Dear Peanut Butter M&Ms: A Break-up Letter

(Here’s something I wrote a little while ago when I finally decided to kick these bad boys to the curb! We did rebound again after the break-up letter, but it’s been a few weeks we’ve been “off” again, haha.)

Dear PB M&Ms,

I first want to say how grateful I am for the time you’ve spent with me over the past year. 2020 (and, it seems, going forward into 2021) has been kindly and tactfully called an “unprecedented time,” although I usually describe it as a “dumpster fire” or a “shitshow.” I leaned on you, PB M&Ms, taking what solace your unique chemical and sugar-laden make-up could offer.

But I’ve been taking too much comfort. Our relationship always had an end date, and as I consider wearing the jeans that I last wore in March 2020, I’m starting to think our end date is coming up sooner than I’d thought.

I tried, I truly did, to savor you. I thought if I bought a party-sized bag, that I could make it last. Please take this as a compliment, but PB M&Ms, you’re irresistible! When you’re around, I can’t seem to help gobbling you up by the handful, randomly throughout the day. A party-sized bag for a party of one has been lasting an embarrassingly short period of time.

What it comes down to, PB M&Ms, is that we aren’t good for each other. It’s an unhealthy relationship. I can’t savor you in the way you ought to be savored, and you can’t offer me much more than diabetes and the kind of stomach that makes strangers congratulate me on my pregnancy.

I truly do appreciate all you’ve done for me throughout this pandemic. When my coping skills were all coped out, you were there in my closet, hidden away like a guilty secret, ready to let me sink into your chocolatey, peanut buttery, saccharine comfort. The crinkle of the bag followed by the first crunch through your candy shell was the beginning of a ritual where I could fill the emotional holes caused by panic, sorrow, and rage with your sweet relief.

But no more.

I know this will be hard. I’ve tried several times to cut ties with you, although each of those times, it was “just a break.” A “slowing down” of our rapidly deepening dependence on each other. But with you, PB M&Ms, I can’t take breaks and I can’t slow down, because I don’t have control. It’s all or nothing, and all hasn’t been working.

Which leaves nothing.

I’ll think of you fondly, but I have to be honest: I won’t miss the headaches, the lethargy, or the low-grade nausea you gave to me.

You were a good companion during hard times. Thank you.

Goodbye, PB M&Ms. Goodbye.