Okay, I stepped on the scale this morning. I said I wasn't going to (not to you... I've learned to not say that out LOUD because I step on it every Saturday no matter what I say), but I did.
HOLY MOTHER OF FUCKING PEARL!!! WHAT THE FUCK????
So anyways... the number was a little shocking. I've apparently gained (bzzz bzzzbzzzzzzz carry the six bzz bzzzz)... right. Nine pounds.
DAMN MY MOTHER AND HER INSTRUCTIONS TO BUY CHOCOLATES. Okay, so it's not her fault. She didn't make me eat them.
So what have we learned? First, don't listen to people who tell you to bring your crack into your home and to just resist because it's not fair to everyone else. Second, enjoy said crack at OTHER people's homes, where you cannot dig into it in the middle of the night without a break and enter charge, because you are an ADDICT. Third, don't buy so MUCH crack when you do choose to indulge. Understand that the reality is that your people don't EAT that stuff like you do, and it's not necessary to load the fridge. Reality is, they want one session with it. It's YOU who will eat it for days, not THEM.
I AM AN ADDICT.
I have lectured myself. I have walked away from the fridge. Then next thing I know I find myself back in the fridge, with the hand to mouth action going strong and furiously.
I had a big talk with Magda last night about addictions. We found another common denominator (or as my kids have coined it, "common de-mom-inator"). We don't suffer physical addictions. It's the psychological ones that we jones over.
I've done coke, acid, all sorts of drugs, but the two things I struggle with are smoking and eating. Why? It's not the nicotine or the food. It's the psychological addiction that I struggle with. It's the hand to mouth action that is comforting, and that I crave. It does not matter what is in that hand, as long as it's repeated. A lot. Being on Core has shown me that I can overindulge in ANYTHING. Even if it's healthy foods, if you eat too much, it's going to make you gain weight. Add Christmas chocolates, cheeses, etc, in that mix... it's a fat person screaming to get out.
Don't get me wrong... I want to blame mom. Oh, yes, I do. But it's my issue. It's my responsibility. It's my mouth. It's my hand. I know better. I know the tools. I chose to swan dive off the wagon. I chose to not excercise at all. I chose to indulge in getting fat again.
Now I choose to stop the insanity. I choose to get back on the treadmill. I choose to fit back into my jeans as soon as possible.
Bottom line is: I choose me.
Thanks for listening,
If you have issues, or baggage, you may be offended by what you read here. I work through my self loathing of my own fat, and my own fat issues, and I’m told this comes across as loathing all fat people. That is simply not the case.
Here I talk about my issues and my findings, without political correctness. I am not concerned with your issues, or your baggage, or what you may take from this. The title is "My Journey".
This blog is not meant to inspire anyone. I take no responsibility for what you take away from here. You are here as a guest into my inner thoughts.