As a kid, I’d eat like it was going to be the last meal I’d ever have. For a long time, I wondered if I had an eating disorder. My grandmother shrugged it off as me being a growing boy (god bless her). It turned out we were both wrong. As I’ve gotten older, my hunger remains but food is now replaced with money, exercise, drinking, writing and from time to time when I’m not in an anxious spiral, sex. While I wouldn’t say I have an addictive personality, I would say my life is a constant ongoing battle of all or nothing. I can’t just write, I have to write thousands of words a day. I can’t just make money, I have to make as much money as I possibly can. I can’t just have a drink, I have to drink until I am fucked up. I can’t just go for a walk or a light run, I have to kill myself on the pavement. My life is this fucked up balance of extremes and to control myself, I avoid dancing on the line of moderation because I fail at moderation. Most days I will fast from the moment I wake up until 7 p.m. That’s ridiculous but it keeps me skinny. During the week I won’t touch a drink, because come Friday night I know I’ll be losing my mind at some club. As for writing, I’m just always writing, I’m never not writing. It is actually an addiction. And, at times, I wish I were better at moderation. But, to be honest, it’s just not the way I’m wired. I came into this world hungry and I’m going to die hungry and my hunger is going to make me wildly successful and ultimately lead to my demise and I’m okay with that. I don’t want to be full.
By Cole Schafer.
P.S. One day these one-minute writings will be a big book called “One Minute, Please.” Can I let you know when that day comes? You can say yes, here.