Nobody Knows this About Me but I Am an Addict.
To what you may ask? Let’s just say that I have a particular addiction to something that is used as a morning pick me up. It’s quite bad actually. I need to consume it at least once a day, to curb the craving I get when I don’t have at least a little bit. Some might even go as far to say that I replace some joys of the average person with this addiction that I have developed. That’s not to say that I don’t like these vital and fun aspects of my daily life. Really. I do. Thoroughly. It’s just that I can’t stop the urge overpowering my day to day routine.
It began with my recent rediscovery of the familiar pleasure gained through its consumption during my younger years. One day I found a stash, and the oh familiar curiosity overpowered me. One try is all it took. I was hooked. Its energy surged through my veins, providing the wake-up call needed to rouse me from the slightly tedious life of adulthood. But like all addictions, the standard use became… not so standard. My partner soon realised that I would choose to replace parts of my daily routines with it, which of course he deemed problematic. It was, in fact, from that day forward that I realised I had an addiction that not only was affecting my lifestyle, but also that of my partner. Thus, I became a Serial-Addict.
As the weeks went by, my addiction grew worse, turning from one or two incidents per day to three or four. It would feed my laziness, enabling the addiction to spiral out of control. It got to a point where my partner sat me down, and had a serious one-to-one with me about what was happening. “This has to stop, it’s getting out of hand. I can’t deal with you constantly craving this− thing. You’re not the same, and it’s taking up far too much of our time, you know this.” I agreed at the time, acknowledging that this had to stop and that I had to gain back the control that was lost, but I just still cannot seem to bring myself to do so. I considered calling a helpline but thought to myself that everyone would just judge me or laugh at my predicament. I’ve even considered attending rehab, thinking they might curb this road I seem to be going down− but I said to myself no, no, no. You may be thinking ‘Stop worrying about being judged and get help!’, and I understand that you may think this based off of the seriousness of what I am writing.
However, as you may have noticed, I have avoided revealing the very thing that I am addicted to. You see, my addiction is a trivial one, and in many cases, people would class it as a non-addiction. It is not at all comparable to addictions such as ones to heroin, cocaine or even alcohol. It is certainly a much simpler one than that. In reality, I am a Serial-Addict, or, I should say, a Cereal addict. In fact, it is one particular brand and type of cereal that I am addicted to: Nestle’s Shreddies. Odd indeed.
I love the stuff, crave it daily and am barely able to function without the gradual energy release of the wheaty-goodness that are Shreddies. The texture of the lattice-shaped wheat cereal pleasures me so, and I adore how they begin to soften ever so slightly when the semi-skimmed milk seeps into their crunchy shells. I also tend to use an odd ratio of milk to cereal: 2:1. I overdo it, I know, and am told off by my partner because of just how many 3l bottles of milk we go through in a week (although I do blame him for a lot of the milk consumption as I claim that he is addicted to tea and coffee, but that story is for another day).
It is also quite common for me to replace my regular meals such as dinner with cereal just because I crave it or I cannot be bothered to cook. I adore cooking, really, I do. But sometimes my laziness as well as my craving gets the better of me and all I eat for the whole day will be Shreddies. As much I would like to claim that this is not an addiction, I know in my heart that it is. It is a childhood addiction that I have rediscovered and need to get a hold of, and I now know that I am not just a Serial-Addict, but a Serial-Cereal Addict.
