Depression & Vegetarianism

When I’m happy I’m a vegetarian. When I get morose, I start eating meat again. Psych has informed me that the adrenal gland is stimulated by salt and fat: the things I’m drawn to when I start sneaking in meat & fish. I think my depression is undercutting my attempts to be a full vegetarian.

I don’t like eating meat, most of the time. I think “this used to have bones in it,” and I’m disgusted. I’m not disturbed by the idea of omnivores — animals devour each other all the damn time — but the horror of putting something in my mouth that once cogitated disturbs me deeply. I could never butcher an animal myself, nor gut a fish; this makes me a hypocrite.

I feel cleaner and healthier when I avoid animal fats and proteins. Perhaps a veggie diet suits my digestion; perhaps it’s psychosomatic.

I make an effort to concentrate on vegetarian and vegan recipes on this blog, but there are some foods that can’t reasonably be done without meat — the Forbidden Curry, for example. The taste of lamb is too essential for the palette of the dish to skip.

On one notable occasion I went totally vegan for three months because I couldn’t bear the thought of ingesting anything but plants. (Except for honey — honey was ok because it didn’t taste like dead things.)

I had a conversation with a new acquaintance the other day about vegetarianism, and I cut it short because I didn’t want to go into all the fucking craziness that contributes to my food choices with someone I’d just met. Hey there, J. I hope you read this at some point.