Emotional Non-Eater

Well, yesterday was a mental clusterfuck. I am a girl, there are certain things I should be emotional about, cute movies, kittens, puppies, babies… Not bread. I should not cry over fucking bread….. 

I realized that last year I at least had the energy to keep up with my kids at work (well, students, but they are my kids). I barely have the energy for that. I sat down, about ten sets of eyeballs all staring at me as I opened up “The BFG” and began reading to them. My voice horse and crackely from all of the purging, I finally had to give up and quit reading because the strain was too much. 

All I wanted was to go home and have a piece of Ezekiel bread. I hadn’t eaten, that was the one thing I craved for and wanted. After running in between classes and going to work I was so worn out. My legs still achy from the leg cramps and I was getting a headache.

I walked in the door and the smell of food was nauseating. All I wanted was a damn piece of bread. I went into the kitchen, opened the fridge and began moving stuff.

“It has to be here. I know I had at least three pieces left.”

My hands fumbled through the fridge a little quicker moving anything and everything in my way.

“Shit, where is it?!”

I was looking everywhere, hell I even looked on the fridge door. It wasn’t there.

I finally gave up, slamming drawers, slamming the fridge door. Cussing and being pissed off, both to myself and out loud for the whole damn house to hear.

Who the fuck ate my fucking Ezekiel bread?!?! It isn’t even tasty! Maybe if I was hoarding Oreos, then yeah, it would be understandable. I went in my room, still cursing and slammed my door shut. I texted my best friend from my room,

“I have one thing that I actually fucking eat, and someone either eats it or throws it away. What the Ever-Loving Fuck?!?!”

It just went down hill from there, I began to cry because, well, fuck it. Maybe it was a sign I didn’t need to eat. I tried to vent to my potential boyfriend. He responded with, “Well, I wish you would eat more, but that is another story.”

“Don’t you fucking dare lecture me about my eating!!”

I messaged my mom, saying pretty much the same thing, “I hate when I have one fucking thing I eat, and it gets thrown away or eaten.”

She responded, “I understand, I don’t even like it when people look at my food.”

“Exactly!!! Don’t comment on my food, don’t look at my food, and God help you if you touch my food!”

 

 

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