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Consumed
<p>I hate being sad.<br/></p><p>I hate being upset.</p><p>I hate being moody.</p><p><br/></p><p>Not because emotions are bad,</p><p>but because of what they turn me into.</p><p><br/></p><p>When I’m angry or hurt, I eat.</p><p>Not a snack. Not “just a little.”</p><p>I eat like I’m trying to fill a hole that doesn’t close.</p><p><br/></p><p>Yes, it sounds crazy.</p><p>But that’s how my brain survives.</p><p><br/></p><p>I can’t scream at the person who caused it.</p><p>I can’t explode.</p><p>I overtalk, I choke on my words, I say too much or nothing at all.</p><p>So I swallow it.</p><p>All of it.</p><p>And my anger turns into hunger.</p><p><br/></p><p>On a normal day, I’m fine.</p><p>Two or three slices of bread. Tea.</p><p>That’s enough.</p><p><br/></p><p>But when I’m hurting?</p><p>I can finish a whole loaf and still feel hollow.</p><p>Still restless.</p><p>Still searching for something my mouth can’t name.</p><p><br/></p><p>It’s not even about food anymore.</p><p>It’s about quiet.</p><p>It’s about control.</p><p>It’s about having one thing I can reach for when everything else feels locked.</p><p><br/></p><p>I’ve tried to stop.</p><p>I really have.</p><p>Distractions. Discipline. Shame. Promises to myself.</p><p>Nothing lasts.</p><p><br/></p><p>And the worst part isn’t the eating.</p><p>It’s the exhaustion after.</p><p>The “why am I like this?”</p><p>The wishing I could process pain like a normal person.</p><p><br/></p><p>So if you’re reading this and you have a solution,</p><p>a real one, not the motivational kind,</p><p>please help a sister.</p><p><br/></p><p>She’s tired of fighting her own coping mechanisms.</p><p>She’s tired of being strong in all the wrong ways.</p>
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