In My Room
There were several bathrooms on my college campus that I would frequent the most.
I preferred the handicap restrooms as I could lock the door. In here I could fuel my compulsion without the fear of others noticing.
I remember walking out of the bathroom, and within seconds returning, to deconstruct my face again. Only when I was looking closely at my imperfections and hating on myself, was I free. It is bizarre, maybe it became like cutting in a way. In the pain I could feel something, even if it was the feeling of losing my mind.
With each new class, I would find a corresponding place on campus to indulge this compulsion. These compulsions would reveal themselves from time to time in my art and in my music. I remember taking an intro to drawing class in college, I drew a large black and white charcoal image of an anorexic woman. I got an A+. My only A+.
Although I never particularly understood what it was about this work my teacher liked so much, it is obvious to me now. The best art is an expression of our soul, and this one was honest, possibly my first truly honest piece of work.
