Hunger Pains

I woke up in the middle of the night Sunday starving.

I had eaten my Points for the day. I was not hungry when I went upstairs to bed. Somehow I woke up ravenous. I contemplated going downstairs to the fridge for  some sort of 2 AM snack but my accountability (and fear of monsters) kept me in bed.

Instead, I tried to reflect on how I've gotten here. To this point. The point where I need to lose a significant amount of weight before my doctor will take the next step in Infertility Treatment (yes, those words are worthy of capitalization). The more thoughts tumbled through my head, the sharper the hunger pain in my stomach was. Ahhhhhh, I thought to myself, emotional eating. The oldest trick in the book. The excuse on the lips of every fat person. Could it be that this cliche reasoning has directly contributed to where I am today?

My oldest memory relating to food is from when I was six years old. My parents were arguing and I was hiding in our pantry off the kitchen, eating Oreos one after the other until my stomach hurt. I don't know why. But I distinctly remember the same sort of hunger pain that I woke up with Sunday.

In high school I remember being rejected by the love of my fourteen year old life and going home and eating all of my mother's pistachio ice cream. I hid the carton underneath piles of trash. It made me so sick but the cold numbed my pain and broken adolescent heart.

Two months ago I was sure I was going to see a positive pregnancy test. When I didn't, I ate McDonald's chicken nuggets, a burger, and fries and then threw the evidence away in a dumpster by my house. I then ate what Tom cooked for dinner.

Those are just examples off the top of my head. I could go back in the Amanda vault and pull out some real doozies. There are always two constants: emotional distress and shame. Did I always feel this way, even when I was young? Was I always too afraid to voice my fears and hurt? I fear that the answer is yes.

I have always been the person who refuses food or accepts tiny portions in public; I fear eyes scrutinizing every little thing going in my mouth. I've always been a closet eater. Lately, it seems that I've been a closet binger. I know what people think. Just stop eating. Just don't. Eat when you're hungry; don't when you're not. I know all these things. It doesn't take away the hunger pains. The feeling of numbness that accompanies every bite. The beautiful moment of forgetting the pain or anxiety or disappointment.

I know this is an uphill battle. I know that I will struggle with this my entire life. It will always be easier for me to reach for food than analyzing my feelings. But I will do it. And one day when I have children (and I mean will not if) I will teach them how important it is to know the difference between hunger of the stomach and hunger of the heart.