A Chocolate Bar

I want a chocolate bar. 
My stomach is tanking. I feel as if my organs are falling below my pelvis. Everything hurts, even the good things in life for me. I can hardly walk, speak, or shower at this point. I know what one of you may be thinking. Wouldn't it be easy to get over your gluttonous ways? Shouldn't it die off by the snap of a finger? If you asked yourself either of these questions, you don't understand the struggle of controlling your taste buds. It is just so delicious.
Oh, all gone. Another chocolate bar wouldn't hurt though, right?
I've called off of work so many times. I loathe the environment I work in, or in this case, worked in. Everyone's a dick, my manager's a dick, I do the same thing over and over, day after day, the list goes on. What would be the point in going back, when you can easily earn money from drawing or writing? What would be the point in getting your own apartment, when you can live with someone who cares for you too much? Why would you want to stop? People will call you names, and there will be more people who hate you than love you, but do I sound like I care? I get a free bed to rest on, free internet, and the best part? Free food whenever I want. Only problem is my mother really likes napping today. I wish she would wake up already.
Damn it, all gone again. Hmm, maybe a few more.
I had a lady friend once. She was so fine. Brunette hair, freckles, a smile that could prompt a big strong man to protect her, but the attitude is what screwed things up. We considered having a kid, but how are we going to have fun and get shitfaced with a little baby screaming in our ear? Wah, wah, wah. Oh, sorry, I can't have sex with you; the baby needs his milky. She cried and repeatedly asked me why I didn't care. Please, bitch, let's be real for a moment. We like to drink, fuck, and take a snack break afterwards. Do you honest-to-God think we'd make a happy family anyway? What about your dad? He didn't like me from the very beginning, all because I wanted you to buy food for the household? With some chocolate? A tub of ice cream or two?
I don't feel so good.
I'm face down on the floor, my breadbasket caving into my body from how hard I fell. I can feel my heart beating like a drum, the sweat rolling down my carcass in oceans. Soaking wet and desperate to get back up, I bark at my mom to help me. How does she respond? With her head tilted back and her mouth open, wide as a donut. Awaken from your nap already, you damn prune. You care about your son, right? You would help him like the loving mother you should be. I then noticed something. One last bar of Crunch, right there in front of me. It's so close to the palm of my hand, yet I'm just a few millimeters out of reach. My vision is getting blurry. I can't slip from reality yet. I need one more.
One more chocolate bar, please.
Category:Food
Category:Mental Illness