It gives me subtle comfort, with great ease and no exertion. It soothes my grated nerves and anxious psyche, if only for a few minutes at a time. The taste is exquisite, the texture creamy, leaving my tongue feeling velvety just for a moment. The sum of these sweet sensations is nagging, leaving me wanting more like a seedling leaning in search of the sun. Yet this seduction by my cocoa mistress is a dark and destructive one. It shields me from the challenges of fully experiencing emotion, protects me from living fully, hides me from having a real presence in the room unless I choose to. Slowly it settles its excesses onto my body, weighing it down, lessening its efficiency, robbing it of vigor. Clearly the brief reward does not justify this level of self-sabotage. Surely there are other ways to seek sensory satisfaction, to direct excess energies, to heal longing, to indulge, without such collateral damage.
I need to run from this demon, run from the negativity and the angst that fuels it, run until my blood pumps harder and my lungs gasp for air. I want to run ‘til until my muscles cry out in a mixture of pain and delight, run until the endorphins surge, run until all traces of destruction are corrected. Run until the smile can’t be wiped off my face. Run until I’m proud, run until I’m healthy; run until I collapse into a peaceful slumber. Run to inner peace.
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