Ravenous For Nothing

This story briefly touches on the subjects of childhood neglect and abuse, Self harm , and mental illness. Please do not dive in if this can be triggering to you.

I was always hungry. As a child there was never food in our cupboards. My parents would get what they were going to prepare for dinner on the way home so we never knew what… if anything… was coming. I remember the one Thanksgiving they didn't come home the night before and I sat there as the oldest of four siblings (our ages are seven, five, four, three and two) lying to give them comfort because they were hungry. They were hungry and there wasn't so much as a piece of bread in our food pantry. I remember seeing some popcorn kernels from when you used to pop the popcorn in a skillet. One time when I was exploring I found a pack of old cookies from the prior tenant. Out of absolute desperation and not really knowing any better, my curiosity was hungry. I went ahead and took a bite of one of those cookies. To tell you that the taste was gag worthy and stayed in my mouth for days, is an understatement.

Anyway, back to Thanksgiving, I was being raised by an expert at reverse psychology. A nefarious pedophile that catered to his own needs and no one else's. Period. He was a gambler and I remember one Saturday morning some men showed up at our door as we laid there eating cereal, hungry for Saturday morning cartoons. And they came in and took the rug, the couch and other furniture, the TV, and they even took our damn dog. He had lost it all in a poker game the night before. That adorable English sheepdog that he had won in a poker game a couple of weeks prior. These people's gambling addiction is so hungry, they're betting their dogs.

That kind of hunger I could do without!

So I was seven, and I remember trying to explain to the crew that it was okay! That we could watch the parade. It wouldn't be long before mommy and dad would be walking through the door. Daddy can't play cards forever, or could he? I told them to just hang in there, it'll be okay, I promised. And though I was making that up I needed to believe it, as it stood to reason that if they thought I was lying, they would even become more scared. Most brave leaders hunger to be trusted, and some of us hunger for that trust with false bravado.

When dusk rolled around, I made an executive decision to put them to bed promising them that they would wake up to a delicious makeup breakfast (another lie). I told them a bedtime story that instead of consisting of three bears or a caped girl running from a wolf in the woods, my bedtime story consisted of a very contrite mom and dad making pancakes and bacon in the morning. I remember I didn't really get into it because I didn't want them to start imagining the smell of pancakes and get even more hungry. When I could tell that the thought of pancakes and bacon substituting a turkey, corn, mashed potatoes, and yeast rolls wasn't buying them over… I added that we might be going to Grandma's over the weekend to have a Thanksgiving meal on all of her special dishes from the big cabinet by her table. Lord, don't I know now how badly those dishes hunger to be used more than once a year. And I was hungry for some peace and a chance to be alone where I could sit and be angry because our parents took from us this holiday.

I quickly realized my mistake in bringing up grandma, because my brother, the only boy and second oldest, was crying. Let's call Grandma. I'm so hungry. But what those babies didn't know was the last time we called Grandma for rescue, I secretly and quietly paid for that mistake. I paid by getting whipped with a belt. That dark strip of leather that hungered for my backside. So I had to tell him yet another lie… I had already tried and that she wasn't home. And that was the bottom falling out; it must have signaled there was no hope and no rescue coming. And those Proverbial baby birds with their mouths wide open began to bombard me with emotional litanies, of hunger and dissatisfaction . Now they had a new hunger for answers that were different than the ones I was giving them. Suddenly I didn't want to be the sympathetic caregiver to loud demanding kids. I hungered to be a child, in my room with my arms crossed angry over the missed Turkey and pumpkin pie. I also hungered for a different life for me and my siblings because this wasn't just one occurrence; we got to experience opportunities of neglect throughout our entire childhood, as if our fate hungered for it.

We hungered for stability and for tradition damn it. And for a dad that didn't have a gambling problem, and a mom that made sure we were fed every day. Just like the old wish in one hand and shit in the other… and see which one fills up first… at those very young ages we already knew which hand hungered.

The parents did finally show up at around 11:00 PM that Thanksgiving night, and it wasn't lost on us Thanksgiving was over, but our hunger was not. And I learned a new way to be thankful for Jack in the Box tacos that happened to be the best goddamn tacos I ever had.

My life evolves around the word empty. My gas tank is always empty. My stomach is always empty. My bed is always empty and you can just go ahead and throw in my bank account…my cigarette pack… my refrigerator, and what the hell go ahead and throw my soul in there. I have come to the decision that my soul is empty. I don't feel anything for anybody. I definitely don't hunger for church or the word of God or anything that might offer even the slightest bit of salvation. However, on occasion I hunger for my friend, Jerry, who brings party favors now and again. But my wallet's been hungry for some dinero. Jerry is also hungry for dinero. He won't come around if you don't have any.

