I Am a Chapstick Addict.
There.
I've said it.
My darkest secret exposed like my poor dry lips, begging for the soothing thick oily touch of the Chapstick. Go ahead, judge me. It wasn't intentional (although I'm sure that you won't believe me), it just happened.
My lips, always full and rosy, have also, always been dry. I'm sure it has something to do with my delight in feeling the cold winter winds on my face. Or maybe it's my desire to have a martini over a glass of water. Maybe it's genetic, as the scientists are always so eager to prove. But I've always been able to hide this flaw with a quick smile and a thick coat of lipstick, to disguise the signs.
It started out innocently enough. One late night in college, my friend turned to me and told me to try it. My lips were especially chapped that day, and I had forgotten to put on my usual coat of lipstick. Tentatively, I applied the smallest amount of Chapstick on my lips. At first I hated the heavy thick feeling of my lips. Almost as if I had been branded, I was afraid to move my mouth, constantly checking in the mirror to see if there were any traces of my folly.
But soon, the soothing oiliness wrapped itself around my lips and I reached for the tube to reapply. My friend looked at me with a knowing look in her eyes. She knew I was now hooked.
At first I tried to limit my use. I refused to buy my own tube, thinking that if I asked to borrow from others, I could control how often I reapplied. But soon, those tubes from my friends, found their way into my purse, as I conveniently "forgot" to return it, when I was done. More and more often, I found my hands wandering into my purse in search of that slim plastic tube. More and more often, I found these cheap tubes that I have stolen from my friends, empty and used.
Surely not I, I thought to myself. Something must have happened. Maybe it had evaporated, I lied to myself. But deep down, I knew. I knew that I was an addict.
That's when I tried to hide my use, by applying lipstick over my Chapstick-high lips. The shiny brilliant red hid my waxen lips. I found myself wearing sunglasses and a scarf as I went to the drugstore (oh so aptly named!) to buy tube upon tube of Chapstick. The way I lovingly unwrapped a new tube. How I would stare at the sharp clean edges, which I knew would soon be round and comfortable, as I glide it over my mouth. Then I would play with my Chapstick, maybe using only one side, so that it would slope as a tube of lipstick would. Or maybe only use the center, and not the edge, so that it would have a groove that would match the contours of my lips. There were times, when I would go to sleep, tired from a day of school and work, only to wake up with a tube in my hand, and my lips with the tell-tale gloss.
Oh, I tried to quit. Once I emptied out every one of my purses and bags and coat pockets onto my bed. There, in the jumbled mass that was my portable life, I found not one, nor two, but a grand total of eighteen, half used tubes of Chapstick! The thumping in my chest quickened as my hand reached for one and I felt myself uncapping the tube. I looked up and saw myself in the mirror. What have I become? I picked up every tube, uncaring that they were still half-full, waiting for the caress of my lips, and threw them in the trash. All through the night, I twisted and turned in my bed, hungering, yearning for the feel of the soothing moisture of those tubes. They called to me. They called to me all night.
By morning, I thought I found a new strength. Battered by stronger, I took the trash out, with those eighteen tubes of Chapstick, still calling, but I was now able to ignore them. Proudly I went off to work, knowing that while it was still a monkey on my back, I was now able to control my impulses.
I think I was Chapstick-free for close to three months. My lips were more dry and chapped then ever, but I had a sense of self-pride.
Then I discovered flavored Chapstick.
Oh, who were the demonic minions of Satan that brought such evil to this earthly plane? Who invited this new lure should roast in Hell for all eternity. The cute designer colored tubes created to look fun and festive. To match and color coordinate with outfits. The delicious new flavors that were like a breath of freshness every time my lips moved. The slightly tinted colors now gave the gloss on my lips a new rosy hue.
Oh Strength! Why for thou hath forsaken me?
From there it was a slippery slope of depravity. From the flavored Chapstick, I soon needed more and stronger flavors and stimuli. I started to use imitation brands, for the thick viscosity of their tubes. For by that time, Chapstick was too tame and "light" for these lips. From there I just got worse, until the day I found myself, locked in my bathroom, hungrily unwrapping a brand new tube of Blistex.
It's been close to eight years since I had my first application of Chapstick, and the journey has been a long and rough one. The day that I found myself using Blistex, was the day that I knew that I had hit rock bottom. I didn't have the strength of will to pick myself up. Nor did I really want to. But slowly, day by day, I have been able to clean myself up.
Now, I use Chapstick. Unflavored and none of the cheap street imitations. The real thing. Yes, this will be a shame that I will carry me through my life. I now know that it was silly of me to try to quit. The call of the tube will be too great. But I can control it now. I only have one tube of Chapstick, which I carry in my purse. I never let myself buy another tube until the one I have is finished. I am ashamed of myself when I feel the urge to reapply in public, but I force myself to do it. The humiliation of letting the world know that I use Chapstick has helped me control my use.
No, I will never be "cured", and I'm not really sure if I ever want to be. I am a Chapstick addict. It is my destiny.