Starburst jelly beans. Sour Gummy Starburst. Starburst fave reds. (I think I may have a starburst problem). Twix. Reese’s Pieces. I can’t stop.
I’m eating some as I type. I ate some in the car. I ate some right after breakfast. I ate some last night before I went to sleep. I’ve been eating it all day and night since the night before Easter. That’s not even true. I had some gummy starburst the night before that.
See what it’s doing to me? It’s causing me to lie. Soon I’ll be eating it in the closet with the lights off so no one can see. I’ll be meeting up with candy pushers on street corners to make a deal. Soon I’ll be selling my grandma’s jewelry to come up with the money to get one more fix. It’s the last one, I swear! I’ll be moving up from starburst and twix to doing lines of pixie sticks and fun dip.
It was all about the high. The taste. The fun. The rush. But soon the crash will come. I’ll become alienated from my friends and family. They will try to help. Even stage an intervention. But all I can live for is the candy. The sugar. The sweet sweet taste of melted chocolate on my tongue. The heavenly flavor of peanut butter in a candy coated shell.
And to think, it all started so innocently. Just a little Easter Candy.
(What’s funny is that I’ve never even been much of a sugar snacker. Always salt. All the salt. I’m not sure where this has come from. And I really need to stop as it set off a horrible fibromyalgia flare on Easter. You’d think that would be enough to make me stop. But no, that sweet treat keeps pulling me back in every time.)