I wish my vodka bottle wasn't empty. It's interesting the things I find that I'm hungry for. I hunger for purpose. I hunger for tenacity. I hunger for a new job and I hunger for a man in my bed. All of which are not going to happen because I won't let it. Because I don't let myself dwell on the pity that my constant desperate hunger creates. And I am not talking about food… I'm talking about a complete empty. It is also completely hopeless.

I also hungered for my father's apology… for the times he hungered for his own daughter. Now and again it got so bad I was hungry for his death because I believed that was the only way he would ever stop. And he never did until I moved out at the age of sixteen, hungry for freedom. Hungry for no touching and no nightmares. Hungry for hiding from someone I couldn't stand anymore, hungry for opportunity and a future. I hungered for my mother's explanation as to why she let it happen. She had to have known. I look at pictures of myself back then and that was a child hungry for rescue. People, if your children look war torn, get to the bottom of it. Something’s not right. I look in the mirror and I can see my hair is hungry for some hair color. And all the plants in my apartment stopped hungering for water weeks ago. Well there's nobody left to bitch about it.

I'm heading to work and I'm a writer and I'm going to write about the recent hunger strike at a military base. I plan on interviewing Sergeant Kelly over there. He hasn't eaten in 10 days. It's a war protest. They're hungry for peace and the country is hungry for answers. Why must we fight everybody else's war they say? Why are we so hungry for so much power? On the way, there is a homeless man begging in the street. Incidentally he does not look hungry …he actually looks well fed which leads me into thinking there is probably an older model Bronco parked around the corner and after a few hours he is going to go home but with the means to satisfy his hunger and no doubt at least with twice the amount of money I make today, if not more. He'll probably stop and pick up a bottle of whiskey even though his liver is hungry for a break. I get the impression he doesn't hunger for anything. Well, on second thought maybe he's lonely and hungers for company.

I walk into the office and my boss looks up at me and he is hungry for a fight. He wants to argue and fight like he is my husband and I know he's hungry for my story, but I'm not hungry for the details anymore. I haven't felt a pang of motivation in so many years I lost count. You see I don't want to go interview the men that are on a hunger strike. I want to go home and go to sleep. My depression hungers for the backs of my eyelids.

I look over at the office fish and remember my poor little fish. He was always hungry. Because my depression made me hungry to ignore him, until it was too late and he stopped being hungry. He's no longer around to bitch about it either.

If I believed there was a God I would actually ask him what happened to my hunger. I used to be so involved doing the right thing. Amplifying voices. Fighting for the underdog. Supporting causes, believing in change. I would do anything to support somebody that was standing in their truth. And I don't feel those hunger pangs anymore. I got tired of being hungry for victories that never came, in wars that I could never win with entities that would always be more evil than good. I traded it for complacency. For blissful oblivion, for indifference. I became disenchanted with my hunger for good. My glass literally went from half full to half empty overnight. I walked from my family. I walked from my job and out of my marriage, which I had lost being hungry for a long time ago. Now the only thing I really hunger for is for that alarm clock to shut the fuck up in the morning, as l hit it 10 times, hungry for its silence. Now the alarm clock's hungering for me to stop hitting it.

Does anybody care that I'm trying to not get up and life seems to be hungry for my misery. Just like my neighbor Alan. He's the most miserable son of a bitch I've ever met. He's like a vampire hungering for my energy, but I don't have an ounce of it to spare. How did I get on this subject of hunger? Everybody hungers for something, children are hungry for knowledge, the elderly are hungry for care, pets are hungry for attention. Newborns are hungry for their mother's milk . Love is hungry for lust and vice versa. I used to be hungry for the touch of a man. And hungry for the word of God. I used to be hungry for what was in the Bible and I used to be hungry and thirsty for righteousness and peace. But lately I've just been fucking hungry for a dirt nap. Yes I am extremely depressed. And I often speak about dirt naps. Actually, lately I feel like I've been hungry to opt out. Opting out is a very prominent thing in my head right now, more prominent than a cheeseburger at lunch time. Now why does that sound so good, all of the sudden. And if I'm not mistaken I actually just heard my stomach growl. If I wait five minutes it'll pass.

I bypass going to the military base and on my way home I see the dark clouds that are hungry to rain. Which is good because the grass has been hungry for some moisture. And why do I notice all around me the cars that are hungry for a soapy sponge. And the pollution in the sky which is actually affecting the color of the air and it hungers for a deluge to wash it clean. Everybody's hungry for something, except for me. I don't have an appetite for anything anymore. Not for life. Not for faith. The concept of hunger seems to be foreign to me now. Except for my depression, which I'm sure you've noticed by now, that is still hungering for the backs of my eyelids.