dear sweet stuff*

Gosh, I truly enjoy your company. You, in all your decadence. And when you show up as a baked good, moist and fluffy? You do me in. Funfetti cupcakes? Publix's carrot cake? Aplets and cotlets from Liberty Orchard? Vanilla frozen yogurt covered in rainbow sprinkles and Nerds? Smores? Oh. my. gosh. I'm screaming "DELICIOUS!" in my mind. All of it, all of you, you do me in.

But I think your pull might be too great. … One taste and I'm down for the count and in for the remainder. Twelve cookies, nine Hershey's Kisses, three cupcakes … it's never enough. I have amazed others on occasion with my quantity of intake. That's not something I'm proud of and it's definitely something I'm helpless at controlling on my own. I'm never sick of you … never full. And to make it worse, I crave your presence all too often, on a regular basis. Frankly, I think it's gotten to the point where I NEED you in my life. In my coffee. After lunch. Before bed. I daydream about when we'll next meet and what form you might take. I'm guilty of having "visions of sugar plums" dance in my head. I hate that. It's sick.

And it's all very ironic, because I pride myself on the levels of self-control I maintain in other areas of my life … yet I can't seem to give YOU up. Sure, there are times when I manage our relationship better than others … but I always wind up back under your spell, desperately hunting for dessert after a filling dinner. Looking forward to it more than the company I'm surrounded by. You are too important.

I don't know what I'm going to do without you. Even now, sitting at my desk and writing you this letter, I'm distracted by your allure. Between my eyes and the computer screen are transparent images of unwrapped jolly ranchers and cinnamon rolls. Seriously. It's never been more obvious how addicted I am … and yet, I've never wanted you more than I do now.

But this isn't what I want. I want freedom — from your pull AND from your effects. Don't think I haven't noticed how you hinder my metabolism, dictate the time and magnitude of my headaches, and poison my system. I substitute you for healthier foods. My comfort with you has gained me seven, cellulite-tastic pounds. I see your handiwork, hate it, but find I am still powerless in your presence. You are no good for me because I cannot welcome you in moderation and you are destructive in excess. So, I have to give you up. This thing we've had between us? It has to be over. I'm walking away. And acknowledging you and your pull? This formal way of saying goodbye? This, this is my first step.

 

Love,

Me

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*This is part of a required exercise for this semester's Substance Abuse I class. The assignment is "designed to help students experience some of the feelings/thoughts that addicted individuals experience when they quit their drug or behavior of choice."

Comments

[Mom]

I'm torn between "you go, girl!" and "I'll meet you in a back alley with a Slurpee and York peppermint patties when you need a fix".

[me]

listen to the dude with the pitchfork. how's behind the NCD warehouse on Monday around say 11:45 a.m.? :)