When I'm hungry, it hits me hard. I'll be going about my day, perfectly normal, and then suddenly, my stomach will growl and it'll all be over. I'll rapidly morph into a completely different person, incapable of conversation and possibly of compassion, and I'll demand a breath mint, for the love of god.
When I'm hungry, no one can stand me. I'll be sobbing like some hormonal teenager, then, out of nowhere, start screaming in an uncontrollable rage. I'll be needy, start clinging onto your sleeve and crying about how sorry I am, about the universe coming to an inevitable end, and about my own grey mortality. It's incredibly disturbing and a side of me that I hope very few people have to see.
Soon I'll reach the point of no return. This is the part where that gnawing pit in my stomach spreads and twists into a cold, ruthless nausea. You'll start offering me food, because if you know me well enough to have stuck around, you'll finally understand what's going on. Of course, I'll refuse it, because it feels like someone has just stabbed me repeatedly in the gut. And the hunger keeps getting worse. It's like a never ending cycle.
The worst part is that when I get out of this trance I am usually shocked to discover that I've eaten an entire box of cookies.
Every time.

By issieweimo, July 20, 2015.