Wednesday, June 10, 2015

My abusive relationship...

It's time to confess my shame, swallow my pride and come clean... for many years I've been in a long-term abusive relationship.

With spicy food.

I love it so much but it hates me with a vengeance which seems to know no bounds. I burn my mouth with the heat of a thousand suns and even while sweating and gasping... come back for more.

I step away for a moment and almost immediately my co-dependent need for the pain, only she can provide, pulls me back for additional abuse.

I beg for mercy and plead for deliverance while in my heart I know... neither of us wants it to stop.

Although my tongue feels as though it's rejecting my electrocuted taste buds as though they were a badly transplanted organ out of some Southeast Asian innard-market, my fork returns to the bowl of Creole-seasoning-with-red-curry-over-steak-and-chicken-with-mushrooms-and-onions.

Again and again I chew the painful but succulently prepared meat and my mouth burns away my hours of torture, without end.

Why do I do this to myself? Endorphins? Some solo-macho need to prove myself to... myself? I'm home alone so that's probably not it.

Alcohol brings bravery and a tiny respite from the searing agony in my mouth as my sweaty breathing begins to sound like I'm coaching a La Maze class.

I know I'll sleep well since the pain will fade by nightfall, leaving me tired and exhilarated from my ordeal.

Sometimes the pain launches a counter-attack the next morning but it is a mere echo of the previous night's marathon of feverish discomfort.

The pain doesn't forget. The pain remembers! It wants me to pay for my peaceful night's slumber and suffer anew while I welcome its fresh embrace.

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