Mother, I’m Hungry No More

The year I became a bottomless pit, I was sixteen. I could eat ten pancakes for breakfast and still feel empty.

For my sixteenth birthday, my parents asked me what I wanted.

A trip to a fancy all-you-can-eat buffet, I said.

It had been so long since Id felt truly full.

Seeing the desperate hunger in my eyes, my mothers face instantly darkened.

Mila, why do you always have to act like your father and I starve you?!

It was the same at dinner tonight. Your sister takes the last two slices of roast beef, and you put on this whole pathetic show.

You already had two helpings! Theres a limit to how far you can go competing with your sister!

For the thousandth time, I tried to explain.

Im really not full yet.

Her hand cracked across my face. The sting was sharp, shocking.

Still lying?! she snapped. What kind of girl isnt full after two plates of food? Youre obsessed with getting attention, arent you? You dont even care about your own body.

The blow brought tears to my eyes.

As I ducked my head, clutching my burning cheek, I saw my sister, Nicole, spitting the perfectly good pieces of roast beef into the trash can.

...

Who was the one really competing for attention?

Nicole was already full.

But she saw my fork still moving, so she deliberately scooped the last of the meat onto her plate.

And Mom had praised her. Its a blessing to have a good appetite.

Then, Mom, why is it just an act when I have one?

Maybe it was because I hadnt grown up with them. Id spent most of my childhood living with my grandparents, so I wasnt as close to her as Nicole was.

Thankfully, the next day was my Aunt Carols birthday. She was hosting a buffet at a hotel. Finally, a real meal.

I had been eating for a while when my mom showed up, late from work.

The moment she saw my heaping plate, her expression soured.

Mila, are you eating that much again!?

Nicole looped her arm through Moms, a sweet smile on her face. Mila has a great appetite. Shed already finished two plates before you got here.

Wow, Mila, you can really eat, a cousin I didnt know well remarked, genuinely impressed. She was rail-thin and always struggled with her appetite.

I managed a weak smile in her direction. Its alright.

My mothers face grew even darker.

You think thats something to be proud of, Mila? she hissed. Its your aunts birthday party, and youre just here to freeload. Have you no shame, eating this much?

Look at your sister, how beautiful her dress is. Now look at yourself, in those shabby clothes.

I bit my lip, my eyes darting to Nicole in her sleek, form-fitting dress. Then I looked down at my own plain denim overalls.

Mom crossed her arms, rolling her eyes. Jealous? Keep eating like that, and youll be wearing potato sacks for the rest of your life. What man would ever want you?

Nicole giggled, covering her mouth. Mom, dont even worry about it. There are plenty of guys with weird fetishes. Fat admirers, even. Someone will take her in.

My eyes started to burn. Moms voice sharpened with impatience.

Your sister and I are just trying to help you be more disciplined! Why are you crying?

I work in the print shop at your school. Everyone knows were mother and daughter. When you eat like a pig, how do you think that makes me look?

Ever since I started high school, my appetite had exploded.

And ever since then, my mother was always angry.

She was convinced it was some tactic my grandmother had taught me to win her favor, refusing to believe that I was simply, painfully, hungry.

Nicole giggled and leaned into Mom. Dont be mad, Mom. Her brain is probably so full of food she cant hear good advice anyway. Lets just ignore her.

The curious stares from the surrounding relatives felt like needles on my back. Humiliated, I turned to escape the room.

Whats wrong?

Aunt Carol, seeing the commotion from across the room, started walking over.

A jolt went through me. It was her birthday. Shed always been kind to me, sneaking me snacks whenever she visited. I couldnt let a fight between my mother and me ruin her party.

I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes and told my aunt it was nothing.

As more relatives began to gather, my mother reluctantly softened her expression. Its nothing. I was just giving Mila a little lecture.

She stepped beside me and, for show, placed a single lettuce leaf on my plate.

I dont know what to do with you. If you want to eat, then eat. Dont want you saying I play favorites again.

