I threw up again that night, half-afraid that my eyeballs would explode. But it was, by far, more important that I get rid of dinner. Of course, by then, throwing up was the only way I knew how to deal with fear. That paradox would begin to run my life: to know that what you are doing is hurting you, maybe killing you, and to be afraid of that fact--but to cling to the idea that this will save you, it will, in the end, make things okay.
Some people who are obsessed with food become gourmet chefs. Others become eating disorders.
Interpretation
What this quote means
This quote highlights the dual nature of obsession with food, leading to either culinary excellence or detrimental eating disorders.
Marya Hornbacher's quote examines how an obsession with food can manifest in vastly different ways. For some individuals, this obsession can inspire a passion for cooking and lead them to become gourmet chefs, creating art through cuisine. In contrast, for others, this fixation can spiral into unhealthy eating habits, resulting in eating disorders that harm their physical and mental well-being. The quote underscores the importance of balance and the potential consequences of our obsessions.
Themes
In practice
Example use cases
In a talk on mental health, this quote could be used to illustrate the fine line between passion and obsession.
More from Marya Hornbacher
All quotes βSoon madness has worn you down. Itβs easier to do what it says than argue. In this way, it takes over your mind. You no longer know where it ends and you begin. You believe anything it says. You do what it tells you, no matter how extreme or absurd. If it says youβre worthless, you agree. You plead for it to stop. You promise to behave. You are on your knees before it, and it laughs.
There is never a sudden revelation, a complete and tidy explanation for why it happened, or why it ends, or why or who you are. You want one and I want one, but there isn't one. It comes in bits and pieces, and you stitch them together wherever they fit, and when you are done you hold yourself up, and still there are holes and you are a rag doll, invented, imperfect. And yet you are all that you have, so you must be enough. There is no other way.
Hospitalizations in general are blurry. The days are the same, precisely the same. Nothing changes. Life melts down to a simple progression of meals. They become a way of life fairly quickly. You may welcome this transition. It may seem inevitable to you. You have been removed from the world. It is all right, in a way, because there is nothing so sure, so safe, as routine.
For a long time I believed the opposite of passion was death. I was wrong. Passion and death are implicit, one in the other. Past the border of a fiery life lies the netherworld. I can trace this road, which took me through places so hot the very air burned the lungs. I did not turn back. I pressed on, and eventually passed over the border, beyond which lies a place that is wordless and cold, so cold that it, like mercury, burns a freezing blue flame.
I know how this feels: the tightening of the chest, the panic, the what-have-I-done-wait-I-was-kidding. Eating disorders linger so long undetected, eroding the body in silence, and then they strike. The secret is out. You're dying.
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