We love writer Rachel Shukert, and today we’re proud to publish this excerpt from her upcoming novel, Have You No Shame? Here, Rachel recounts her time spent in an out-patient clinic, being treated for anorexia. Of course, that’s not the entire story. My favorite line? “There was a demon in my vagina.”
Shukert was also kind enough to give us some behind-the-scenes thoughts on this piece. (“Dispersed throughout this harrowing depiction of erection-murdering events are helpful hints for the eating-disordered among you. Enjoy!")
I’ll turn it over to the divine, comedic genius of Ms. Rachel Shukert:
"Before developing the potentially lethal eating disorder, future sufferers of anorexia nervosa often display the tell-tale signs of susceptibility: a controlling nature, a desperate need to please, an uncompromising perfectionism in all things. As I am lazy, contrary, and easy on myself to the point of ludicrousness, no one was more surprised than me when I was diagnosed as anorexic.
My tussle with anorexia lasted for approximately two years, not so coincidentally coinciding with my first two years in New York City, and more aptly, my first two years of drama school. These years were also the first in which I truly discovered the immersive joys of alcohol, and the confluence of the two resulted in all kinds of merry and disgusting adventures, one of which is described here in extensive detail. Like I said, it's pretty disgusting. How disgusting? Well, I don't like to assume things, but it's fair to say that if you had ever considered being even remotely sexually attracted to me prior to reading this excerpt (like even in a drunk, end-of-the-night way), it will never occur to you again by the time you finish reading.
Dispersed throughout this harrowing depiction of erection-murdering events are helpful hints for the eating-disordered among you. Enjoy!"
And here’s a quick excerpt (of, um, the excerpt):
He paused to draw a small circle in the corner of my chart before asking, "Have you been sexually active in the last few months?"
There were vague flashes of memories of men at parties — a hand there, a mouth here, a laundry room. I couldn't be sure how far things had gotten, but given my demographic — a perpetually drunk twenty-year-old student of experimental theater living in New York City with self-esteem issues and no particular religious or moral convictions — a gambler would have no trouble calling the odds.
"I think so," I said.
Read the entire tale here. Enjoy!