Strong Tonic for Killer Cravings

“I made a mess of me I wanna get back the rest of me. I’ve made a mess of me I wanna spend the rest of my life alive.”- Switchfoot – Mess of Me 

 Have you ever had an itch you know you shouldn’t scratch because you know it will only itch more? Think…poison ivy. Eczema.  Psoriasis. Chigger bites.  Intense scratching is what you want to do more than anything in the whole wide world but when you do there is no relief. That’s how I feel today. My itch is big—way bigger than chigger bites—but I’m not scratching. And I’m about to lose my mind.

“But Margaret,” you say, “this is what calamine lotion is for. Don’t you have any hydrocortisone cream? Or maybe you should call your doctor and get some steroids. Steroids are amazing for relentless skin afflictions.” And this is where I respond by slapping you across the face and then shrieking, “Give me some ice cream now before my brains explode.”

*Margaret breathes deeply and tries to compose herself but instead dissolves into tears.*

15 minutes later…

Sometimes it feels like there is no relief for killer cravings. They pop up out of nowhere and attack ones sanity. One sips hot tea or water, chews sugar free gum, and basically endures second after minute after hour of relentless torment only to be met with more agonizing want. The hunger for “that thing” gnaws at your resolve like a wiry squirrel chomping at a bird feeder. The mind begins to rationalize and pretty soon you are convinced that consuming the forbidden food is worth breaking every goal you’ve set if only to relieve the itch for a few minutes. But I am here to tell you it is not.

You see, I don’t like squirrels. In fact, I own a squirrel trap. And I’ve become pretty adept at capturing those suckers when they begin to malign my bird feeders. Yes, I know they are living creatures. Yes, I know they get hungry. The thing is; I don’t care. As far as I’m concerned, they all deserve to die. The only good squirrel is a stuffed squirrel. Or squirrel stew. Or a squirrel-skin cap. And this is the part of the blog where I break out my bb gun and pump it a few times. Cause I’m out for blood. Squirrel blood that is.

That is how serious I am about denying ones cravings. And if the bb gun doesn’t do the trick, I’ve got a hatchet, a hammer and a saw.

People used to tell me, “Margaret, you need to treat yourself. Nobody can deny themselves all the time. You’ve done so well. Here, have a piece of cake.” They stopped saying those things to me when I got that crazy look in my eye that seemed to say, “Do you have a death wish, Squirrel?” Because I don’t take kindly to sabotage. Cue the soundtrack to my life every time a commercial for Hershey’s holiday kisses comes on.

So here’s the situation. You’re in full blown craving mode. That itch is red hot and trying to burn your house down and all the weapons you’ve thrown at it have been consumed. You are standing in line at Chick-Fil-A. There are three customers ahead of you in line. The servers can’t wait to have the pleasure of making you fatter. What do you do?

Walk out of the damned door.

Get in your car.

Turn on some Beastie Boys and head bang your heart out.

Cry. Moan. Honk your horn at unsuspecting little old ladies. Scream if you have to. But do not eat the ice cream.

This is war, folks. You don’t win wars by losing battles. Just ask George Washington after all the other companies wussed out at the Delaware River.

Today I went to war with the squirrel. He was gnawing at my innards and I took him out with the shot gun. (the bb gun was too small!) Now, maybe you are thinking that’s a little extreme. Nope. That squirrel was rabid and set on pissing off my pants. Yes, I’m cussing. These is fighting words. I like my pants loose and happy—not tight and vicious. When I was a kid, my dad never cussed except when he got really mad. And I knew when he used the word “pissed off” it was serious. I’m using it today. (Thanks, Dad!)

Today, if you are tempted to scratch that itch, break out your shot gun.

Tell that damned squirrel to piss off.

I know he’s giving you lip. He’s telling you that you aren’t strong enough to abstain any longer. He’s nibbling at your guts and squeaking, “You can’t take me! I got you over a barrel. You NEED it.”

Well I’m here to tell you the truth.

You don’t need it.

You are strong enough to abstain.

You will only feel worse if you indulge.

Eat a grapefruit. (or any kind of food on your approved list)

Cuss and cry out for help.

Call a friend.

And then do the next thing.

Is that strong enough tonic for ya? Well is it, Punk?!