to say you wounded me viscerally would be a matter of fact. eating hurt – salt and sugar marinated my mouth in an unholy fire. breathing hurt – acrid air tore against my nose, unleashing a torrent of blood thick as paint. the slightest flick of my tongue lit up my nerves like a christmas tree from hell.

but i learned to live with the pain, taught myself to give it time and space. i bit back the urge to snack on emptiness, nourished myself on tea and broth. i set aside time to bleed every morning, grimly gargled salt water until the stinging gave way to numbness. in time, the aching and bleeding faded and i saw myself for what i was: dynamically whole in every season.

–     time is an ingredient