The struggle is real for BND columnist: Chocoholic confronts her addiction
I want to die with chocolate on my breath.
I want bite-sized pieces of Dove chocolate passed out at my Celebration of Life. And I want my friends and family to attend an afterglow party where only chocolate desserts are served.
“You need to write this stuff down,” my husband, Mark, tells me, “because I’m not going to remember it all.”
Oh, he’ll remember it. But will he do it? Just in case, I have given similar instructions to my son, Sam, and my BFF, Lydia. Not that I plan on dying any time soon. But the way I eat chocolate, who knows?
“It’s a problem,” I confessed to my doctor, during a recent exam.
“Like more than a piece of chocolate a day?” she asked.
“Uhm. More like, if I open a bag of Dove Promises, I finish it within 24 hours. A bag of Tootsie Rolls won’t make it home from the store.”
A couple weeks ago, my friend, Kristie, gave me a Ziplock bag filled with leftover Christmas candy, which I took to bed that night. I tried to nibble quietly. But, of course, my husband caught me.
“Hand it over,” he said, rolling his eyes.
Fortunately, I had eaten all the “real” chocolate so only the white chocolate was left. Eating too much sugar can lead to weight gain and diabetes, my doctor reminded me.
“Luckily your BMI is good,” she said, glancing at my chart.
“It used to be better,” I admitted.
That was before my friend, Sheila, FedEx’d me 5 pounds of dark chocolate-covered cherries for my birthday. Since dark-chocolate Cellas are hard to come by, I tried to limit myself to just four a day. The plan didn’t work.
At that point, my doctor wondered out loud if I might suffer from a nutrient deficiency. People who eat chalk suffer from Pica disorder. Could my chocolate cravings be caused by a medical issue?
Try as she might, she couldn’t think of one that would fit. But my cousin, Julie, could.
A retired nurse and recovering chocoholic, Julie knows the struggle is real. She also knows our family history, which includes chocolate abuse.
“I’m pretty sure we both have the ‘chocolate gene,’” Julie said, when I told her about my doctor’s visit. “Your mother never said no to a brownie. And remember how Aunt Dolores loved her chocolate too? She wasn’t as bad as you and me. But she ate it all the time.”
She did eat it all the time! I remember boxes of Brach’s on the kitchen counter. I’d get in trouble for spitting out the cream filling.
“Never feel bad about your chocolate addiction, honey. It’s not your fault. It’s hereditary.”
Leave it to my sweet cousin to make me feel better. We’re planning a family reunion next summer. Destination: Hershey, Pennsylvania.
This story was originally published January 29, 2022 at 10:00 AM.
