I eat all the time. All the time. I get full but I’m not satisfied. So I eat more. It doesn’t help. My belly is bloated and I feel like I’m gonna puke. Then I must be full. So why am I craving something more?
Others say it’s because I haven’t eaten enough. They say this is the right food. This is what I’m hungry for. It’s what we’re all hungry for. If I’m not satisfied, I haven’t eaten enough. Or maybe I’m not preparing it right. I need to bake it or roast it or salt it. If I can’t stomach another bite then I’m satisfied…I just don’t know it. It must be true. What else is there?
This food; this many people can’t be wrong. Countless teachers, doctors, and scientists sealing it with their approval. Laboratory tested. Fit for human consumption. I guess I’m left with only two options: acceptance or frustration.
I keep eating. I close my eyes and take another bite. I’ll eventually forget my concerns. Stop wondering if there’s something else. Then, with peace of mind, I’ll be able to eat this and recommend it to other starving people. I’ll stop thinking this is new and improved Death. I’ll stop saying this is the latest flavor of the same old thing. That talk offends everyone.
I’ve done it this way for so long. Convinced myself that these aren’t hunger pains. This is food. I’ve even convinced others. But something is wrong!
But if I admit this isn’t real food, then what does that say about me? What have I been eating all these years? What is my true condition? You’re massive, they say. It’s called muscle. But it slows me down and it can’t move anything. Can this mass do anything real? Or am I just a sickly and frail person dressed in heavy, sparkling clothes? I’m afraid to look.
The truth is I don’t attempt anything that requires real strength. I’ve only redefined Strength to make it seem like I have it. But when is the last time I raised anything bigger than an opinion? Manifested anything more substantial than a smoke screen? I’m afraid to try. I don’t want to fail. I’m afraid to find out that this strength I’ve so fully invested my life in is really an illusion. I can’t deal with the terrifying thought that… maybe…I’ve been wasting my life.
But I can’t help but see it now. This isn’t what food tastes like or smells like. There’s no nutritional value. Cravings force me to go back for more. Feeding on it, I’ve grown tumors where there should be muscles. I’m addicted. Always needing more to get back to the first feeling. Never getting there. I’m unsatisfied and the more I eat the heavier I feel. Dying from the inside out. Food doesn’t do this. What have I been consuming?
Afraid or not, this isn’t working. Admit it. I can’t hide from it anymore. It’s time for truth. I can’t hide from it anymore. This isn’t what I need. I won’t pretend anymore! These meals are an insult. An abomination. It’s just breaded air. Old, infested, and empty. It’s repackaged shit with a new stamp on it. If I only have to choose between acceptance and rage, I choose rage!
I’m weak! I’m sick! I’m starving out here and I don’t have the solution! I bought the lie, but now I’ll break it in two! I’m mad as hell and someone is gonna pay for this. I’m on fire! I’m burning from the inside, and I am not ashamed! Nothing I’ve tasted has sustained me, and I’m not afraid to say this anymore. I NEED MORE THAN THIS! I need something solid. More than the wind. More than predictability at the expense of creativity. More than reliability at the expense of the exhilaration. More than ergonomic at the expense of panoramic. More than vacuum packed, crated and stacked, sterilized, pasteurized, color coded, half corroded, cellophane lined, yesterday’s grind. God damn it, I’m hungry for something real!