Candy Corn: An Addict’s Story

Every year I cycle through what some people like to call, “Falling Off the Wagon.” Yes, dear LAP audience, it’s true.  My name is BrainRants, and I’m a candycorn-aholic.

It started as a kid. A small bag here, a few handfuls there.  They were dropped innocently into my pillowcase by well-meaning people as I trick or treated my way around the neighborhood.  Later, when I had a job to get gas and pocket money as a teenager, the candy corn jags would get longer.  I could drive to the supermarket.  I had money.  They sold candy corn by the pound.

Flash forward some years, and I’m raising kids. Halloween is important, and stocking the house with good, ‘Murrican high-fructose corn syrup products coated in chocolate is equally important.  Now in a career with real income and a good cover story, I could stock up on crates of the golden, sweet nuggets of pure ecstasy.   Better yet, the bags could be hidden virtually anywhere.  I had go-to stashes everywhere.  As ‘Murrica sugared up, candy corn showed up year-round, much to my addict-addled brain.

The inevitable happened, of course. I got lucky because it wasn’t the police who discovered me naked in the hot tub full of candy corn, passed out with a smile on my face.  Friends and family gathered for an intervention, and I fought and denied it.  All the while, I spit sweet syrup as I screamed from a mouth stained orange and yellow.  I was in control!  So I thought.

Some people can fall to candy-themed games, but the food addictions hit at the basic human needs. I realized I needed help.  My weight fluctuated too violently, and the waxy coating on the candy corn went through me faster than beer and Tabasco.  I had a problem.

The treatment regime turned out to be less than stellar, of course. The post-sugar crash, if you don’t know, is a rough one.  Being fed a plate of protein is no substitute when you’re jonesing for that sweet candy nectar.  I didn’t like the locks on the doors, either.

Halloween is always a rough time, of course. I make mistakes, but self-forgiveness is an important part of dealing with the fact that I am an addict.  It helps that my sponsor knows how to use a cat ‘o nine tails, too.

Right now, I take it day to day… which is all anyone can hope for.

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