Soy sauce and Saltines

Growing up in a house with 7 kids wasn't easy. It was every man for himself, first come first serve. I remember days when we had no food at all. Besides the random jar of half used ketchup or mustard, and various others questionable items which would haunt the back of our fridge for months until someone got up the nerve to touch it and throw it away. We would wait like lions ready for the kill when our parents brought home groceries. As soon as the bags were laid down we were like vultures to a carcass. If you were one of the unfortunate ones, there would be nothing left by the time you got there. I was the second youngest, and as such was often one of the unfortunate ones who would go without. Hunger would drive me to search out any food that I could find, and devour it. I'm surprised I didn't die of food poisoning, because often I would eat food that had sat in the fridge uncovered for months at a time growing mold. After a while I began to be more creative with the food I found. I would pour soy sauce over saltine crackers, mix up slurry's of condiments and shovel them in with a spoon. This may sound disturbing to those who ate waffles and syrup for breakfast, but when the pain of hunger kept me up at night there were drastic measures I was willing to take to fix it. My concoctions have evolved somewhat, but I wouldn't call them "normal" by any stretch of the imagination. When I am low on food that my husband won't notice missing I turn to my concoctions. Last night it was popcorn covered in frosting. When I was in The Army I would eat EVERYTHING out of the MRE's (Meals Ready To Eat). Those of you who have tried these know that this is nothing short of miraculous. I would mix the buttered noodles with the cheese sauce to mac and cheese, the spiced apples with a pop tart to make "apple pie". You name it, I have mixed it.

It's odd that a person who grew up with no food would do what I do with it now. I have such a warped relationship with food. I get hungry and eat the way a normal person does, but something clicks inside me, and I continue to eat and eat, as if every time I eat it will be my last.

Add this to the way society says a woman should look, and the comments my dad and brothers would make about my healthily plump 10 year old figure growing up and voila you have me. A bulimic 26 year old, and as I type I am shoving my face with a bag full of gummy bears.