it begins in your head, then spreads to your arms, your legs, your stomach. you can’t think, you can’t move, you can’t work, so you blindly go, go, go until suddenly work is over and you’re elsewhere. waiting. a little while longer, until you warm up your food (but it can’t be nearly enough, it’s only the size of your two fists put together; this is what you had for lunch, this is why you are hungry) and steal some bites of your sister’s, then from the girl sitting next to her, but you have to stopstopstop stop stop stop, stop, stop. stop.
later, you are stuffing your face with spicy chicken wings, scallop lollipops, sweet potato fries, and other unholy appetizers until you realize, hey, it’s almost eleven pm, what are you doing still stuffing your face.
you ponder this later in your bed as pain shoots through your stomach, this hunger disease and its cure, self-control.