The sound of my stomach is drawing stares. It started as a slow gargle that turned into an overpowering roar of a muscle withering from abuse. It’s my third class today, and I have yet to have a break. The lecture is unimportant and ignored. Shame, embarrassment, and now nausea overcome me. Reluctantly, I grab a small pack of almonds from my bag, and shuffle them into my mouth. Anything to silence the roar. Each bite tastes like sand and each crunch is a reminder that I have failed today. I am weak; I am fat.  

​

Class is over.