The Hunger

I consume the things I love. Literally. I don’t know why I am this way, it’s been like this for as long as I can remember. When I was a baby I used to be a biter. At first it wasn’t a big deal because I would just gum someone’s arm or hand until they got tired of it and would detach me. It became a problem, however, when my teeth started to grow in. I wouldn’t just bite, I would latch on, trying to remove flesh from bone so that I could swallow it.

My parents brought it up to my pediatrician, of course. But he just told them that it was a phase and I would grow out of it. He was a quack if you ask me. It wasn’t just people either. It was anything I loved too hard. When I was four, I ripped apart my favorite picture book with my teeth and swallowed bits of paper until it was all gone. When I was eight I pulled my favorite Barbie doll apart and sent her right down the gullet. I can still picture the x-ray image from ER where the Barbie head stared straight back at me from my large intestine.

When I was eleven, my parents learned the hard way that I could not, under any circumstances, have a pet. I still feel bad about that one. Rest in peace Jeremy the gerbil. In sixth grade I bit off the pinky finger of the boy I had a crush on. He had just given me my first kiss and the hunger The paramedics searched the room for it in hopes of reattachment, but I’d swallowed it before they even arrived. That was when my parents decided homeschool might be the best option for me.

I’ve been to countless psychologists, doctors, even a hypnotist once or twice. Nobody’s been able to figure out why I do this. I know why. I mean, I don’t know why or how I ended up with this affliction. But I know why I eat. When I love something enough, just touching it, or holding it, or enjoying it isn’t enough. Just loving it isn’t enough. I have to consume it. I have to make it a part of me.

The best way I can describe it is that when I love something, like truly feel-it-in-your-bones love something, this void begins to form in the pit of my stomach. It starts off small, and I can ignore it at first, but as time goes on it grows. When it’s small, it feels like a little aching pain right under my bellybutton. When it’s small the hunger is manageable, it just feels like I skipped lunch. But when it grows bigger it feels like somebody has wrapped barbed wire around my insides and is pulling tight and if I don’t feed the hunger, it will consume me completely.

I’ve tried to fill the void with food. Of course I have. But I would eat and eat and eat and the void would just seem to grow bigger. I never felt satisfied or full. When I had my first crush, I became ravenous. I cleared out the contents of our entire fridge and freezer and still wasn’t satisfied. The pain in my stomach kept me up at night. My parents took me to countless specialists, they were convinced I had a tapeworm. But of course, I didn't. The hunger only subsided three weeks later when I bit off that boy’s finger. After that, my stomach didn't hurt anymore. I finally felt full. I slept for two days straight.

As the years went on, I learned how to control my hunger. I simply couldn’t love anything too hard. Pets are an obvious and big no for me. I won’t even allow myself fish. All of my relationships must be kept at an arms distance. My parents understand, but it makes it hard to keep friends. I’m closed off with colleagues for fear of growing attached and romantic relationships are beyond out of the question.

I used to let myself indulge in the occasional book or movie or song, but once I realized just how familiar the urgent care staff was becoming with me, I realized I couldn’t risk that anymore either. So now I listen to elevator music, I read instructional manuals and textbooks, and I strictly watch infomercials. I initially allowed myself to watch the news until I saw one too many pieces on animals being reunited with family, or kids raising money to help their communities. Feeling things is dangerous, slapchops and shamwows don’t make me feel.

Things went well for a while. I had my system down to a science. I hadn’t had an incident in years. And then I met you. I didn't mean to meet you, in fact, I was actively avoiding meeting you, well, not you in particular, just someone like you. But there you were, right next door, what are the odds. I tried not to love you. I promise I did. I tried to focus on your flaws, I even made up flaws to convince myself you had. But nothing worked, the void just grew and grew and grew.

The pain was always the worst at night when there was nothing to distract me. I would spend hours writhing on the floor, praying the void would just consume me. I wished I would sacrifice myself to it, let it swallow me whole, but it wouldn’t allow me that mercy. Now, the hunger is all I think about, all I feel, all I know. I’m blinded by it.

And you are knocking on my door. I don’t want to open it. I can’t open it. But I feel my feet dragging me closer and closer. As if you are a magnet pulling me towards you. I want to scream for you to run, to leave me, to never come back. But an invisible had closes around my throat, trapping the words inside. The agony of knowing what is about to happen makes my limbs feel like they're made of steel. My chest feels tight and suffocating.

With a trembling hand I grasp the doorknob. I hesitate for only a second. My heart slams against my ribcage. Blood rushes in my ears. The barbed wire in my stomach tightens.

I open the door.