Memoirs of an Outstanding* Teen

Chapter 50: Morals Go Out The Window

I know some of you are like, "Haven't you said enough already?" Maybe some of you even tossed away the book already, and now you're back, hoping I've started speaking of better things, rainbows and butterflies, solutions and good endings. Maybe I would have better things to say if these stories were all a fiction of my imagination. But no they are not. So, for now, it gets worse.

Sometimes, when I opened the fridge at night, to my horror and disappointment, there wouldn't be any bread in the fridge. Nothing for me to eat. I would look at fruits, the vegetable, the drinks, and they all looked like poor substitutes for my soul-hugging bread. Remember the time I almost cried because I couldn't have my packet of chips at break-time? That's the same kind of panic I would get, even though this time it was completely groundless. Even though I had had all my meals, and then some, I would panic as if I were about to starve.

Once, even though there was no sliced bread in the fridge, there was chapati (a type of bread similar to pancakes). But I didn't know who the chapati belonged to. It wasn't one of the normal contents of the fridge, and usually, when I find something out of the ordinary in the fridge, I know not to touch it. Chances were it was someone else's treat and they probably had very specific plans for it. But this time, there was no angel on my shoulder to stop me from doing what I knew was wrong. There was no inhibition. I didn't stop for a moment to have that debate between right and wrong in my head. You know, the one you always have when you're about to do something questionable? I just reached out, and took one of the chapattis even though I did not know who they belonged to, and whether or not the person would be okay with me having one. So, yes, I basically stole it.

And again, that wouldn't be the only time I acted like that. Many more times. Too many to speak of without burning in shame.

Sometimes, especially on the weekends, there would be people in the kitchen, and some watching late night TV in the sitting room. I couldn't go to the kitchen to get anything with people there. I would be crushed. And again, I would panic. I would just get my coffee and try to convince myself that the world was not going to crash if I waited a little longer to eat my sandwich. I would try to go back to my study table and read on, but all I could think of was my missed snack.

Eventually, I would make my way back to the kitchen, and if I was lucky, there would be nobody there. And I would quickly make my sandwiches, stuff them in a lunch box, and take it to my study table, and hide it in my bag.

I hate hiding food. I hated it then, and I still hate it now. I find it selfish and primitive. It's something that I think the cavemen would do, or other beings that care only about their physical survival. Or at least it would be more forgivable for someone in famine-stricken place. There your basic and primitive instincts would kick in and you might have to do something like that. But not if you're a developed human with your complete mental faculties. Not if you understand things like empathy, compassion and sharing. Not if you're doing more than just surviving. Not if you're living in a house where you have more than enough to eat. The fact that I did it so many freaking times...

Was I even the same person that had enough self-control to withstand dizzying hunger pangs? Now, forgetting my most basic morals just so I could stuff myself?

I'll say the obvious: If you deprive your body for so long of the most basic thing you owe it, you will pay dearly.

For years, I starved myself and created a tremendous debt inside my body. And now my body was back to take back what I owed it, along with all the accrued interest. My body sent up some of the most cruel debt collectors who did not even care to leave me with the dignity of my morals as they plundered what I owed. It's like those debt collectors who are so vile and violent they won't even leave you with the clothes you have on when they come to collect what you owe to the bank or whatever creditor it is.