Death throes: a violent reaction of the body as its dying. The shakes and tremors as life is escaping and death is overwhelming. The last of the blood that passes through the mind; a raging river that comes to a trickling stop. Final traces of oxygen whispering out of the mouth. The rattle that lingers on the lips.
The horrific serial killer in a slasher movie that just won’t die. You think he’s dead, only for his mutilated corpse to reanimate at the last possible second, trying to take you with him to hell. My Michael Myers is FOOD.
Try as I might, I just can’t seem to get my keys out and the door unlocked to stash myself safely away from the murderous grasp of my stalker. FOOD.
I want to run. But I can’t. Food is always on my heels, breathing heavy in my ear and running the knife along my throat. And all I can do is lie in a Jamie-Lee-Curtis heap of tears on the bedroom closet floor, screaming for help, hoping that the big-old, mean food baddie will give up and go away.
I swear to diet. I swear by the heavens and earth to walk away from food. I beg God for help. I twist in a fit of feverish conviction to never touch sweets again. Or bread. Or pizza. Or chocolate. Or caloric beverages. And after I’ve listed those favorite foods that I will never have again, I can only sit and dream about my lovers who’ve gone. I’m high in a tower and one day they’ll rescue me. Until they’re breathing down my neck again.
I’m trying. I’m trying to diet. Lifestyle. Eat on a plan. Whatever you wanna call it to get through the hate of it. I’m trying my darnedest. I’m restricting. I’m eating less. I’m trying to walk more. Move more. But I am hopelessly stuck. I can’t say that I’ve been an angel, but I’ve been pretty darned good. I’m at 441 this morning. I’ve kept 14 lbs off. But I was down to 436. Whatever.
My main concern though is, I can’t get a handle on food. No matter what I weigh, the feeling that I’m addicted to food outweighs any thoughts of vanity or dreams of a better wardrobe. I just want to shoot this feeling full of bullets and have it go down in flames. I DO NOT WANT TO BE CONTROLLED BY FOOD ANY LONGER! I want to live a normal, peaceful life where I don’t have to look over my shoulder for CREEPER (FOOD). I want to save the day, be the hero and kill my food addiction. But this killer won’t die.
I am in the death throes of food addiction. I’ve reached my breaking point. Several times. We’re into multiple sequels and no one’s tuning in any more. Seen it, done that, read the book, it was better. How do you kill something that just won’t die? I’m the stupid girl who just won’t fight back. Who won’t stop walking alone at night. Who strolls down the dark alley with food tempting me from the darkness.
WISE UP! Food wants to take your life, instead of giving it to you. Twinkies are the devil. And bread is Leatherface with a chainsaw. You are writing this movie and the ending is cliched but true. You win. Not all your friends will make it. Candy, pastry and cheese might get killed off in the second act. But you’ll make it, Martha. You might be bloody and beaten by the end, but you’re gonna make it.
Goodbye, Treats. *gunshot through the skull*