Out of fear that there won't be enough to eat, that I will feel hungry later, that there will never be anything good to eat again, that what I'm eating won't hit the mark, I can stuff my face.
Out of fear of blank spaces I can fill the air with words or even mindless noises, in case, in the silence and inattention of others, I cease to exist.
Out of fear you will not understand and obey I can overwhelm you with explanation and argument.
The experience on the other side of such an exchange is that my face is being stuffed with your words.
The addict stuffs their face. The addict sucks everything out of the room. In the vacuum, one explodes.
The anon stuffs the addict's face. The anon fills the room with themself. In the squeeze, one suffocates.
Being in a room of addicts and anons, without very strong boundaries, results in alternation between explosion and suffocation.
Whichever the direction, the action is stuffing. It is possible to gauge the status of someone with a behavioural addiction (food, sex, gambling) from the linguistic performance. If there's stuffing going on linguistically, there's stuffing going on elsewhere. The ideal, rather than stuffing, is poise, precision, elegance.
As the culprit of these behaviours, I apply the following corrective measures.
When I speak, I aim to speak constructively, coherently, deliberately, with brevity, and without scheming.
I seek to use my own sharing time but no one else's.
I can be caught by the bell but not mid-stream: it can coincide with the coda but not with the development section.
I allow less to be more.
I allow silence.
I learn to sit still.
I learn to say nothing.
I learn to let things play out.
I wait for a pause.
I take my turn.
I wait before taking my turn.
I let others go first.
I put less food on the plate than I think I need (the less is always enough).
I do not eat a second dinner whilst washing the dishes.
I postpone acting on impulse.
It is difficult and slow to change the habits of a lifetime, but one has to start somewhere.