Hunger

When I saw the strings of chewed up spinach tangled in the shower drain my instinct of silence set in. My mind along with my body went numb.

Wearing rubber gloves, I picked out the spinach, flushed it down the toilet, and scrubbed the tub clean – erasing all physical evidence of Sasha’s sorrow.

Within a few hours Sasha’s sorrow was mine. At first, a quiet whimper emitted from my closed throat, followed by loose tears streaking down my face, then accompanied by uncontrollable wails that so frightened me that I tried to muffle my cries with a towel.

As I sit on my couch about to lose myself in my nightly ritual of stuffing my face with potato chips, I know my anxiety, guilt, fear and shame will linger long after my fingers graze the bottom of the bag.

For too long I denied Sasha’s shrinking figure and attributed her thinness to all the fruit she consumed. For too long I denied how she no longer could fill out the seat of her jeans. For too long I denied the smell of vomit on her breath. Raising questions only in my head.

For too long I denied Sasha.

I tear open a bag of Ruffles regular flavour potato chips, bury my nose in the bag and, with shoulders shaking, inhale deeply. My trembling hands feed my screaming appetite without meeting fulfillment.

How do you feed the kind of hunger food cannot appease?

In the middle of my trance-like state I look inside the Ruffles bag to check my progress. I see the half-empty bag and feel my heart throb with panic. 

Out of the corner of my eye, lying at the end of the couch, I spot the 240g bag of Cheetohs. My muscles relax in a semblance of comfort. I congratulate myself for remembering to buy reinforcements. So impatient am I to smother the screams on the brink of finding release. 

No one must know my fears. No one must hear my cries. No one must see me crumble.

Why is “keeping one’s composure” more dignified than disclosing our inner wounds?

Sasha purges her self-hatred in the shower, hiding behind the roar of the rushing water, hoping to drown and wash away the food she devoured earlier, while I hide underneath the padding of my fat.

Why all the secrets?

I swear the silence is killing us, eating away at us.