No more food bans. I’m finished with their flimsy pretense of protection. It’s like crawling into a tent to shield yourself from a lightning storm. You’re as vulnerable as a vole naked in a meadow, but you choose to believe that half millimeter of nylon will hold back the sky.
I’ve banned cookies from my diet for so many years now, I’ve lost count. Alcohol, just as long. I’ve tried banning breakfast cereal, meat, and ice cream. I’ve recently banned wheat. I say I feel great. Part of me does.
Meanwhile, the deeper and more integrated me — the me that’s more than parts — recognizes that there’s something seriously nuts about cramming myself into an ever narrowing range of acceptable foods.