Pretend this is one of those videos that are made in the middle of the night when someone has a camera in their kitchen and they are video-documenting their efforts of staying away from the fridge, or the booze, or the computer, or the prescription drugs, or QVC.
[Yah, I just tried Photo-Booth and I won’t do that to you. Frightening. But it is the middle of the night. 1:40.] Oh, seriously, what the heck. I haven’t a smidgen of pride left, so here it is.
Here’s what I would be saying to the camera: [I’m pretty sure I would have gotten dressed tho . . ]
Crap! I thought I was trying. I thought I was making progress. But tonight I fell back into old habits and I feel like I’m in the biggest darkest hell-hole. And I’m so ashamed. I’m so miserable because I can’t quit eating and I can’t stop this backslide.
Every single day I think this is going to be the day I get a handle. I do great most of the day and then in the evening the battle starts between Me and the fridge. Me and the cupboard. Me and the freezer. And I’m so embarrassed I don’t have the intestinal fortitude to just stop eating when I’m no longer hungry. [I go to my 12-step classes and I am slightly irritated by those guys who can’t stop looking at porn! I’m slightly irritated by those who fall prey to alcohol and drugs. And I could literally slap the gal who is in an abusive, addiction-strewn and adulterous marriage. Everyone knows those are Dr. Laura’s three A’s!]
Last night I sat in front of the TV watching old episodes of The Closer [Emmy-award-winning, by the way . . .] and I ate 12 rice cakes with strawberry cream cheese and 4 cheese sticks. You’d think that would be enough to get anyone’s attention. STOMACH: Hey, girl, hold on there. I’m STUFFED. STOP eating! But no. I then went to the freezer and ate a whole 6-pack of root beer float ice cream bars that hubby bought on Monday before heading to work in Wamsutter for the week. I have begged him to not leave things here while he’s gone. So, yes, yesterday I had to make the trek over to Benedict’s to buy another package to set in the freezer just exactly how he left them so he won’t find out I ate them all.
I’m so messed up.
I can usually fake my way through any given day and go to work acting like I’m on top of things — acting competent and intelligent and in charge of my own self. I can impress my principle and my boss and my superintendent and my co-workers with my organizational skills. I can delegate and accomplish anything during an emergency or a crises. I can present the negotiations for our group to the board of directors. I am on the activities, financial, calendar, sick bank, and support staff committees. I can clean my house and take care of the yard, the dog, cat and four horses. I can have an incisive conversation on the phone and prepare a great RS lesson. I can pay every single bill I have in a matter of minutes. I have an excellent credit score. I can give blood every six weeks and pay my tithes and offerings on time. I can get my visiting teaching done every single month. I can create a cute craft, sewing project or hand-made card.
But, I’ll be damned if I can get my binging under control.
And, of course, I judge myself by this . . . not all the other things I can and do accomplish. My whole definition of myself revolves around food and my weight. Not anyone else’s weight, just mine.
Now, wait. You might think that’s sick. And you might think I don’t realize it’s sick.
Yah, it is, and yah, I do. So don’t help me there. I’m likely to stiff-arm anyone who starts to get close, to hug, or give advice. I just push away all those kinds of things. So don’t help me.
I can’t even begin to explain how humiliating it is to have this particular defect.
I keep reading this over on the rights side of my page:
“Nobody can go back andstart a new beginning,but anyone can starttoday and make anew ending.”~Maria Robinson~
I’m just not sure I believe it anymore.
OK. It’s 2:10 and I need to get some sleep.