Dear Celiac Friend Forever,
So, how’s the anger level today? For me, it felt like my whole schema of “things that are edible” had been turned upside down (and shaken, then blended on “puree” for days).
Suddenly, roommates and all gluten-eaters are at fault simply because they don’t understand things like I do.
They don’t appreciate the miracle of pop-tarts or bagels, how the rapture of that saltine cracker makes caviar pale, the blessing of toast or the simple privilege of going out to eat.
The gluten-eating ingénues don’t have to plan meals, worry about eating on vacations, or pack food for short car trips. These same peers take Oreos and Cherrios and Spaghettios for granted, and my one wish was that I could go back to being as blissfully ignorant as they.
Maybe the separation from others is what leads to depression. As I’m sure you’ve discovered for yourself, this disease makes every meal a trial, every snack a challenge and even opening the pantry cupboard a major accomplishment.
Your first grocery store visit will be the hardest twenty minutes you’ve ever experienced—that is, until you go to your favorite restaurant again for the first time.
Call me when you’re there at the grocery store, snuggled against the hot case, drooling over the fried food offerings. I’m here.
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