i am a junk food person.

Lately I've been snagged on this idea about myself, that I'm a junk food type of person. There are people who are good for you, good for themselves. They do well, do right, offer the kind of emotional nutrition that can sustain you in the long term. I fear and suspect that I am not this kind of person, or at least that I am not this kind of person anymore. 

You see, I am a fix. I am a short term sugar high. When you meet me at the right moment, I will spin you away into a whirlwind that's addicting and undeniable. I know the draw to me, can feel myself pulling people in. And it's grand and sometimes spectacular and there is a chemistry to me that will make you want to see me again. Make you need to be around me again, consume what I have to offer. 

But that is where it stops. Because I'm not the healthy sort of relationship that can give you the long term effects of a well balanced meal and plenty of sleep. I am the sugar-drenched machiato that tastes great for the five seconds you place your lips to the straw. I am the greasy fast-food bag that you ravage like a rabid creature and then, embarrassed, hide the pitiful wrappers under your sink so your friends won't know you gave in to the temptation. 

I am fun, a good-time girl. And everyone needs one of those to turn to when the stress grows too much and you've got to blow off steam for the night. I am only a faithful servant when what you're ordering is irresponsibility, laughter, poor choices, and a rough tomorrow morning. 

I induce a crash. People lose interest in me because I have so little to offer in the long term. I am that regrettable ice cream cone, that last shot at the end of the night that you didn't need. I'll leave you teetering somewhere between the grand moment I bring and the moment directly afterward, when reality sets back in. 

I'm charming, enticing, by nature. I can convince you that what I am suggesting is so logical it may as well be the only choice, but then four hours later you're hugging a porcelain bowl in some strangers dingy apartment and I'll be spinning my promises to someone new. I'll never desert you on purpose, it's just that my feeble effects wear off so fast that it won't be long until you are able to see me for what I really am. 

I am that weak moment you had. I am that lovely, inviting thing that never delivers on its promises and just plain isn't good for you.

Junk food. 

And we live in a culture of junk. Of consumption and denying the negative effects. There is a place for me, but I fret over the fact that it's surface level and not long lasting. Not the kind of thing adults with any impulse control whatsoever reach for in weak moments. 

I am a cigarette, a beer, a fast food window, a bag of chips. I'll satisfy you on a moment to moment basis, but either you realize what I really am, worthless, and move on, or you start to crave me in a way that makes it impossible for me to deliver. 

It's not your fault. I can only be what I am.