Hunger Pains

This week I have pictures from the famous Spaghetti day!

The pots of spaghetti and tea.

 




She was kind enough to be my model for the day serving spaghetti with a smile.

 

Hunger:

Noun

1.      A compelling need of desire for food

2.      The painful sensation or state of weakness caused by the need of food: to collapse from hunger

3.      A shortage of food; famine

4.      A strong or compelling desire or craving: hunger  for power

Most of us have been lucky enough to have never experienced the excruciating hunger that the numerous homeless people in our community do. The embarrassing growl that our stomachs release during the school test or meeting with the boss is not the hunger that I am referring to. It is the hunger that leaves you weak and tired, the horrible pain that leaves you sitting or laying helpless waiting for the warning signal your brain and stomach are sending you. This pain I know I have never experienced, I have been “starving” at times because I had neglected to feed myself for a longer period of time than usual. But, I have never gone a day without food, let alone having to do that more days of the week than not. Hunger is an issue in so many people’s lives, one that can lead them to do almost anything to stop the ear shattering grumble of their stomachs.

This entry is from a volunteer who will stay anonymous, an entry that I feel is extremely deep and moving. It made me stop and think, and I hope it does for you as well. 

  

 

Hunger Pains

I pause to feel the emptiness of my stomach. The pain and movement of hunger will soon pass, I tell myself. With each wave, the body becomes smaller and more beautiful. Discipline.

The rotting hole in my stomach feels strong today. I brace myself for it to pass, focusing my mind on other things. Each shock of hunger that I can sustain, allows me to give the little food I have to my two babies. Discipline.

The belt wrapped around my waist needs another hole. Soon, I will need new clothes. My profile is straight, flat, thin. In control.

My jeans barely stay up anymore. I wonder if the mission can give me a belt. The children are cranky, poor things.

Breasts once were all you saw. Large. Shrunken down to nipples and flesh. Feels unfeminine. I once had curves.

Nourishment, sustenance once came from these breasts. I should have four more months of breast-feeding left. Nothing. Shriveled and dry. My baby’s nutrients gone. I could once provide for them.

My heart thumps loudly in my chest. Its strained efforts to keep me alive are frightening. I pause to walk up steps, afraid of the blackness that often enters my sight. Zooming in and carefully zooming out, the floor closer to my face than ever before. Will I survive this? How did this happen?

My heart aches in the hole of my chest. Panic, fear, loss, broken. My children have stopped screaming from their hunger. The silence of their emptiness is haughtily worse. There is no energy left for them to scream out their injustices. Will we survive? How did this happen?

Hunger.