I am so out of habit to concentrate in class that the idea doesn't even cross my mind anymore. I attend class like an ornament, contributing nothing and taking nothing in. 

I haven't eaten today, that is wonderful. I love this feeling more than anything, the emptiness, I live for it. It defines comfort. It isn't hard for me to starve because I like the implications that come with it. I like the weakness that almost screams fragility, I like the secrecy, the melancholia, the sadness, even the self-pity. But most of all it's the secret that entraps me. Living life knowing that no one really knows you, that no one ever could. It gives you a certain power over them, you control them. You twist them around your little fingers and keep up the deception. 

The truth about this, the truth that many don't realize, is that your life becomes distorted. I crave to be alone and I crave to never be left. I wish to be surrounded, distracted and loved, but I also want to be forgotten, unneeded, futile. The contradictions are everywhere. I crave everything and nothing all at once. 

It's like a part of me wants people to know, to fear for me, to whisper about the mystery of someone fragile, to find me strange, foreign, unattainable. Yet the other, the bigger, will go to any lengths to hide this. How dare you invade on my secret, how dare you think it was yours to be shared with, how dare you come so near me. I desire truth and lies and I don't know which one I require more. I don't know which one which one feeds me more. 

I am finding an interrelation between words and starving. The words feed me, with them I could never possibly be  actually starved, they are the blood pumping through my heart, the medium through which I taste, the lies and the truth. I now realize what I've been missing. I cannot live any other way, and the fact that I tried brought to nothing. I need writing just like others need food, or water, or even love. Because at the end of it all, words are enough to sustain me. Writing nourishes me. And after every time, I feel reborn. 

I feel their energy around my fingers, shooting out like poisoned arrows onto the screen. That is the only help I will ever need. Give me my words, and I will give you everything in return. I will turn them into all the feelings all at once and offer them to you on a golden plate. Give me a word and I will give you an emotion. 

Before I became this I didn't know that hunger is a part of writing.