Or, I'd hit myself in the face for all the stupid fucking things I've done.





One time, I projectile vomited in the dining room of a fancy hotel. I was seven, and it felt like the end of the world.

I get that feeling often these days. Not the nausea, but the aftereffects. It's like my brain remembers the physiological and psychological effect those few minutes took, and replays them in acute detail every time I fuck up. The post-puke shakes. That feeling- like my insides have been ripped out and the empty cavity filled with greasy vinegar. The seeping guilt, the shame.

Some words bring it on; some kind of sick Pavlovian response I've trained myself into. Instead of salivating at the ring of a bell, some specific combinations of letters give me the feeling described above.

For example: "Ugh"; "Hey buddy!"; the term, "all the way" as a euphemism for sexual intercourse. Those are just three that I can remember off the top of my head.

Some images do it, too. But I try not think about those.

Sometimes when I stub my toe, or something like that, I just burst into tears. That never used to happen.

I can trace all of this back to one particular moment: June 16th, 2008, 3:45pm- I am about to open the passenger-side door of her car, and for whatever reason I incline my head a couple of degrees and notice the little round carton on her passenger-side seat, and the door handle gives me an electric shock. Let me explain.

My favourite flavour of ice cream is, always has been and always will be: Pear. I had it once, when I was eleven and in Greece with my dad (father-son-bonding trip, ill fated. Memorable quote of the two-week fiasco: "David," my father slamming his glass onto the table and standing up, "I'm sorry, but it's just not possible." This sentence ended a two-hour conversation we'd been having regarding whether or not he and I are biologically related.) Anyway, the pear icecream was, for sure the only good thing about that trip, and it was delicious, and it was like the world was saying to me, David! It's okay! There are some good things in this world, regardless of who your father may or may not be! Enjoy!

And what do I see in her car that June afternoon?
One pint of pear ice cream.
And what happens when I see it? I get an electric shock.

Actually that may not quite be the defining moment I like to think of it as.
The defining moment may have been when she told me she didn't want to see me again.
Fuck.