When I get hungry, if I don’t eat within a certain amount of time from when the hunger starts, I won’t eat until the next hunger time interval.

When I was in middle school, I wasn’t exactly what one might call thin. I was a chubby little preteen. I would look around at all the other kids in the locker room and they had the bodies of 12 year old demigods. I wanted to be like that. I wanted to be thin. I wanted people to stop poking my stomach and giggling like the Pillsbury Doughboy. So I stopped eating. I didn’t eat breakfast, I didn’t eat lunch, and I ate the bare minimum at dinner because that was the only meal that was supervised by my parents.

It sucked at first. I hated it. But I wanted to not be fat anymore. So I kept starving myself. I would still drink liquids to give me energy throughout the day, but I only ate one meal. Looking back, I’m actually glad that they made me eat dinner. Because you see, while I hated it in the beginning, I had grown to like not eating. I had grown fond of that tight feeling of hunger I would get in my stomach.

To this day I still love that feeling. I’ve managed to force myself to eat more, but I still let myself get away with not eating every once in a while. It’s become far less frequent, but the only problem is that when it does happen, I let it go for far longer than I should.

I let myself get to the point where I’m shaking and I have no energy to move. I get light headed and I have heat flashes. I won’t even drink anything.

Maybe I’m masochistic. Maybe I have an eating disorder. I don’t know. I’m in no position to diagnose myself. This isn’t something that I do to myself. It just sort of… happens.

Normally (I like to think), my posts have some sort of deepness to their conclusion. Normally these progress into something else. But not this time. No, this time the beginning is the same as the end; I’m hungry, and that’s not going to change any time soon.