Number 33

Chapter 1 - Isolation.

Chapter 1 - Isolation.

Fat.

Ugly.

Awkward.

I sat alone at my lunch table, blankly staring at my food.

I know I need to eat. Obviously. I'm a living, breathing thing that needs food.

So why is it so hard to eat, then?

When you think about it, eating is simple. Your body is a machine, you need to fuel it. It's just nature. Yet, when I look at what's supposed to sustain me, it only tears me apart.

I stare at the sandwich, willing myself to pick it up. Maybe this is why nobody sits with you, I think bitterly to myself. Either you're praying or just staring at your food. Either way, it's weird.

I hold the sandwich. It's unimpressive. A simple turkey, cheddar, lettuce, and mayo on whole wheat bread. It's so normal. This small, dull source of nutrients is everything, though. A lifeline.

You don't eat enough, you're sick. You eat too much, you're sick.

Why must it be so complicated? My conscious asks, the representation of the hurt part of myself. Because that's the way it is, with society. With your peers. The logos side reasons, doing what it does best.

I begin the sandwich, almost eating half of it. There you go. Not too much, not too little.

I spent the rest of the lunch hour sipping on my water, inactively listening to the conversations of the people sitting across from me.

Every day, we sit at the same table. We say hi. They talk amongst themselves, and I'm left not knowing what to do.

The sharp ringing of the bell relieves me of the uncomfortable situation. I guess Saved By the Bell applies quite literally for me.

*****

The rest of the day was a little tough. There was a constant feeling in my stomach, ever present, alerting me that I did not do my part. I failed to provide it with what it needs.

I was hungry. Really hungry.

I got home from school and immediately headed towards the kitchen. Just like every other day.

With hunger on my mind, and a dull ache in my stomach, I looked for anything to eat. It didn't matter if it would actually nourish me well. I just needed something.

I got out a piece of bread, and headed back towards the pantry.

Really, Britton? Nutella on a piece of bread? That's useless carbs and sugar. Empty calories. I think as I spread a thin layer of the chocolate spread onto the bread. Oh well.

One Nutella sandwich and a bag of chips, later, I felt okay.

Just okay.

Then comes time for dinner. I had to eat for my family.

I sit there, taking it bite by bite, thinking back to the lonely lunch.

I had a full breakfast. Half of a lunch. A full dinner, and a huge snack in between.

That's two times what I needed to be eating.

At the same time, though, I don't want a repeat of the fourth grade. That one time when I didn't eat food for a week. Why am I even worrying about this as a seventh grader?

Why does it always come to this?