Desire and Fear: What To Do When Hunger Is Chasing You Down
an open letter to the other witch in the woods (#2)
Public School: I spent most of my day confined to a desk, with playtime gradually diminishing until, by 5th grade, it was limited to a mere twenty-minute slot. The cement block walls of the school felt like a prison, amplifying the sense of entrapment within my own body, especially when faced with a teacher's yelling, uncomfortable school clothes, or the cafeteria dilemma when I had no money for school lunch.
This was always the moment that made my eyes well with tears. Where I wanted so badly for an adult to care enough to feed me. I didn’t go to school having had breakfast and by the time lunch rolled around I was really hungry. I didn’t usually get a packed lunch so I had to depend on there being money on my lunch card (which I was not in control of). I often didn’t get to eat at lunch also because the options for food were so well… yucky. I still have vivid dreams of standing against the cold tile walls waiting in line for lunch hoping that when I got there something good was going to be served.
This was always the moment that made my eyes well with tears. Where I wanted so badly for an adult to care enough to feed me. I didn’t go to school having had breakfast, and by the time lunch rolled around, I was really hungry. I didn’t usually get a packed lunch, so I had to depend on there being money on my lunch card (which I had no control over). I often didn’t get to eat at lunch because the options for food were, well… yucky. I still have vivid dreams of standing against the cold tile walls, waiting in line for lunch, hoping that when I got there, something good would be served. When I walked into the narrow galley, I pulled a plastic tray to slide across the metal rim. I felt the steam of the food being made, and sometimes it smelled putrid. The women working in the back made loud noises and fussed at me if I took too much time deciding what I wanted. There were two main options and one veggie or fruit to decide between. Most of the time, I didn’t like the options. They waved their plastic-gloved hands from under the fluorescent lighting, grabbing at our attention. That narrow lunch galley seemed to collapse time into my sensory experience as both long and short. It was dizzying for my childhood self to make sense of, explain, or even talk about. I was a good girl by all accounts. My “binge eating” began in grade school. I’d come home and eat to feel my body again. All the restrictions were lifted off, and I was so hungry. I remember eating whole gallons of ice cream or whole loaves of bread, lettuce, cheese… anything that tickled my fancy. I was blissfully alone too. The loud and overbearing noise of school was obliterated, and I could focus only on the chewing sensation of bread in my mouth. It felt good. And I was so hungry.
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