• All those long years I forced parents to pretend to be Santa and sneak gifts under the tree, because I was too busy eating icing up in the North Pole to bother with my Christmas duties.
• The year that I finally tried to make deliveries but the reindeer couldn’t even lift the sleigh.
• The year the Smith family found me under their Christmas tree, passed out and covered in sugar cookie crumbs and icing. I’m sorry for ruining the magic of Christmas.
• Breaking into the elves’ candy cane stores and eating them all.
• Firing the elves who caught me breaking into the candy cane stores, forcing them to support their families through Lord of the Rings related appearances at Comicon.
• The year I attacked a small child for his lollipop at a mall appearance, causing me to be banned from all malls for the foreseeable future and forcing actors to play me in malls around the world every year.
• Putting kids on the naughty list for not leaving me any cookies (or worse, for leaving me healthy snacks instead).
• Stealing frozen cookie dough from so many families’ freezers even after I had finished the cookies that were left out for me.
• Cheating on my wife with the elves’ baker in exchange for more cake.

I’m sure there’s more. There’s always more, and like I said, I’m so sorry. For years, I found myself eating my feelings, internalizing the stress that comes with having a mere one night to deliver toys to all of the world’s children until I was ready to explode and the only thing that would calm me down was a good sugar cookie with some icing and sprinkles. Or a nice chocolate fudge cake. Or some maple candies in the shape of trees. Even thinking about all that food makes my mouth water.

And the cookies, they were everywhere. My poor wife tried so hard. She would make me some nice steamed spinach, poached salmon, maybe with half a cup of brown rice. And then after dinner I would head right down to the elves’ break room and I would eat all the cookies and cakes and candies they were allotted for that night’s work. Then on Christmas Eve, they were everywhere. Every house, a note thanking me, with a tall glass of ice cold milk and some fresh baked Christmas cookies. Plus, who was I to be worried about weight gain? Everyone expected my belly to shake like a bowl full of jelly! I had an image to keep up.

Eventually, I couldn’t even make it out on Christmas Eve. If I could get my fix from the elves’ store cupboards, why even bother? That’s when parents had to start taking over my duties. They worked so hard to prevent the magic of Christmas from being lost to their children. All while I lived on a roller coaster ride of cookies, moving from sugar high to the dull after buzz of that first rush.

Soon I even lost my token jolliness. I never roared with laughter, not even after a few good cookies and some milk. I became sullen and withdrawn and lived my life in the North Pole bakery. Finally, one day my wife came to me, shook me awake in my bed of  crumbs and told me that I had missed my last Christmas and that if I didn’t get help she was leaving me. In that moment I realized I didn’t even remember the last time I had whistled a carol, brushed the reindeer, shined the sleigh, or even checked in on toy production. My life had become a haze of cookies.

So I reached out to Overeaters Anonymous and I got help. I’ve worked so hard to overcome this addiction. I’ve created a food plan. And I haven’t so much as looked at a cookie in six months. So far I’ve lost 25 pounds and the reindeer can finally lift the sleigh again.

I know I have no right to ask for your support after the way I’ve treated you, but please, I have one final request. Do NOT put out cookies for me this year. I feel strong enough to stay away, but I’m just one nibble away from finding myself waking up under your Christmas tree. The reindeer, though would still love some carrot sticks.

Thank you for your time and support. Oh, and ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas!