My Own Worst Enemy
Can we forget about the things I said when I was drunk hungry? I didn’t mean to call you that…
I have a problem, blog. And it sort of ties into something I’ve not been posting (very) publicly about lately and that is my weight. Mostly because I’m tired of talking and not doing. So I decided to just do, not talk, but still needed to blog about it. These posts don’t show up on the front page because I don’t want people’s focus there.
However I had an … incident this weekend that I wanted to talk about. For awhile I’ve been trying to clean up my act, as I mentioned in my previous public post. That includes getting myself into some semblance of shape so I don’t die a lonely old fat woman.
I’m the kind of person that, when I want something, and I have the means, and it makes sense to buy it, I get it. Eventually. I mean, I want a TV for my living room and I will, eventually, get it. This item I wanted was much smaller. And it would be delicious. But it would not be a part of my self designed and approved eating plan.
Sunday was Grammy Day, and I was looking forward to seeing performances from my two fave groups and the Michael Jackson tribute. I was really looking forward to it, and in my past I would watch with something good to eat– some wings or a pizza or something. Since starting my new plan, and refusing to go grocery shopping like a lazy bones, I didn’t really have anything ‘celebratory’ that I could eat. I wanted a pizza. Just a small, personal size pizza. It absolutely does not fit anywhere near my eating plan, but I wanted it. Couldn’t stop thinking about it. The commercials for pizza are RIDICULOUS. It’s like I can smell it through the TV. I’m not even that big of a pizza fan!
So I IM my friemd KFlo, who can sometimes be either devil over my shoulder, the one in white or the one in red. Sometimes she encourages me to do bad things (like spend money). Sometimes she encourages me to do good things, too. I said to KF something to the effect of:
“Pizza, Steve.”
KF: Spill it. Did you order?
Me: No. But I want some.
KF: I know how you feel. These commercials are everywhere.
Me: Yeah. I might be on pa*pajohns right now.
KF: mmmhhhmm. You would be. But you’re not ordering anything. We’re on a plan. You need to stick to it.
Now, at this point I’m kind of getting mad. No one tells me no! But I’m trying to be all calm and adult-like.
Me: I know. I’m just hungry. And I have nothing here that I want to cook and eat. And I want pizza. I will eat everything in this house trying to get the taste for pizza out of my mouth.
KF- Yep, well….
Me: So I am trying to decide if I’ll be more pissed off tomorrow morning if I eat it, or if I don’t.
Sidebar– when I decide I am not going to have something, I don’t get that rush of euphoria that people claim they get when they ‘conquer’ their cravings and whatever BS that is. I’m MAD. Because I wanted something and didn’t get to have it. It’s like being a kid and just wanting really good food and having to eat beans and cornbread for dinner everyday. Boo. I am an adult. I eat what I wanna eat! WAAA!
KF: You would. You’d be mad. And that salt would blow you right up. It would go straight to your ankles. And your thighs.
So, at this point I’m actually PISSED. OFF. I think I said something like “You can see how well this approach is working. I’m out.” And I signed out of IM. Steaming mad. POSITIVELY STEAMING MAD.
And ordered a pizza?
No. I probably wasn’t going to, anyway. It was tempting but if I was really going to have it, I would have just ordered it, and then later casually mentioned the 112lbs of water weight gain from the sodium and the ‘I feel like passing out’ feeling from the bread. I’m not sure what I was looking for when I IM’d KF but I made sure she knew I was mad. Like, rull mad ya’ll.
I stomped into the kitchen and mixed myself up something protein-y and had something to eat and felt a little better, enjoyed the GRAMMYs and had a good time chatting back and forth with my e-friends. Around midnight, I thought to myself, ‘See. You were just fine without pizza.’ To which I responded to myself, ‘Still want it, though’.
The next morning KF asked how I was doing. I said I was fine, but still mad I didn’t get my pizza. And it’s not like I was rewarded the next morning with a nice scale number. It was the same as always. I feel like I gained nothing from depriving myself– mostly because if I’d had the pizza I wouldn’t step on a scale for a least four or five days, I’d give myself a chance to work it out of my system. When I hopped on the scale Monday, I expected reward to be a good drop over the weekend. Not so much. That pissed me off, too.
I feel like I fight with my body everyday. Every minute of everyday. I am loathe to set goals because it will do the exact opposite. I’ll look at a downward trend for weeks and think I will see a certain number on my weigh day, and it’ll be up two. Because. That annoys the HELL out of me.
So sometimes because my body will do what it does without my knowledge or consent, I can talk myself into things like giving in and ordering a pizza. Having a piece of candy. Having a donut or something sweet. Eating bread. It’s not like I can never have those things ever again, but they aren’t a part of my regular eating plan. However, as a binge eater, once I start, I don’t stop. Certain foods beget cravings and then cravings multiply and then like gremlins my house is ovverun with boxes from Piz.za Hut and bags from Wing Zone and those McDonald’s plastic cups. And then months later, while sitting in Hoarders-like squalor and lamenting over my new fat roll, I’ll think….
And I was doing so well, too.
Can I still, two days later, say I’m happy I didn’t have that pizza? No. I’m still mad! But I’m okay with it. I’m hanging on to the mad, because being angry that I can’t eat junk is better than feeling like I should just shove any old thing down my throat and not caring about it. Feeling angry is good, because it’s feeling. Being angry helps me get out of my own damn way. It stops me from being complacent and thinking everything’s fine when everything’s not.
I have a little trip planned for the Spring, in May. It will be a very social trip with some girlfriends. I definitely want to look great. I’m scared to death that I won’t. I’m scared to death that I will give up, again and go on this trip and I’ll hide in the hotel room at night because I don’t look ‘party cute’. No matter how hard I try, I cannot find myself pretty. And I always feel like I bring down the rest of the group. Not to mention these girls I am going with are quite pretty and men literally push me out of the way to get to them. On top of everything else, I think I have a reasonable goal I could hit, but certain things derail me. Like, setting the goal in the first place. Talking about the goal. Actually aiming for the goal.
My body will do what it does and I’ll get frustrated. And hungry. And decide that I can eat whatever I want and I’ll slide down the hill again. And there I’ll be. Again. Looking back and wishing I wasn’t the person sabotaging my New Life. Wishing I was my own best friend and not my own worst enemy.
Filed in: New Life Tuesday
