Last week, I fell off the wagon. My demons are out in the open and I am well on my way to facing them in the ultimate humans vs. vices showdown. But for now, I have reached a new low and I am determined to rise above it-or at least meet halfway.
My name is Erin and I am a recovering jellybean addict.
My love of jellybeans was innocent, at first. I ate them in elementary school to loosen up and help me relax in social situations. They were so sugary and small-and I could carry them anywhere. And unlike that fiery mistress chocolate, you didn't have to worry about jellybeans melting in your backpack and ruining your New Kids On The Block Viewfinder.
Soon, I wasn't just eating jellybeans with friends. I would sneak away from my mother at the mall, buy a quarter pound of sour Jelly Bellies and hide them in my coat so I could eat them later in the comfort of my room.
Other candies came and went: Sour Patch Kids, Starbursts and even those fizzy candies that make you look like you were given rabies from a grape. However, my love of jellybeans stood strong.
College didn't help at all. With my WisCard, I had access to jellybeans almost any time I wanted. I made weekly purchases of them, as well as other sugary items. It was like giving your idiot friend who drinks himself stupid every weekend a gift card to Party Port.
My intervention came in the form of a trip to the dentist. My dental hygienist of 12 years almost slapped me in the face. \Erin, you have three cavities today,"" he said. With those words, I almost started crying. On that day, Aug. 7, 2004, I swore off jellybeans. I decided my teeth were too important to go to waste on frivolous fruit candy.
I quit cold turkey, too. It was difficult, but I stuck with it. Until last week, I had made it through without eating a single bean. But then the holiday I feared most arrived-Easter. It's a holiday whose commercial center is chocolate animals, marshmallow farm animals and baskets of jellybeans. I was able to avoid them on vacation, but when I came back to my apartment, I knew I was done for. All my roommates brought in candy to put in our community treat basket. It overflowed with candy and desserts for every type of sweet tooth. The next afternoon, I dug through it-looking for a candy bar-when I saw a solitary grape jellybean, lying on top of a peanut butter cup. It looked so good, and I figured one wouldn't hurt. So, I ate it. And once the sugar hit my tongue I was done. I feverishly dug through the basket to find the rest of them. They were out of the package, I felt like I was going dumpster-diving, searching for any jellybean remnant I could find.
I can't do this anymore. I don't want to be creepy jellybean girl. I don't want kidney-shaped candies running my life any longer. I am a jellybean addict, but this time, I'm not taking it lying down. I'm going to beat this. Or... I guess I'll be the first columnist with dentures.
erincanty8285@hotmail.com.
