I’m not eating.
This evening at dinner, I ate alone in the kitchen, with my coat on. I had lined my pockets with plastic bags and put the food in there. I put the plastic bags in a ziplock bag and went out for a walk. I put the ziplock bag outside my house and returned my coat (it is a hot day so a coat would make me dizzy). I put the bags in a public bin.
I cannot explain why I am not eating. It is an addiction perhaps, or an obsession, a hobby, a habit, a ritual, a sacred ritual. I don’t know. All I know is to count calories and pounds I lose and think of the number that represents who I am.
I am 175.5cm, and 139 pounds. My BMI is 20.1 and that irritates me.
It’s a peculiar feeling, hunger. It grows on me, in every sense of the word.