Our bookkeeper fashions pretzels with chocolate and sells two-dollar bags to raise money for her church. And I eat them in quantities that is, for sure, an affront to God. Yesterday it was cookies. The shame I feel outweighs the sheer quantity of food I take in. I’m not overweight yet. But as each pound returns, it deftly wipes its pudgy feet on the welcome mat and slams the door with such finality, there’s no doubt it’s here to stay.
Why not just one donut? Was it necessary to eat two this morning on my way to therapy, after I had promised myself that I would behave starting today? It was a new week God damn it! One would have been plenty – but two brought me closer . . .
I close my eyes and breathe in slowly through my nose and hold my breath – remembering the rush, the slow descent, the tide of calm rising within me, carrying me away from this godforsaken place as the drugs fulfill their intended purpose – their only purpose. I let the air in my lungs grow stale. My cells innocently protesting this unexpected deprivation. I let the feeling mature – it delivers its own pseudo-high. Again I crave more. Closer.
I’m disgusted at my weakness. Feeding a hunger not of my gut, but of my soul. An insatiable hunger to know you God, now that I’ve glimpsed your face, felt your touch, know your love. But the cage I occupy provides so little room – barely enough for a man to breathe, the crushing press of its bars a constant reminder of the price of ignorance. A sentence without forgiveness - the price of choices made blind to your love. I pray for my release daily. I pray that I may celebrate the love and compassion, which fill me in this tiny space – my corner, my universe.