic; being part of it.
The flames that graced the stage heated our flesh. The stage lights controlled our vision.
Over one hundred thousand people singing the words; unified.
From Cancer to Cemetery Drive, we were there. It did happen.

I remember the morning of that day. I packed my black tee-shirt into my school bag, and knew I'd be different when I came home that night. That day wasn't real. I had a maths exam. There was a light grey sky. It rained. In the afternoon it was humid, the air warm and heavy.
But the night...

The night was so beautiful, so amazing, it almost hurt. It's gone now, but it will always be there.

If you were here I'd never have a fear.
So go on live your life.
But I miss you more than I did yesterday.
You're so far away.
So c'mon show me how.
'Cause I mean this more than words can ever say.

Some might say we are made from the sharpest things you say
We are young and we don't care.
Your dreams and your hopeless hair.

'Cause I mean this more than words can ever say.

-Give 'Em Hell, Kid

A Beautiful Sunday Afternoon

'Let's go on an adventure.' Jacks suggests breathlessly.
We walk outside and stand on the drive way. The wind is blowing strong, and I could see a storm on the horizon. The sky was unusually dark for a Sunday afternoon.
'Spin me around, Eve,' my little brother asks. 'Make me fly.'
I hold him by the wrists and begin to turn, lifting his entire body of the ground. 'Round and 'round we go. I remember the pure ecstasy this used to give me as a young child, and vow to do it every time he asks. We stop, the world tilts to the side. The confusion is gorgeous; standing still and watching the world spin.

We run up the road, dizzy, and high on cookies. We aren't going particularly fast; we can't help laughing. Jack spots a man pruning some bushes in his front yard and this seems like the funniest thing in the world. We quickly turn to run in the other direction but spot two people heading our way. We run into the only spare section on our street, up and over the ridge to hide. Not being spotted gives us a little thrill. We creep back to the path and spot a lady power walking down the other side of the street.
'Act normal.' I whisper to Jack. We walk together slowly, humming a tune, suppressing giggles. As soon as she walks past we crack up and sprint off. We run and run. Down the hill to Swann Beach.

The dark green waves crashed against the sea. The tide was high. A quarter-moon hung daintily in the sky. We stood at the end of the walk way, heads thrown back,pretending to fly. We climbed down the tree and jumped in the the surf. It was freezing cold, but it didn't matter. We jumped and splashed and ran and danced. Me and Jack, Jack and I; we were on top of the world. We climbed some trees, and yelled at one another above the wind.
'Come hit the wind with me so it doesn't get you.' Jack says seriously.
'Why would you hit the wind?' I ask him. 'He's a nice guy.'
He looks at me for a short moment, then nods; this makes sense to him.

Soon after we are sitting on a tree trunk that has grown over the edge of the cliff. There was nothing beneath us. The sky was now navy, and the moon shone brightly.
'I wish we could go there, to the moon.' Jack says, gazing upwards.
'One day,' I say. 'One day.'

And so we sat, with the rain coming, with the wind blowing, with the sea roaring; just sitting, just being; just living.

Have you ever wondered?

There are some questions we always seem to be asking, but never answering. They aren't necessarily important queries, but ones that we do find ourselves thinking about quite often.
I have recently invented the belief that, in order to begin answering life's bigger questions, you should take care of the smaller questions, the ones you are capable of answering.
During my hours at the local library, checking in and shelving books, I have been fortunate enough to come across books that I never would have otherwise. Some of these books have held the answers to some of those very questions; antidotes to cure some of my perennial curiosity.
Lying in wait inside those pages are not only replies to my plaguing inquiries about the world in general, but pathways that lead to other discoveries and more knowledge.
I found the answers to the following questions in the book Why is Yawning Contagious? by Francesca Gould.
I recommend you read it.

So, why do onions make us cry?
When you cut an onion, sulphur compounds from inside the vegetable are released into the air. When these compounds come into contact with the water on our eyes, it reacts, and creates sulphuric acid. This acid is, as one would expect, quite irritating. Our eyes then produce tears from our lachrymal glands (tear glands) to 'flush away to irritant'. Rubbing your eyes will only make the sensation worse, as you would now have sulphur compounds on your fingers.

Why do we get goosebumps?
When we are cold tiny muscles in our skin (erector pili muscles) contract, causing our hairs to stand on end. When we were once covered in hair, this would result in a layer of warm air being trapped between the skin and the hair, keeping us warm.

What is the ''funny bone''?
Most of you will think the thing that causes your arm to tingle in the painful way when you knock your elbow is a bone. However it is actually a nerve. This nerve is known as the ulnar nerve, and it runs down the inside of the elbow and ends in the little finger, controlling the feeling in your fourth and fifth fingers, and the movement of the wrist. The nerve is connected to a bone called the humerus bone, which runs from the shoulder to the elbow. As you may have concluded, this bone is what gives the ''funny bone'' its name. The painful tingling you experience you feel when you bang your elbow against something is a result of the ulnar nerve knocking against the humerus bone.

And, just if you were wondering, the medical term for using your finger to pick mucus from your nose is rhinotillexis, and the act of eating one's ''bogies'' is known as mucophagy.