"The walls start breathing, my mind's unweaving. Maybe its best you leave me alone. A weight is lifted on this evening; I give the final blow.

When darkness turns to light, it ends tonight, it ends tonight. Just a little insight won't make this right. Its too late too fight, it ends tonight."

My mama told me sometimes, when the devil doesn't have anything new to trap you with, he'll bring out something old, and trick you into thinking you're reliving it.

I think thats whats happening to me right now.

I sit at this table, in this really nice restaurant, on one of our few family nights out. No one's fighting. There's no tension. There's no animosity. We're all happy. Talking about what a good day we had. Talking about how hungry we were. I was so hungry. I was struggling to make conversation, I was so hungry. The smells were amazing. Every tray that passed by made my mouth water, I couldn't wait for the food to arrive. After a while they started teasing my hunger. "Ashley's gonna eat the plate and the tablecloth when she runs out of food.." We laughed, but I was contemplating. Beavers eat wood, right? Couldn't be too bad.

Then finally, the food arrived. The first time, its my absolute favorite thing in the world to eat: lemon herb grilled salmon with garlic mashed potatoes & mixed vegetables. I take a bite of everything. One bite of each portion, and find my stomach feeling unnaturally full. I laugh and joke, thinking, in a moment, the food will settle, and I'll be able to eat some more. It doesn't happen. Soon, no amount of laughin and joking can distract from my completely full plate. The check arrives, the waitress passes it to my godfather from behind me, and I just for a moment, see the total. $302.77

He sighs, puts his credit card into the folder and hands it back to the waitress. Even she feels the tension at the table now. She looks around, nervously, eyes lingering on my full plate before she scurries away. Mom tries to save me, says her mashed potatoes were too salty, and that it was probably best I hadn't eaten them all. Aunty Isha makes a joke that Goddaddy probably shouldn't have eaten it either, all those carbs won't do anything for his figure. Goddaddy retorts:

"Imagine that when my figure gets thin, my wallet does too. Yea, bet that'll get you to shut up."

The whole table is quiet. I feel tears build up in my throat, along with something else. A hot bile, an unmistakeable flavor. I bolt from my seat, run towards the bathroom, sure I collided with several people, because I can hear their shouts and the shatter of dishes behind me.

I make it to the bathroom just in time to be violently sick. I vomit until there's absolutely nothing left in me, and then I cry, until I'm dehydrated from all the fluid I've secreted so rapidly, and shaking in embarrassment and anger.

And somewhere in me, at the bottom of it all, I understand that I'm still hungry.

No one comes to get me, I recover myself. Clean myself up, return to the table. Except for when I leave the bathroom, we're at my grandmother's in San Bernadino. She's sick, about to go into surgery, but she cooked because we came to visit. The weariness is in her eyes. I smell it before I see it. My favorite: Pork Chops, Black eyed peas & Rice, with a big glass of purple kool-aid. (I'm her special baby, I've always liked the purple better than the red). I sit down to eat, thanking her for cooking for me, telling her how hungry I am. We laugh, we talk. Three bites. Thats all.

I lived these situations. And many, many more. Many worse, many more embarrasing, than these. This was my life from August 2004 to April 2007. And I thank God every day that he delivered me from it.

But now, its coming back to me, in dreams, at night. First that night at Newport Bay, than Grandma's, than the charity reunion for church, over and over, every time I step out of the bathroom and into a new nightmare. And at the end of it all, I'm still hungry.

And it bothers me. And when I wake up I cry. I cry so hard. But when I snap out of it, I walk to the kitchen, and fix myself something to eat. I eat it all, or, just until I feel better, and I say "Fuck You" with enough venom, if not enough volume, to send the shadows scattering. Then I walk back to my room, and I go to sleep smiling, and I sleep well the rest of the night.

Because my mama told me that sometimes, when the devil doesn't have anything new to trap you with, he'll bring up old things, and make you think you're reliving them. My mama told me that the Devil only comes after you when good things are coming to you. So I say keep em coming. The more madness you send my way, the brighter my skies will be when the storm is gone, so now that I've got my umbrella out, let it fucking rain. I'm good.

And I'm not hungry.

-A.


P.S. : Thanks mucho to D'Angelo, for always letting me talk, & Darian, for always making me laugh. Love yall. =]