Jul 7: I ca fee my tugh

Dearest bloglodytes,

It's been a little while. I like to keep you in suspense. Currently I am in my early summer shame spiral. It's an annual event for this time of year. Not feeling too shamey, I am happy to report. Here's the sitch: my birthday is June 26. This year, the festivities started a little early. We had pre-birthday birthday week eatings. Then there were the birthday eatings. Not too bad this year, actually. This was followed by a couple of days of post-birthday eatings. Oops. Next thing you know, it's June 30 and I'm on a plane out to my Nana's for 4 days of family eatings. I made fair-to-middling attempts to keep the sabotage light and airy, like a buttery croissant. Getting drunk those two nights didn't help. Ah, WTF. It's family. I'm supposed to endure it sober?

So anyway. I came back on Sunday morning this week. Red-eye. I went to bed when I got home, and when I woke up later I felt like, hmmm... not done eating yet. So this week has been total baron munchausen. I haven't weighed myself since before I left for my Nana's - a week ago, come to think. I keep thinking I can still rescue this trainwreck, get rid of at least the water retention numbers before I get weighed on Saturday. But then I start to feel reckless. But then I see myself in the mirror. But then I think of chocolate. But then my pants are not as roomy. You can see my dilemma!

Anyway, slightly off the rails at this point. I just ate a 235 gram bag of Salt and Vinegar chips, here in my office at work. The bag was hidden from view in one of my canvas grocery bags. I was sneaking handfuls out. (SECRET EATING!!! The best kind for obsessive eaters such as I!) Alas, my tongue feels like it went for a swim in the Dead Sea. This gives new meaning to the term "salty tongue". Fuck, yeah!!!

Later dudes. Enjoy the summer shame spiral.

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.