Empty House, Full Stomach

Growing up, every day I would come home to an empty house - a lifeless building. I would walk straight from the door to the computer room, where I would plant myself in front of the screen, unless I got hungry, which seemed like always. What did I eat? A slough of snack food, chips, popcorn, and if there were any homemade cookies or cake, it would be gone in one sitting. I have eaten half of a cake just because it was there. I never understood, though, why no matter how much I ate, I was never full. That's not to say that I didn't regret it after, but everyone says they regret it. Regret doesn't help.

I don't like offering excuses but, I felt broken, incomplete and unhappy when I wasn't eating. When my sister Beth got home, she would see what I had eaten, and would get very upset and call me names like "brat," "spoiled," "lazy." These names only widened the emotional gap in my stomach, which I tried to fill with food. After a while, I developed a relationship with food. I didn't talk to it or anything, but I used it as emotional support. No matter what, food was always there. Because it was only a temporary solution, I always needed more.

When I was younger, my entire family was in turmoil, and it became a serious problem. After we moved, the fights only increased, but unfortunately it wasn't yelling fights, but just a quiet sniping attitude. This destroyed my stomach. I would eat supper, then dessert, then get up at around midnight and eat some more. These tendencies would continue into my school day, which was extremely disruptive. I'd sneak a snack here and there, and get caught for it every time.