Paralleling Shutter Island with my canned bread anecdote

Rating: 8/10 (4 March 2018)

About 7 hours ago now, a friend coaxed me into cracking open some canned bread in order to fill our appetites. The lukewarm cylinder slid out of the container, innuendoly ribbed, and this was my first sign that this would be an evening that I would not forget soon, or so I thought. This is still a Shutter Island review by the way; I just haven't gotten to why this was relevant. I finish two servings about of the loaf before I cannot stomach anymore. It has a muffin-raison bran hybrid flavor that takes the least flattering elements of both ingredients and leaves a pungent aftertaste in your mouth. I already feel sad for making it this far, but my "pal" brought out the peanut butter and I just had to try more. The brown bread still had an overwhelming flavor but it was smothered by the peanut butter I slathered on top and I made it through another serving with this crutch before I had to tap out. About an hour after this endeavor, the stomach pains arrived. And they became stronger and stronger as time elapsed, and my forehead grew hotter and I broke out in a mild sweat. Pal, I said, I need to get out of here. So I left and I managed to keep it down, but I was in pretty bad pain so I took an ibuprofen and some pepto bismal and that quieted her down a little bit - enough to put on the movie that this review is still currently reviewing. And at the other end, I am not sure if the bread-induced fever dream heightened the experience or what, but I really loved it. I love this movie enough to display the parallels here in my canned bread story. I played Leonardo DiCaprio here. You could say the bread was the crime committed. And you could say that my friend was Mark Ruffalo. The story I told you here already was equivalent to how the movie started out. Leo appears in his right mind as he approaches the island and begins to investigate more and finds the bread suspicious. I'm not exactly sure how it got to be here and why it is laying prostrate on the plate in front of me, slightly warm and slightly squishy, but, might I add, keeps its original form at all costs. I figure my friend is on my side here because why wouldn't he be? I consume the food, and that's when this fabricated story supposedly falls apart. In my fever dream, did I imagine this all took place so that I couldn't blame myself for seeking out this masochistic pleasure? Was my friend really even there in the first place, or did I imagine him so I could shirk responsibility off on him? I don't think I'm going insane, but who would trust the insane person to right themselves a rightful bill of health? But then again, everyone that isn't me is an observer of solely my behavior and none of my thoughts. Did society push this on me to make themselves feel more normal, make themselves feel safer about my self-harm or me being a potential threat to others? Sure I can act weird and irrational, but it was a logical conclusion to me, and I'm not sure it even happened in the first place! Did you all connect dots that were unknown to me and deduce I was abnormal? Do I continue living knowing I'm a monster? Or do I go out knowing I was the good guy? Supposedly this bread has been around since the Civil War, so maybe it was really me in that movie - that timing makes sense. Idk, all I can say for certain is that my stomach does not hurt anymore, but I have a large migraine.