𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑮𝑰𝑹𝑳 | ᵍʳᵉʸˢ ᵃⁿᵃᵗᵒᵐʸ

⁰¹² 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭

There I was, standing in front of a vending machine in the cafeteria at Seattle Grace Hospital, holding five dollars that Alex had given me in a gesture of generosity. Or maybe just to get rid of me.

I started to count. Not consciously; it was more of a reflex, a compulsion deep within me.

Calories added and subtracted in my head,
a mathematical equation that never balanced,
a puzzle I could never solve.

"Okay, so... if I take the chocolate bar, that's 250 calories. Now subtract the 100 calories if I eat the salad without dressing tonight... But what if I go for a run later? That's minus 300 calories, so theoretically I could also..." I muttered to myself as I mentally counted my daily amount.

But the more I counted, the more I lost track and became frustrated. "No, no. Start over, Missy. Stay focused."

I started again, my stress level rising every second. I subtracted for the hypothetical case of skipping a meal or going jogging later, and plotted ways to compensate for the excess.

My eyes landed on a bag of chips.
"No, no, too risky," I thought, my heart pounding at the thought of the high calorie content.

"Okay, so the apple... no, too much fructose. The yogurt, 150 calories, plus the juice, that's..."

My forehead creased as I tried to concentrate on the numbers, but the thread broke again.

"No, no, no, that's wrong."

I started over, mumbling, as if repeating the numbers would give me an answer. It felt like my brain was on a hamster wheel, going faster and faster, but getting nowhere.

But I couldn't help it. The numbers were whispering, teasing, seducing.

"If I could just have a salad tonight, no dressing, then I would..." Once again I lost track, the pressure almost bringing hopeless tears to my eyes. "Why is this so hard? Why can't I do this?"

The people around me seemed oblivious to my inner struggle. They went about their business, lost in their own thoughts and worries. I stood there, alone with my numbers, my calculations running endlessly through my mind.

Every time I thought I had a plan, a way to allow myself a snack without feeling guilty, the solution slipped through my fingers like sand.

"No, this isn't going to work," I whispered, almost in despair. "If I workout today, maybe I can... But then I have to count my breakfast. Have I already done that? Yes, no, I..."

I lost the thread again, my thoughts tumbling over each other as the anxiety within me grew.

"Minus 150 if I take the stairs instead of the elevator, but only if I..." I muttered on, my mind caught in an endless spiral of calories and physical activity.

"Forget it, forget it," I finally snapped, my voice a hiss of desperation. I could no longer think clearly; the numbers had beaten me.

In my manic obsession, I didn't even notice Alex returning. "Shepherd Junior, come with me."

His words, a distant echo, didn't reach me. I was too caught up in my head, counting, calculating, desperately trying to find the perfect equation that would allow me to eat without feeling guilty.

He sighed in exasperation, positioned himself right next to me, and slapped his hands together loudly, a sharp sound that cut through my thoughts like a knife through butter.

"Hey!" he yelled, his voice loud and impatient.
I jumped as if I'd been woken from a deep sleep.

My eyes, so focused on the machine, slowly found their way to him. My thoughts, still a mess of numbers and calories, tried to organize themselves.

"Shepherd Junior, come with me now. You've been standing here forever."

His voice was stern, but there was a hint of concern underneath. He had heard my mumbling, my frantic counting and calculating, and though he might not understand exactly what was going on, he could tell that something was wrong.

I nodded, still slightly disoriented, and finally put the five dollars back in my pocket.

I wouldn't buy anything today.

Maybe tomorrow, I thought, although deep down I knew that was just another lie I was telling myself.