I numbly speared the lettuce with my fork and put it in my mouth. As I looked up, my eyes met Nicoles.

She shot me a contemptuous smirk, and my heart dropped.

It was the same look shed given me the first night I came back to live with my parents a year ago.

I knew she hated me. Hated that Id come home and stolen a piece of our parents attention.

So she was always, in ways big and small, manipulating Mom into thinking I was in a constant battle with her for their affection.

But I was their daughter, too.

The new year was approaching, and the food street outside our school was buzzing with promotions. A fried chicken place was holding an eating challenge.

Finish their designated portion of chicken in thirty minutes, and the meal was free, plus youd get a fifty-dollar gift card.

After school, I went by myself to try it.

But just as I was about to step inside, a voice stopped me. It was my mother, who had just driven out of the school parking lot.

I was wondering where youd disappeared to after class. Sneaking off to another one of these disgusting eating challenges?

The disgust on her face was plain to see.

Youre not going in there. Its embarrassing.

Id barely eaten anything at the birthday party yesterday before fleeing in shame.

And now she was trying to stop me again.

I was too hungry to argue. I just turned and walked into the shop.

I was the only one attempting the challenge, so all the customers turned to watch me with curiosity. When the owner brought out the massive platter of fried chicken, a wave of gasps rippled through the room.

My mothers face was a mask of fury. She tried to physically drag me out.

If you want fried chicken, Ill make it for you at home! Why do this with everyone staring? Are we monkeys in a circus?

Or do you just love being the center of attention this way?!

Her words cut right through to an old wound.

When I was little, my kindergarten teacher once scolded me for constantly eating, calling me an attention-seeker. When my mother found out, shed confronted the teacher, telling her I could eat as much as I wanted.

But after ten years apart, why had that same protection turned into a weapon, a boomerang thrown back to hurt me?

Just go home, I said, pulling my arm from her grasp. I asked the owner to bring the timer.

Seeing she couldnt change my mind, my mother shot me one last venomous glare and stormed out of the restaurant.

As she left, I heard her mutter a curse under her breath.

I lowered my head and started eating the chicken. A single tear fell onto the plate.

Whats wrong, little lady? the owner asked, surprised.

I looked up and forced a smile. Its nothing. Your mustard sauce is just really strong.

After successfully completing the challenge, I walked home alone.

Mom, Dad, and Nicole were at the dinner table, laughing and talking.

My dad reached for a bowl to get me some food, but my mothers voice cut through the air.

Dont you dare get her anything! Shes been out making a spectacle of herself for a crowd. Shes already stuffed, Im sure. Wouldnt even remember to come home for dinner.

My dad hesitated, then put the bowl down.

The picture of the three of them, a happy family, stung my eyes.

A silent, cold war began between my mother and me.

My already tight food budget, which she strictly controlled, was cut again.

A girl with a normal appetite could have maybe gotten by on it.

But not me.

I was hungry every day. A dull, constant ache that left me listless. I didnt have the energy to fight with her anymore.

Mila, my stomach suddenly feels awful. I brought this spicy chicken stir-fry but I really cant eat it. You can have it.

My angel of a deskmate handed me her lunchbox.

She had only eaten one piece of chicken; the container was still practically full.

Thank you so much!

After she left, I pulled out my fork and prepared to dig in.

Suddenly, an exaggerated gasp came from the classroom doorway.

Mom, look! I think Mila is eating someones leftovers!

Then came my mothers furious roar.

Mila! What are you doing?!

Her yell made me flinch, a pavlovian response. I fought the urge to run, determined to just have one decent meal.

But the fragrant, two-tiered lunchbox was snatched from my hands.

My mother glared down at me, her eyes burning with rage.

Do you have any self-respect? she hissed. Begging for your classmates leftovers? If people see this, theyll think I abuse you!

Would it kill you to eat a little less?!

Nicole stood behind her, arms crossed, looking down at me with the same condescending expression.

