Chocolate. According to Webster’s Dictionary, it is, “a food prepared from ground roasted… Chocolate. According to Webster’s Dictionary, it is, “a food prepared from ground roasted cocoa beans,” but for me, it’s so much more than that simple definition can encompass — and I’ve decided to give it up for Lent.

For 40 days, I’m going to suffer through a dry spell, which for my breed of chocoholic, is the equivalent of being subjected to an entire semester’s worth of lecture-style classes — without the daily crossword puzzle. It is a feat that, essentially, is on the brink of impossibility.

My chocolate dependency is a direct result of my upbringing. Mainly, I am a spawn of the Queen Bee of chocoholics — also known as my mother.

I was raised in an environment where, if our refrigerator were to be suddenly inspected by the Food Nutrition Pyramid Police, we would have been thrown in the slammer for sure. Mostly, it was because we never had much of anything. I remember a stretch of time where our available sustenance came in the form of condiments.

Before someone tries to report my parents for neglect, allow me to interject the fact that my parents were very concerned with our nutrition, but their concern was just not at the same level as their apathy for grocery store visits.

Regardless of our food supply — or lack thereof — our candy jar was the one thing that was always well-stocked and -maintained. I am almost positive that my family single-handedly keeps Hershey’s in business. From our annual summer trips to the amusement park to nearly tear-filled fits of rage if our stockings aren’t adequately stuffed with Reese’s peanut butter Christmas trees on Christmas morning, we definitely have done our part to keep the chocolate industry growing.

My obsession with this cocoa bean-based delight has gotten significantly worse as I’ve gotten older. I keep a stash of Hershey’s chocolate puddings in my fridge for when I get edgy and suffer emergency “chocolate fits.” Only 100 calories!

That said, my chocolate fetish has started to alarm me. It is a little unnerving that I feel as if I need chocolate in some form on a daily basis — be it a mid-day hot chocolate stop at 7-Eleven or an after-dinner serving of Edy’s Chocolate Decadence frozen yogurt. Some people have booze or drug habits — for me, it’s a chocolate addiction.

All these factors led me to decide that chocolate was the ideal candidate for my yearly Lenten sacrifice.

Lent itself is a sketchy topic. I usually try to give up something — but not because I have a deep religious conviction and believe that God will strike me down should I fail to acknowledge my minister’s suggestion and forfeit something I enjoy, and emulate Jesus’ sacrifice. No, I think JC, the Big Guy Upstairs and I would still be cool if I continued onward with my unhealthy fixation.

I’m just one of those people who has a slightly masochistic streak and loves the sheer challenge of it all. Additionally, the idea that I could possibly shed few pounds in the process makes this battle of willpower even more appealing.

My mom and sister typically join in on the Lenten challenge. My mom, however, is on the same page as that guy who won the Boston Marathon by taking the subway a few years back — the biggest cheater ever. She has somehow conjured up the idea that one is “allowed” to have whatever they decided to forego — at least on Sundays. So while last year she gave up M’M’s six days of the week, it didn’t deter her from wolfing down those suckers on the Sabbath.

This pseudo-Lenten sacrifice doesn’t cut it with me. I’m more of an all-or-nothing-type gal. So, I’m announcing that I’m quitting chocolate, cold turkey — at least for 40 days. Let this serve as a warning that by day 15, if not two, I quite possibly will be a raging Christina Aguilera-level witch — except wearing significantly more apparel — all because of symptoms of withdrawal from my favorite aphrodisiac, chocolate.

Colleen Bayus requests that no one be “that guy” and torture her by eating Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups in front of her face — at least until Easter. That would just be cruel. E-mail her at [email protected]