There was a period where I craved the violence: swallowing judgments, reliving their sting on the way back up, choking on physical metaphor. Sometimes I question my psychiatric diagnoses and think my eating disorder is a result of anger management issues and boredom turning habit. Emptiness, in comparison, might as well be equanimity.
I drove two hours with my parents yesterday to my sisters' college town. The youngest requested her birthday dinner at an Italian restaurant, long loathed since pasta night Thursdays, so I was free of temptation. Parmesan cheese and vomit both contain butryic acid. Maybe that makes everything too familiar, but I really hate most pasta dishes. Refusing a cocktail seemed harder.
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"Never express yourself more clearly than you think." - Niels Bohr