I hate this. I hate this so much. I hate that I have to even type this out. But it's weighing on me, every single day, every day it just gets heavier. And I have to say it, just once. Just to get it out. My family, they do this thing. This long fast. And it's important to them. REALLY important. It’s for a good reason, a spiritual reason. I respect that. I really do. But I also have work. A job. It’s a lot, a lot of hours. And it’s not just sitting around. It’s active. It burns energy. And I’m just supposed to… not eat? For the whole time? It’s not fair. It’s just not fair. So I hide. I hide in the bathroom at work. In a stall. Every day, every single day this week. I bring in a small bag, a Ziploc with crackers. Plain crackers. Nothing fancy, nothing with a smell. And I just… sit there. And eat them. Quietly. SO quietly. I feel like a criminal. Like I’m doing something awful. And I know it’s not awful, really. It’s just food. But it FEELS awful. Like I’m betraying them. Betraying everything. My stomach growls. It rumbles. And I just think, if someone heard. If SOMEONE heard me in here. Chewing. Swallowing. What would I even say? There’s no excuse. Not a good one. Not one they would accept. They’d just say, “You just need to push through. It’s for God.” And I’m like, “But I’m STARVING.” But I can’t say that. Not to them. So I just eat my crackers. And then I go back out there. And pretend. Pretend I’m fine. Just like them. And it’s exhausting. It’s so exhausting. I just wish it wasn't like this. I wish I could just… tell them. Tell someone. But I can’t. This is just how it is. And I’m still hungry. Even with the crackers. Always hungry. Always waiting for it to be over.