Day One: Chocolate, by Amber Averay
Day One: Chocolate
Silky. And so smooth. I just want to run my tongue over it, taste it, savour it, until it coats my lips and floods my mouth with its heavenly flavour. Nothing compares, nothing in the world. And chocolate is Universal. It is used in lieu of apology, as enticement during the dating days, as gifts at anniversaries, as a way to say thank you, or get well, or thinking of you.
The familiarity I have with chocolate – that sensuous, delectable goodness – is from the comfort it offers. I think it’s been my most loyal friend and companion throughout my life. When I’m upset, or angry, or lost, or happy, it celebrates with me, commiserates, cheers, lifts. I pluck it up in fingers rigid with fury, trembling with anticipation, stable with contentment, and slide it past my lips whereupon the small block sits expectantly, promisingly, on my tongue, and I work the muscle over it, rubbing and licking and tasting.
Is it sad that, in all my years, my longest and most loyal friendship has been with chocolate? Its steadfast presence, its soothing stability, its non-judgemental silkiness embraces me and fills with pleasure every fibre of my being. Perhaps it’s an obsession – unhealthy, unnatural – but it gives me a sense of belonging, a taste of what genuine friendship might be like…
I can see you rolling your eyes, and please don’t. I’m here, talking to you, because my parents are worried. They think I’m unhinged, that I place too much importance on this sweet, this store-bought confection, that it’s affecting my quality of life. They don’t understand that it’s what gives me life, gives me purpose. They think I’m addicted, like it’s a drug – and perhaps it is. But it’s not dangerous. It’s not going to hurt me. Not like other drugs or addictions.
Chocolate makes me happy.
And isn’t that the point of my being here? To show Mama and Pa that I am a ‘normal’, ‘levelheaded’, ‘well-rounded’ soul who understands her place in life and accepts where she is and who she is? Who is happy? Because I am all that – I can almost hear you mentally scoffing that well-rounded suits me physically, too, from all the chocolate I’ve consumed – but you don’t understand. How could you? Look at you, with your impressive job and expensively-furnished office, your tailored clothes and leather heels and glittering jewellery. How could you possibly understand my life when yours is so far above my own? I don’t strive for what you have, or envy you your success – I just want you to not look down on me, not peer down your nose and pityingly note that I’m deluded or lost or fooling myself.
I don’t judge you. I think you’ve done well for yourself. But don’t you understand that part of the reason I can accept my place in life is because that endless supply of chocolatey goodness makes it easy to do so? It helps me adjust, admit I am who I am, and… No, I don’t want any visitors! Our session is not yet over, I don’t want visitors, and I am not ready to return to my room.
No, I am not a danger to myself! Put that needle away, it’s not necessary!
Why? Why can’t you just leave me be? This isn’t right. I hate needles! Please, no.
Ouch! No more… No more… Please…
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