Lately the hunger has been deep and insatiable. I sit down to eat hamburgers with cheese, chips, salads that flow out of big orange bowls. And it is not enough. At night when everyone is sleeping, I eat in the dark. Peanut butter on whole wheat bread, cheese sticks, bits of candy hidden away high in the cupboards. I lean against the counter, and unwrap Hershey kiss after kiss, slipping them into my mouth and savoring the chocolate, letting it melt against my tongue.
But I am still hungry. I do not feel sick as I eat melon and grapes. I am still hungry after bowls of black bean soup. I prowl the house looking for something to do besides eat. I knit and write blogs but my mind is filled with recipes. I imagine what I will cook for supper as I sit knitting. As I drive to work, I plan my meals with loving detail, salivating.
This hunger is often a little frightening. It does not fit in with my plans to become the thin girl. The hunger packs on the pounds as I wish inside to wear the clothes from two summers ago. I try to banish the hunger by standing naked in front of the mirror forcing myself to see the fat rolls. "Look!" I hiss at my reflection. "How can you be hungry when you see THAT?" But the only thing these exorcisms banish is my self-respect.
Normally I eat to keep feelings away or to bury them in the daze that comes from too much food. But I am not doing that. I am not eating until I am sick. I am eating because I am so hungry. Life is a little crazy right now but it's that kind of exciting crazy. A crazy filled with possibilities. Why this hunger? Is it possible this is genuine hunger?