Every now and then...I realize how much I am starving. Sometimes it's when I'm furiously rifling through the kitchen pantry for food....but that is not my true hunger.
I used to feel guilty every time the furnace turned on...and I'd have to wager whether or not my physical comfort was worth a few more pennies.
I grew so used to suffering, I didn't even realize there was anything but...discomfort.
It's useless to think, pray, say that you need or want something, some feeling, emotion, touch, comfort...when previous asking produced empty stares and eyes of disdain.
Maybe comfort is the right of every human....maybe I'll believe that...some day.
I'm starving. I am pretty sure I have always been....maybe it's okay to say now.
Maybe this is progress??