The Sweetness That Spoiled Me

How comfort disguised itself as care.

It started small. A can here, a sip there. Sugar as reward, sugar as relief. By lunch, another hit. By midnight, another excuse.

Now even water tastes wrong. My tongue expects sweetness — craves it like oxygen. My blood hums with syrup. My gut? Swollen, stubborn, sour. Every breath feels heavier, like I’m inhaling through honey.

I tell myself it’s fine. Everyone does it. Everyone’s tired. Everyone needs something. The lies sound better with fizz.

It used to feel harmless — the rush, the calm, the quick fix. Now it’s a ritual. A quiet surrender. Every crack of a can is a confession I don’t want to make.

The mirror knows before I do. The skin dulling, the bloat that won’t leave, the eyes ringed with yellow half-moons. I look like someone halfway to something worse.

The doctor said “watch your diet.” I nodded like a child. Told myself I’d change. Tomorrow. Always tomorrow.

My joints ache after sitting. My gut gurgles like a drain. My heart beats too hard for standing still. But I keep sipping — slow poison wrapped in comfort.

There’s a bottle of Lingzhi capsules on the counter. A gift. Still sealed. It sits there — quiet, patient, judging. The solution I keep refusing because it asks for effort.

I scroll past the ads, the recipes, the warnings. Sugar kills, they say. Not fast enough, I think.

And yet — sometimes, in the silence after midnight, when my chest tightens just enough to make me listen — I imagine opening that bottle. I imagine stopping before the damage has a name.

Then morning comes. The craving returns. The lie resets. And I tell myself, again: one more won’t hurt.

–––

These stories aren’t rare.
They’re just rarely told early enough.
Most decline begins in silence —
a skipped check-up, a cough you dismiss, a breath you pretend is fine.

He didn’t need saving.
Just a warning sooner.

––– Pause Here –––

If this feels familiar, you’re not alone.
Most illness doesn’t start with a bang.
It starts when silence becomes habit.

Lingzhi isn’t a miracle.
It’s a habit.
A quiet, daily way to care for the body —
before silence becomes suffering.

Advisory
Lingzhi is a traditional food, long used to support balance and general well-being.
It is not intended to diagnose, treat, cure or prevent any disease.
Individuals with existing medical conditions or those taking medication should consult a qualified healthcare professional before use.

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