I closed my eyes, trying to keep my voice from trembling.

Give me back the lunchbox.

Mom, I just want to be full.

She scoffed. Full? Your sister cant even finish one serving at lunch, and I just saw you eat two in the cafeteria! Cant you have some self-control?

After that fried chicken challenge the other day, I was ashamed to even look at you. A body stuffed with greasy, fried food Whats the difference between you and a pig ready for slaughter?

A ringing started in my ears.

I wanted to scream at her, to fight back.

But whenever my anger peaked, my body betrayed me, and the tears would start to flow, rendering me speechless. I could only stand there silently, trying to grab the lunchbox back.

My mother sneered, flicked open the lid, and handed it to Nicole.

Go on. Throw it out.

I lunged forward, but Mom grabbed my arm, her sharp nails digging into my skin.

Lets see if I cant cure you of this disgusting habit today.

Nicole smiled, walked over to the trash can, and tipped the container. The entire meal tumbled into the filth.

Still hungry, sister? she called out. You can always dig it out of the trash.

When I got home that evening, the smell of food filled the air. Mom was making my sisters favorite: BBQ ribs.

But as I climbed the stairs, a cold sweat soaked through the back of my shirt.

I knew the feeling. My blood sugar was crashing.

Leaning against the wall, I shuffled to the kitchen doorway. My voice was weak, airy. Mom, I dont feel so good. Can I please have just one rib? Or one of Nicoles cookies, anything

Without turning around, she moved the freshly cooked ribs to the highest shelf, out of my reach. Her tone was laced with disbelief.

Dont feel good? You had two full meals at the school cafeteria at noon, and its barely been a few hours. Mila, did you just smell the meat and get greedy again?

No, I whispered. My vision started to speckle with black dots. I gripped the doorframe to stay upright. Mom, Im really dizzy. My heart is pounding.

Wait, she snapped impatiently. The soup is almost ready. Well eat when your father gets home. Have you forgotten your manners? What kind of girl whines like a hungry pig before dinner is even served?

Im not being greedy The ringing in my ears grew louder, drowning out my own voice. Mom, please. Just a piece of candy.

How long are you going to keep up this victim act? She finally glanced back at me, her eyes cold and disgusted. Look at your sister, quietly doing her homework in her room. Shes never like you, always crying about being hungry or sick, finding new ways to get attention!

You, hypoglycemic? You eat so much every day, with all that fat on you? Who are you trying to fool!

A deep chill spread through me, and a pins-and-needles sensation crawled up my limbs. I knew I was running out of time.

I turned, using the wall for support, and started back toward my room, intending to call for an ambulance.

Her scolding voice followed me.

Go back to your room! Dont get in my way while Im cooking. Ill call you when dinner is ready.

Youre infuriating. A perfectly good girl, not using her mind for anything useful, just scheming about how to eat more, how to get more attention.

I couldnt hear what she said after that.

Relying on instinct, I struggled to turn my doorknob. My hand was so weak I couldnt even hold my phone.

In the last second before I lost consciousness, I heard Nicoles bright voice from the living room.

Mom, the ribs smell amazing! Im so hungry, Im going to grab one now.

In a complete reversal of her tone with me, my mothers voice was warm and gentle.

Help yourself, sweetie. I made them just for you.

A tear slid down my cheek as I closed my eyes, and the world went black.

I was jolted awake again by the sound of my father coming home.

Wow, dinner looks great tonight! Wheres Mila? Its not like her to be late for a meal.

Dinner was ready?

A flicker of hope sparked in me. I pushed myself up from the floor, ready to eat.

Strange. After that short nap, I wasnt hungry or dizzy anymore.

My hand reached for the doorknob. I pushed, but the door didnt open. Instead, my palm passed straight through the metal.

I froze. I looked down at my hand. It was translucent.

Stunned, I turned around. There, on the floor, was my body, twisted and stiff.

I vaguely recalled reading a fact somewhere: acute hypoglycemia can be fatal.

So I was dead.