The Insatiable Beast

I know the insatiable, emotional beast that I am about to morph into when the cravings hit me. They always hit me hard. Something in my mind tells my body that I am going to have a complete and utter meltdown if I don't get whatever it is that my mind is yelling at me for. I try so hard to say no, to tell myself the simple N-O, but that isn’t enough. It’s never enough! “No,” doesn’t stop my mangled mind. I’m insatiable.

I can feel the anxiety and delusional emotions slipping from the back of my neck. Making their way out from just below the base of my skull, spiraling down my spinal cord and pulsing into my lanky limbs. My skin tingles and my mind races. Thoughts like high speed collisions wreak havoc in my brain. Time slowly ticks by and I feel like I am going insane.

I fight it. The urge, the desires, the emotions, the dissatisfied voice in the back of my mind but the prickling anxiety in my skin becomes too much. Eventually, I give in. I always do. I dial the number. I have it saved, I don’t even have the decency to hide it under another name. It is what it is. The moon is nearly full and I am Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

The line is ringing. Ring. Ring. Ring. I try once more to talk myself out of it, that I don’t need it, I can live without it. The regret, the shame that I will inevitably feel later...once the deed is done. I can’t bear it, I pull the phone away from my ear and then—“Thank you for calling Baja Fish Tacos, how may I help you?”

Fuck. It’s too late. My disappointment begins to set in as I recite my usual order, “Hi, I’d like to order for pickup.”

“What can I get started for you?”

“An order of half steak, half chicken nachos. One a la carte grilled fish taco, no cheese and a half pint of guacamole. No chips.”

“Your order will be about ten minutes.”

“Thank you,” I moan into the phone.

The shame doesn’t stop there. Nope, I know that my body will walk itself into the neighboring grocery store, ripping some poor defenseless gummy bears from their shelf only to violently toss them into my mashing mouth. Nom, nom, nom. Their final resting place lies in my bloated gut. May they rest in peace.

I, Dr. Jekyll turn in to Mr. Hyde every 28 days. When the moon is full, I become a wild beast consuming every cheesy, savory, and chewy concoction in her path. I fight with all of my might against these primitive urges but alas, my fight is never enough. For the next week or so, I thrive on a diet of Mike and Ike’s, nachos, Ben & Jerry’s, and cheeseburgers. When all is eaten and annihilated, I greatly regret my poor diet choices but what else is one to do when the highly erratic and illogical Aunt Flo comes into town?