Takeout leaflets

Innocent right? 

Look at them. Hanging with rubber bands from my building's front door. Hurriedly thrown by a uni student trying to earn some cash. On top of, or partially under, or next to my doormat. Some sneaky enough to actually slide under my door and into my apartment's foyer. Under my car's windshield wipers. On the seat of my motorcycle.

Why pay them more than a moment's notice?

Because they make me boil. They make the monster stir. The disrupt it's slumber. They force me to fight. And I have things to do. I have things to not think about.

I wish I was addicted to something else. Such a sad thing to say. But I found quiet in food. And then I found despair there. And I've been fighting with it for so long it seems forever. 

And today, even after working out, even after throwing a basket ball around, I saw them and I remembered the storm is still going on. It feels forever ago I won and it feels forever ago I lost.

And there they are. Tempting me to forget again. To hurt (me) and hurt (others) again. Just to escape from this relentless dread I feel. Everywhere. Hundreds. Thousands.

I wish they weren't there. I wish it was harder to aquire my drug. I wish it was heroin. Cocaine. Pills. Even alcohol.

Not food.

Because then I could truly have fun with my friends. With you. With me. And not feel a worthless piece of meat with every bite.

Every bite I can't say no to. Just because it's painful to feel this (...).

I took them and recycled them immediately this time. I didn't see the restaurant they advertised. I just saw some pizza on them.

I immediately fantasized about eating it. In solitude. My brain instantly beckoned me to stop and think about it.

How I wish the thought and the urge and the fight didn't come.

How much sorrow and regret is there? Every time I'm sure I've felt it all. Then a new thought comes and it's step one again.