I’ve never been a smoker or addicted to drugs. I’ve never been an alcoholic, a sex addict, or had disordered behaviors of any kind.
But I do have a problem.
I’ve known about it for a long time, but it wasn’t until this past Christmas that my family got involved. My children discovered in horror that their chocolate Santas were missing from their stockings as I stood sheepishly in the corner with creamy cocoa breath. I couldn’t even remember eating them, but for the shredded foil wrappers in my shaky hands.
I cannot control myself around chocolate.
Easter is the hardest time. Chocolate bunnies, chocolate eggs, chocolate dinners (when you skip dinner and just eat chocolate); it’s all too much for me to handle.
I should probably get help. I should wean myself off of that sweet Belgium tar. I should rid this house of any and all remnants of that creamy bean.
I will. I will. I promise.
Just after I finish this gallon-size bag of mini eggs…