After a quarter-of-a-century romance, refined sugar and I are breaking up.
Sugar is like that one boyfriend that was horrible for you. You crave the exquisite pleasure of him. Each dose brings euphoria. When you’re apart, all you can think about is being with him again, and you do ridiculous, demeaning things to get your fix.
Much like the UPS delivery guy I dated a decade ago, sugar treats me terribly. When we’re together, it’s all sunshine and rainbows and freely-flowing serotonin, but ultimately, sugar doesn’t care about me. It’s robbing me of my dignity, lowering my immunity to disease, and leading me on a roller coaster of elation and despair, and it won’t be there to support me in my old age when I’m morbidly obese, diabetic and toothless.
Living without sugar for just three days has been hard. I feel healthier physically, but emotionally, there’s a hole where sugar used to be. Will I be happy again? I wonder.
For those reasons, I’m tempted to go back. And I know sugar will try to get me to. Maybe not right away, but one day, it’ll call—or leave one of those UPS sticky notes on my door.
Hopefully, I’ll be way over it by then.
Photo credits: morguefile.com, weknowmemes.com