I’m dead tired, but I’m not going to fall asleep. No, this isn’t a repeat of when my butcher was grinding up amphetamines in my meat to get me hooked on his, less legitimate, side business, no, this is actual terror keeping me awake.
Dread writhes through my veins, my heart starts beating at the rate of a coke addicted, hummingbird air-traffic controller. How I wish this panic was just my butcher up to his old tricks again; I’d know how to deal with it and I could get through tonight. You know that’s not true, Justin, you know you brought this on yourself.
You knew you couldn’t resist that cheese plate an hour ago.
You knew you couldn’t stop at one kind of cheese, no; you had to have them all.
You had to have them all because that’s who you are.
You will mix and match your cheeses.
You mix and match your cheese, even though you know you’re going to bed soon and that that cheese medley that your stomach has churned into cheese chaos will inevitably result in horrifying night terrors.
They’re called “cheese terrors” to the layman or “lactose-inspired horrors of repressed fears” to the layman who wants to sound smarter than he or she really is. Although not yet acknowledged by the DSM-IV-TR, “cheese terrors”, or “CT’s” for people who are too busy to say one more syllable, have been plaguing our society since the milk proteins began coagulating.
Sufferers of cheese terrors have been campaigning apathetically to be included in the DSM-V. Letters have not been written, petitions have not been signed, babies have not been kissed, and parades have not yet been held. Most likely this inactivity is due to confusion on how to get a condition elected into the book and, because the average person suffering from cheese terrors spends most of their day rapt in fear, trying to regain their sanity that was lost the night before.
It’s a tough life; I constantly keep buying cheese, thinking that I’ll play it safe and eat it during the day, but then every night it calls to me with it’s siren song of deliciousness. Like clockwork, I make my way to the refrigerator as it shimmers like a beacon of pleasure amidst the shelves littered with the mold and sticky patches of leftovers from years past. I tell myself to just eat one piece and leave it at that, full knowing that the more pieces and varieties I ingest the exponentially worse my ensuing nightmares will be.
Tonight I couldn’t help myself. I gorged on hard cheese hard. I gorged like I wasn’t going into surgery tomorrow. I gorged like I was on a gorge-centric vacation in the American Southwest.
I gorged like I really wanted to hate myself afterwards.
My self-loathing was strong post-cheese binge. During the bender my mind had only been focused on the delicious mouth delight cheese affords one, but now, and with my eyelids beginning to droop, I recognized the folly of my gluttony and lust in the cold light of the refrigerator.
You ignorant ignoramus, you bumbling bumblefuck, you doody-headed dunce; my god, Justin; you’ve set yourself up to panic all night.
What did you do it for, Justin?
A few seconds of sweet cheesy release in your mouth?
Justin, you filthy cheese-whore, you don’t care where you get it from or what it does to you; you just eat it because it gets you off and that drives you fucking wild.
So here I sit, four hours, six cups of coffee, and one chocolate enema later and I’m struggling to stay awake. Hopefully, that laxative-based chocolate the enema was dipped in will get to work soon and I can pass this cheese and get to sleep with it out of my system. I don’t have the courage tonight to face the Muenster inspired monsters and the Gouda infused ghouls. How many times am I going to be able to fit the pieces of my shattered psyche back together only to have it smashed by cheese terrors the following night? Why didn’t I just remember the rhyme my sponsor made up?
Cheese before bed? I’d rather be dead. Cheese through the day? Everything’s okay!
This is no way to live. If I make it through the night, I’m going cold turkey tomorrow, and by that I mean I’ll be stocking my mini-fridge with cold turkey to eat before bed, so, in theory, the tryptophan will take hold and put me to bed before I can do anymore damage to myself or my mind.