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"This charade is never going to last, so pick the poison and pour yourself a glass."

Has anyone else noticed the constant timer above my head? It swings in time with my metronome - every second, every swing - its slowly becoming harder to endure. This time last week sugar did not make me feel sick, not in this way at least. It fueled my smile like cocaine except the high was permenant.

I think I've chosen my poison, and its unbearable. I didn't want to write this blog but the more I think the more I worry and the more I worry the more the poison spreads.

Things used to be so simple, didn't they?