I find myself smiling, browsing the shelves filled with familiar names, colours, shapes, fonts and packages. Minstrels, Terry’s chocolate orange, Hula Hoops, Ripple, Skips.
My childhood was filled with desire, longing, frustration and satisfaction all centred around these sweets. The sweets of Britain. Not so different from others around the world you might think. But for some reason nothing I’ve tried in other places quite gives me that feeling of home so much as the real originals.
I’m not sure whether it was particular to a boy destined for a bipolar life. Perhaps an early form of mania made me especially frenetic in my need for sweets. Maybe early depressive thoughts were drowned out in sugar.
Sugar has always played an important part in my life. I sometimes think it’s an addiction for me. I certainly crave it. I find it hard to abstain.
Chocolate in particular seems tied to my emotions, a self-administered medicine. I revel in its luxurious silkiness. I feel the stimulation of the theobromine. I ignore my body’s repulsion of the poison that it is. It’s a sinful pleasure.
Food and mood seem intertwined in my life. It’s one of the things that I will need to untangle along the path toward wellness. An obvious health problem that rises and falls with the stability of my moods, but should be unconnected.
A well balanced diet is an essential part of a recovery from a mood disorder. I can’t claim to have that under control yet, still being controlled by my desire for sweet satisfaction.
