Going to Bed Hungry

Jun 1

2 min read

I'm trying out new ways of writing, one of which is using the “first person affirmative” voice. I was an English major, but I must admit, I’d forgotten exactly what that meant when my editor mentioned it to me recently. So, I looked it up.

Here’s what I learned: Like much of my writing, using this voice, authors refer to themselves as “I” or “we.” More than that, this approach affirms a state of being, rather than denying it. This is important because it sends a message of accountability or “ownership.” (At least that’s how I understand it.)

I hadn’t really realized before that I can tend to write in passive voice, saying a thing “happened” rather than “I did” this or that. So, I’ve been putting myself in the shoes of others, or in the mindset of my earlier self, working on being more “affirmative” even with dark, sometimes scary topics.

Here’s one of my recent efforts. It’s called “Going to Bed Hungry.” It describes my distorted thinking about food, eating, and self-control from an earlier time in life.

I hope you like it and would love to hear your thoughts!

Here it is:

My stomach is growling.

As I lay there, listening to its groans, a sense of peace washes over me, even as my guts churn and tangle, knotting themselves into a gnarl. My hollow cavern of abdomen feels good, even if it doesn’t feel right. It feels good to overcome the emptiness, knowing I can’t fill it.

I’ve gone to bed hungry again, not because of illness or lack, but because I can…and I want to. Because, with an irony only few can understand, hunger feels powerful. The deeper it becomes, the more masterful I am. I’ve conquered something that most can’t, don’t, or won’t. I’m more than those who’ve had their three squares, even better than those who opted for dessert; I soar high above the fat ones who have lost control.

My stomach is growling.

empty plate: I’ve gone to bed hungry again, not because of illness or lack, but because I can…and I want to. Because, with an irony only few can understand, hunger feels powerful.

When people comment that I’m too skinny, urging me to “have more protein” or “try one bite,” I politely decline. When strangers stare at me as we pass on the street, slyly glancing back at me over curious shoulders, I pretend not to notice. But I’m keeping score. The more they stare in disbelief, the stronger my stubborn resolve. I’m in control of my appetite. I’m in control of my body. You there, staring at me, offering me a cookie…you are not.

My stomach is growling.

I was 16 when I discovered my superpower, this ability to stop eating. I was 16 when dark, long-hidden memories began to surface, opening a giant hole inside me. Others, with similar demons in their past, tried other ways to cope. Some ate to fill the void, but the void prevailed. Some drank; others tried sex. These tactics were all too messy for me, the smart, promising child of excellence. So, instead, I stopped eating. I could not fill the hole, but I could control it. I began to practice my craft and became an expert.

My stomach is growling.