Out of control eating

Smiling pigToday was bad.  My little string of on-program days broke and they scattered all over the floor to be tromped on by my big feet en route to the student union to buy more food.  I didn’t bring lunch which I knew was a mistake but I couldn’t remember if I was meeting someone today for lunch or not.  Oops, it’s tomorrow.  I was out of lettuce so couldn’t make my normal salad and need to make a grocery store run for a lot of things instead.  But that didn’t happen yesterday because I had PT and was too tired and sore when it was over so I just came home.

But not being prepared gets me into big trouble.  I know this and I could see the train wreck coming and yet I didn’t take the steps to stop it.  Sometimes it’s not about what’s convenient and easy; in fact, often it’s not.  If this was easy, I would already be thin.  I need to put more effort into it and not just coast.

Because when I don’t, I can blame everything except me for the failure to stick with the plan.  This really isn’t that hard to do.  I’ve been looking for reasons to explain it that don’t involve holding a mirror up to my behavior, my actions, my attitude.  But really that is the heart of it.  If I cared enough, was dedicated anough, was focused enough – had dug deeply in enough to anchor myself, I could be doing this with less turmoil.

I realized today that I’m really late in responding to Frances about my follow up about the questionnaire.  And I think that maybe this has been in the back of my mind for the last two weeks, thinking about my issues and history with weight problems. With the failures and embarassments and reliving the pain.  Mostly I looked at her list of preliminary questions and just said “ewwwww, this is going to really be hard to talk about,” and proceeded not to follow up.  That’s not solving anything either.

So I’m making a commitment to myself first of all and to Frances, to respond to her about setting an interview time.  Talking about those questions will be really hard but I think it will be important to face things I’m hiding from.  I’m not even totally sure I know what they are, though the level of pain and tears I have during those conversations will tell me a lot.  Some tears are therapeutic and healing and I need to do this as part of my process of facing my relapsing.  Frances is doing it.  I can do it, too.

I owe it to myself to be honest and shine some light into those really dark scary places.  It’s already lonely and painful here; it might as well be productive and not just an abyss of nothing.