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He wanted to eat something. Really he did. He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes along with the dull pain in his stomach and the throbbing in his head. But when he went to the kitchen to go make something he found he just couldn't. He though of all the options he had in front of him and his stomach churned at the thought and realized just how dry his mouth was at the moment.
How he desperately wished he could just choose something and eat it. Wished he wasn't such a picky eater. Part of him wanted to just grab a snack and call it good but he had already eaten snacks earlier and eating more would just make him feel guilty. With that he realized he wasn't going to be able to eat anything he turned around and headed back to his room.
It didn't matter how much the pounding in his head hurt or how horrible the feeling of hunger was. He wasn't in the mood to eat right now so he wasn't going to be able to eat at all. Really when he thought about it the whole idea of eating just turned him off.
Sometimes he wished he was like everyone else and wasn't such a picky eater and was able to actually eat things, healthy things and not just the snacks and unhealthy microwave meals he was able to convince his brain to allow.
It made him feel horrible not being able to eat anything. To sit with his friends and watch as they enjoyed their food and the social aspect that came with it, all while he was sitting, not feeling like conversation, and lying by saying he wasn't hungry. He was so desperately hungry right now.
He wished he didn't know what it felt like to want food and have someone offer to buy him food, only to refuse saying he wasn't hungry. He wished he enjoyed eating. And sometimes, very rarely, he did. Sometimes he loved the texture and taste of something.
But then other times, even if it was something he loved like garlic bread, he just couldn't bring himself to eat it.
Sometimes he was able to start eating something, only to stop halfway through because his brain realized something about the texture that it couldn't handle right at that moment.
Sometimes, when he was forced to partake in family meals, he felt even worse. Because not only did he have to eat something, he had to eat enough to convince his parents he was just like everyone else or, take a long enough time eating that everyone would slowly disperse and he would be able to throw away the rest of his food.
It wasn't like he could tell his parents. He might cause them unnecessary worry or stress. Or, the more likely scenario, they would just tell him he was being to picky and he liked the meal before so he should like it now.
Sometimes he just wanted to cry and scream and sob about how unfair it was. Why couldn't he be less of a picky eater and actually enjoy eating all the time, and not just on the very rare days where he actually felt like a regular, healthy human being.
The hunger in his chest was burning at this point and his headache made the unshed tears in his eyes worse. He could at least drink some water though right? But then again, drinking water on a near empty stomach was not a pleasant experience and one he was all too familiar with.
Well, if he didn't have the energy to do anything or eat anything he might as well just go to bed, and hope he would be in the mood to eat something in the morning.