I think I’ve reached that part of my recovery where, having dealt with more the more superficial or immediate dangers and difficulties, I am ready to turn to the underlying, foundational problems. It’s as if I’ve been spring cleaning the house to expunge a lingering smell, and I’ve been putting off tackling the cellar, which I know is the true source of the problem: the enormous space that takes up most of the foundations, where the bodies of the murdered are mouldering still. Now that the house is more ordered and cleaner, it’s time to throw back the shabby old trapdoor in the kitchen floor and peer down the rickety steps, leading into the darkness. The stench exhales from that black mouth.
Here goes…
Middle-aged Male Anorexic 