I Have a Confession to Make

My name is Sofie, and I am a chocoholic.

Like that. The truth. The ugly truth about the habit that I apparently can not kick. Chocolate is my heroin. Simple as that.

I stopped eating chocolate for two weeks. Two whole weeks. It is hard for anyone to comprehend the nature of the situation. The nervous eye twitch, the biting of nails, the self delusions I suffered. Until time did its thing and I realized that I didn't need it anymore.

Then comes Easter.

Big Easter egg. Chocolate dreamboat. The best kinds of chocolate in a see trough delight. The kind of chocolate that melts in your mouth before you even get around to tear the wrappers. Not at all a cheep perfunctonary gift that nobody ever asks for. Just an oval shaped piece of heaven.

I was such a good girl. I didn't even touch it. Then the next day my boyfriend opens the egg and lets out a scent of chocolate my way. He looks at me and asks: "Do you want one?" Do you want one? Is he freaking kidding me?

I was lost and the addiction came back. But I didn't really understand how serious it was until today. When I went through the last remains of the egg and found three pieces of the disgusting chocolate still there. You know the hardened jell-o and marzipan pieces that no one really likes. And as one piece of my brain concluded that I hate marzipan the other part of the brain kept insisting on the importance of; covered in chocolate, covered in chocolate. It all ended with a see through egg, filled with brown paper wrappers and one girl who never knew what hit her.