My secret weapon is..
This is a photograph of chocolate pudding, as Ice cream does not survive around me long enough for me to take a photograph.
I was never ill. Then I passed thirty and my body changed. I began to develop symptoms, and I would go to the Doctor.
Each time, I had tests. The Doctor would look serious, and talk about my age. If I was still in my twenties, the statistics were hopeful, but
‘You are over thirty.’
Each time, I would sit in the local park, and have an anxiety attack.
Once I was going to say to the Doctor,
“I can’t die! My family will starve!”
And it is true.
I imagine my funeral,..
a black carriage, horses with dark plumes, and my family follow, ashen-faced because they are facing a future of Cornflakes and Pop Tarts.
The kitchen is no longer the bright place it is today, in which I listen to the radio and make a rainbow salad.
It will become a cold, dank place covered in cobwebs.
At times like these I eat ice cream.
I have a theory,..
I am unwell, and unable to digest food properly.
Ice cream is soft, and the digestive system has less work to do.
Glucose enables my body to produce electrolytes. The milk solids will provide protein which enables my body to create amino acids.
I now have the building blocks of life, and my body is able to begin the healing process.
My family think this is ridiculous, and that I eat too much ice cream, but it works.
It has not helped me to cure depression, but I do feel less down in the dumps.