My Year Without Dessert

I never thought that I would be able to say this, but I have officially gone one whole year without dessert. It all started on my twentieth birthday when my friend Olivia told me that I should try to go off dessert for thirty days with her. Feeling full from the obscene amounts of pizza that I had just crammed into my mouth, I readily agreed to the challenge. The next day I realized that my overstuffed stomach had lured me into a false sense of confidence, because I was already wanting to drop out of the challenge.

The “Happiest” Binge Eater of All

I have always enjoyed eating, and can remember how even as a young teenager I would binge on food. One memory that sticks out is of a time when I snuck into our laundry room to eat ice cream that was in the freezer. I was so scared of getting in trouble for eating something that I had been told not to touch that I did not even use a spoon to eat the ice cream. Instead, I scooped it out with my hands, as if I was a starving man who was raiding a dumpster.  I wish that the stolen ice cream was an isolated situation, but that was not the case.