capital punishment

I bake....alot. Just about daily I take a trip to my local market to purchase the supplies I need to whip up a batch of Toll House Cookies. I buy my generic brown sugar, shortening, and whatever chocolate chips are the cheapest that day. In my town there are two supermarkets. I tend to split my trips back and forth to avoid looking like some crazy market stalker. I'm sure nobody cares or notices, but in my brain, life is like that. It's exhausting to worry that much about everything, but trooper that I am, I persevere.
But back to baking. Yes, baking is fun. Yes, baking is delicious. But, no, I do not truly bake for those reasons. I bake because it is my way of dealing with the world. Baking soothes the savage beast. It takes me to my safe place. And it is killing me.
I could probably trace my obsessiveness with baking to a specific event, but over the years I have learned that most of us use something to soothe our pain. I have become more understanding of addiction and coping mechanisms. My KitchenAide is my pacifier, the thing I look to when times are tough. I have had that mixer for 14 years now. If I had to grab one inanimate object in a fire, it wouldn't be photo albums or jewelry, it would be that cranky old mixer who has served me through good times and bad.
As the years roll on and I watch my addiction flourish, I am feeling the effects of all those pounds of flour and sugar that have passed my lips. No longer do I really enjoy the creaminess of the dough and the sweetness of the chocolate. I need it, I crave it. It comforted me for so long, but it's time for a new vice. It no longer fills the void. What that is, I have no idea. But with luck I will find it. Sooner than later.