Sugar Hangover: A Diabetic Post-Halloween [COMIC]

Now that I’ve emerged from Halloween alive and healthy, I feel this holiday deserves some reflection on strategy (hey, every year it’s kind of a toss up as to the survival of sugar binge. I’m pretty sure the Keebler elves are out to get me). Like clockwork, every Halloween since I was six years old has been met with an onslaught of pity from the regular sugary folk out there.

“Poor dear, you can’t enjoy Halloween like a normal kid.” (Aka: you can’t gorge yourself silly on sugar mini choco bars of heaven and wake up the next morning in a pile of empty wrappers and your own drool while stray raccoons poke you).

My initial urge was always to jump up and down and shriek like a demented leprechaun: I am too a normal kid! I eat candy for Halloween! My dad will beat you up if you don’t give me candy! [NOTE: while my dad was never one for candy-related fisticuffs, I feel confident that he would have totally thrown a few punches for a mini-O'Henry.]

This policy shifted subtly as I grew older. It became apparent that when a trick-or-treat stash dwindled overnight, or (let’s be honest) flat-out disappeared into ooey-gooey yumness in my belly, the last person accused was the sad little Diabetic girl in the corner making puppy dog eyes at her box of raisins. Before you chase me with pitchforks for this “alleged” choco-cide, let me just say that this evil stage of adolescence did not last long. It only takes one time getting caught before you become the go-to suspect for chocolate disappearances.

I shifted to my current model of Halloween celebration. It starts with good intentions, trying to look down my nose at the people around me partaking in an all-around sugar orgy as I try to valiantly convince myself as I eat my salad that yes, I am a fun person. Then comes the roller coaster ride of the sugar high, the sugar crash, and, as I mentioned before, the raccoons. FYI: they are not as cuddly and cute as they seem.