Why I Am Like A Box Of Chocolates

My own dear sister  was the first to tell me that I was definitely like a box of chocolates because (imagine an evil sneer here),  "You never know what you're going to get."  She wasn't just whistling "Dixie." 

When you open up that yummy looking box of Fannie May Chocolates, you might even find an empty box devoid of all but a few crumbs.  That's how I roll.  It's the well-known label you can't trust  when come to town.  "I am large. I contain multitudes," wrote Walt Whitman.  "Hey, beatnik, me too!"

My multitudes are biochemical.  Hey, I'm bipolar.  Life is one big roller coaster ride for me.  What can you expect?   I might be sweeter than chocolate covered marshmallow fluff one day, or as innocent as plain milk chocolate, or as quirky as a piece of covered pineapple.  The girl can't help it!  It's all in the way the brain is wired.  The disorder is marked by wild, cyclical mood swings from highs or mania to deep depressions which include angry outbursts. 

The ironic part for me of being described as being like a box of chocolates  is that it is supposed to be a comfort food.  It is normally ingested to prompt feelings of coziness and security.  We eat it when we are unhappy to cheer ourselves up.  It's as though Lucy van Pelt, Linus' mean older sister, poured fire ants all over his security blanket.  Doubly cruel.

Candy lovers beware!  I may not have taken all my medications lately, in which case I can seem quite nutty or taste like the "mystery" chocolates that no one really is sure of what the contents are,  and everyone is as sorry they ate it as they would be eating a big serving of meat loaf at the Target diner.

Chocolate is unfortunately not the comfort food others think of it as, when it's my personality traits its covering.  It may look enticing, but so does the Venus flytrap to an insect.  My trap slams shut just as quickly,  if I haven't taken my mood stabilizers.   I have had two ex-husbands and some long-term partners who could have attested to that,  if several of them hadn't died from sheer exhaustion and aggravation.  Yeah, they would have told you about the "Days of Wine, Chocolates and Roses."

Look out for that nougat.  You don't know what it's capable of doing inside your mouth.   It can kick back with the recoil of a .458 Winchester Mag. (500 grain, 68.9 ft. lbs.).  It can break your teeth into splinters.   Just call it one of my black moods.

The cheaters who pick up a chocolate,  and, thinking no one is the wiser, take a tiny nibble to see what's inside and then put it back, are in for some rough trade action.  They get what they deserve from my box:  mold, decay and hunks of some unknown foreign matter that they'll regret chewing and pull right out of their mean little mouths.  The result of another roller coaster day gone South.

Myself, I naturally prefer dark chocolate.  'Nuff said.

Life is like a box of chocolates because so many suffer from near multiple personalities, as I do.

Psychosis comes in different fillings and flavors too.  I relate to having a wide selection from which to choose:  "Hmmm, let's see.  Today feels like obsessive-compulsive, no, make that paranoid, but I think I feel an attack of borderline personality creeping up. Am I going up?  Down?   Have a chocolate won't you?"

Life is like a box of pre-licked chocolates if you ask me.   Where is the uniqueness and freshness?  Why is it always the same old euphoria or gloom and doom?   Why is it never the middle ground?

Have one with a cherry in it, won't you?  So I can watch as it splashes all over your face and clothes!  Gosh, I needed that laugh.

Today is a nice day.  I am mellow.  I am a chocolate covered jelly piece.  I only get a little stuck in your teeth too because I feel so good.  I like myself today.  Hey, mister, do you like me today?  If not, who cares.  I won't give two shits tomorrow. 

I'm no Rock of Gibraltar which is how one expert with nothing better to do described the appeal of the large rectangles that come in an assorted box.   Far from it, I crumble like a used Kleenex if called upon to take responsibility or act like an adult.  That's why those chocolate covered jaw-breakers will pull your teeth out by their roots.

This same time-waster candy expert says circle shapes are for party animals:  people who don't like to be alone and feel lost without company.  I prefer conflict and chaos myself--it makes me feel at home.  So I make sure that the circles contain coconut for all the people who dislike it so.

Sometimes, due to my personality disorders, and I forgot to mention adult attention deficit disorder too.  I am a piece of a little of everything like the marzipan almonds in my box.  Yes, a marzipan center topped with a roasted almond in a dark chocolate shell--a little bit of everything all rolled into one.  Too much for some, I call it a creative offering.  If I were a candy bar, I'd be a Whatchamacallit. 

And I'm nothing if not creative. I analyze everything.   If a chocolate is not made with the right ingredients, it may not taste right, look dreadful and even lead to illness.  If it is placed in fancy wrapping though it could just as easily be hiding the fact that it is cheap, nasty and inedible.  The burden of consumption is not mine.  The confined enclosure of the box could lead these delicate little gifts  to perish if not presented in the right manner.  Then the world for them would really be a terrible place. 

In summary, to throw my crazy-cone hat into the ring with Thomas Hobbes,* "The life of man (is) solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short."  That's why my life and I are like a box of chocolates.  Now you know.  "Want a Prozac, partner?"


*"Thomas Hobbes (5 April 1588- 4 December 1679, English Philosopher,  remembered for his work on political philosophy.  His account of human nature as self-interested cooperation has proved to be an enduring theory in the field of philsophical anthropology." -- Wikipedia

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