Withdrawal

It started on a cold January morning. A light-headed feeling upon waking that could have easily been written off as the Monday morning blues. But it was't Monday, and nor had I been out on the tiles the night before. No- this was a bright Friday morning, founded seemingly soundly on a good eight hours' rest the night before.

Fridays, the day of the week when one's mind is fixed on that magical hour at which that small break begins every seven days. Not this one. Feeling rather irritable and with a strange ball in my stomach I endured the morning. It stretched on endlessly as if to taunt me in my suffering as hot and cold made their ways up and down my spine.

Lunch, normally a welcome energy and spirit boost was not use. Though plentiful and starving, food would not satisfy. I was stuck- a captive of that word one always associates with addicts: withdrawal.

The culprit? That little devil at the back of my mind tempting, torturing me - who or what was it? Simple, not the usual suspect, cunningly hidden away from most of our conscious definitions of addictive substances: those organic molecules known as carbohydrates.