May 7: Coping with success

Remind me not to go on about how great I'm doing. It only leads to my split personality type demon thing resolving to knock me down a peg or four.

Okay, no, I haven't eaten the entire city. It only feels like it. My diseased perspective sees everything as an all-or-nothing battle royale. That's how the demon thingy gets a foothold. I have a moment where I waver uncertainly and while I try to catch my balance this little self-hating punk skateboards into me and I'm splat on my ass on the sidewalk, picking up the pieces of my tattered self esteem.

Okay, no. Sorry, I do enjoy the theatrics. Basically everything's fine. I haven't given into the call of the wild eating yet. Most days this week I had a little something extra. A package of Rolos on Sunday. Two thirds of a bag of Kettle Corn popcorn on Tuesday. A small bowl of BBQ Fritos on Wednesday. Four little single serving boxes of raisins instead of one. That sort of stuff. And all week I have been fighting off a powerful urge to stop at the Shoppers Drug Mart on the way home and pick up a box of chocolates. On Tuesday I went so far as to go into the store and stare at them. That was the night I got popcorn instead - I figured 500 extra calories was a win, compared to 1500 for the chocolates. I reckon y'all would agree.

I also have done pretty much SFA this week as far as exercise. Yesterday I actually lugged my gym bag to work, full intentions to run with the Ladies, then... didn't feel like it. I lugged the bag home again, rather than leaving it at work overnight since I work out with Derek on Fridays. I told myself I might feel like running at home that night. And actually, after watching two episodes of The Last 10 Pounds Bootcamp, I even kinda wanted to go downstairs for a run. I wound up talking myself out of it.

It's all a mental game. There's a feeling of having hit a threshold for willpower or something. Rebelliousness sets in. Gah. I hate that I'm like this. I see it all unfolding as it has so many times in my life and I'm just sort of at a loss. I worry that failure is inevitable, so why not just give in to it? The little extras each night would be okay, to a point, but of course a little extra never seems like enough. There is no indulgence big enough to satisfy this craving. I know, because I will eat to the point of physical pain, rest for awhile and then return to the source of affliction, still pretending that it holds some sort of comfort. And I know it doesn't! And I know I don't want to sabotage myself! And yet, clearly I do. Or, the skate-punk demon thingy does. I kinda want to punch my own lights out a bit.

I feel like the best thing to do is to not react. Just chill, sit with the feelings as long as I can stand to, not try to stifle whatever it is that is driving this urge to sabotage myself.

Feh. God I bug myself. Anyway, whatever, I'll be fine.