a descent into poetry insanity |
food and I used to be friends, but with time and diabetes, the relationship has soured, and eating becomes a chore. I evade chores. when I eat, it begins with the ritual shedding of blood, just one drop to taste how sweet it is. I remember a time when seeing blood meant something was wrong, when I couldn’t bear to prick my finger to test my blood type in high school biology. each meal is mental arithmetic and calculation: how much fruit, vegetable, grain, milk, sugar— they’re all sugar, complex and simple— can I afford to feed my blood? I remember a time when I simply went to the fridge for a glass of juice or treated myself to a handful of M&Ms without counting the cost. I miss thoughtless treats. I miss taking eating for granted. how much insulin do I send to my hungry cells so that I don’t starve while food crystallizes in my blood, ripping into my veins and tearing through my organs? so I don’t empty my blood of sugar and die? it’s stepping out on a line with a slow death on one side and a quick one on the other. and I must do it every day, because food cannot be shunned forever—eating is obligatory if I choose life. and I choose to live. line count: 53 |