When the we becomes I

-You start noshing on twelve day old egg salad, crunchy peanut butter, cold cups of coffee, lumps of undecipherable stink cheese, stale doughnuts, canned ham, wilted salad, and sliced meat product.
-Food is a ghost that your body channels to keep you half alive, it is the reaffirmation of one's existence, the bodily survival beyond the psychosis. In your sleep you make a twelve course meal. Your dreams involve a wide array of deliciousness. Your stomach growls beckon passerby to shove some food into your mouth.
-Eating becomes one of the loneliest acts save from masturbation in public restrooms and frequenting the isles of Super K-Mart to meet new "friends".
-You think of all the possible ways to avoid the empty table/kitchen/chair and with that avoidance comes rapid weight loss. You wear sweatpants to hide the obliterating you.
-Any opportunity you have to eat with another person drives your appetite into a ravenous fury; the food on your plate seems to sing to you as you fist it into your mouth.
-All of the meals you once created are works of art you will never be able to stomach again. You start to think of new recipes with less color and spice. You decide you will only make steamed dover sole and kale for the rest of your life so that you never have to feel this great loss again.

Comments

[Gable]

A dark day for humanity. The ghostly guts ravenous and garbled, and a mean sweaty stain in each armpit, slabs of power fall from our bones like bits of glacier into the all-keeping sea.