And then guilt came



A part of me knew I would end up here, hating myself for being weak. I enjoyed myself this weekend, I really did, I kept telling myself it's okay, you've been at this for months and haven't rarely broken stride. #TreatYoSelf,  indulge, what's a day or two in the grand scheme of things? I just love food so much, it's been a hard journey without it being used as comfort, I think I've only comfort eaten about twice this whole year. Food was always my trusted friend and confidant, and this year I put the breaks on that. I swear I'm the past month it feels like I wasn't living much, because I was eating so boringly.

Having pizza this weekend was like an event, I knew it was coming so there was a budding excitement, then watching mom prepare the dough, fix up the sausage, spread on the sauce and other toppings, smelling it cook. It was thrilling. I'm completely and utterly ashamed and disgusted to admit that I enjoyed this more than crossing over out of the 500s. The first day it was great, delicious, there was something comforting about knowing that the pizza was in the kitchen, waiting for my consumption at anytime. I had 7 pieces (squares) the first day. I should have stopped at about four or five, but I took it further. It was so good, I told myself if it's on the plate, gotta eat it.

I have an incredibly unhealthy relationship with food still, that dawned on me Sunday, when my mom informed me she was giving my grandmother some of the leftovers. My mom gave her some the day before, and she raved about how much she loved it, so mom was sending another round. I remember feeling resentful, and defensive, like she was giving away my baby. Regardless of how much she gave her, there would still be plenty for the both of us, but that didn't matter. My mood shifted strongly, I became passive aggressive, and aggravated. Then I finally went back to my room. There it all just started hitting me how gross and disgusting I had been. I was being greedy, selfish... piggish. I couldn't believe I had gotten so emotional over food. It felt like the pizza was a long lost friend I hadn't seen in awhile, it felt like before I began this journey, why is that a good thing you might ask? It's just that I always had food to bail me out of my emotions, my bad reality, my feelings, my sadness. It's been hard without it to be honest. Food filled a void (in a vicious cycle, the one it created). That void is just bare now, exposed more than ever.

Now I'm stuck living with myself in the aftermath of my destructive weekend! I don't have time! I don't have the time to be gaining weight! I don't have time to be doing anything other than losing! Nothing, nothing! Else is acceptable. One stupid weekend can undo an entire weeks work, and it wasn't a particularly successful week either. I just don't know if I am strong enough for this, this  vicious battle with myself. I'm not happy unless I'm losing, then when I lose I'm sad because I have so much more to lose, when I maintain, I'm sad because I'm failing, if I'm gaining I'm failing. Where are my silver linings!?

Comments

  1. You know, I STILL have problems sharing yummy food. Now, I grew up where yummy food was gobbled up by my brother whenever there was a grocery run (the kid was a blackhole, and still is. He's 6'5 - I have no idea where it goes. Totally unfair.) More, my mom was seriously screwed up as an anorexic bulimic, who liked to restrict our foods and ban things now and again from the house (she served JUST broccoli, with nothing else - not even salt, for dinner more than once.)

    If some food was my own, that I had bought and labeled, my brother or my mother would STILL eat it. I had to learn to hide food, and sharing? Forget about it. Totally unhealthy environment growing up when it came to food. I'm mostly OK now, but I still get a bit twitchy sometimes. I'm freaking 40 years old, and I sometimes still feel like I have to hide food from other people, even if I'm not going to eat it... I just want to know it's there and it's mine.

    So, food issues, yeah I totally get it. We each have our own flavor (hehe, sorry, couldn't help it.) The trick is in seeing it and managing it. As long as my parents aren't around (they're still just as bad), I'm usually OK. My son is a full fledged teenager now with all his teenager friends, and it's become a bit more difficult, but I'm fighting it.

    Sometimes we just have to tell ourselves to knock it off. Loudly.

    ReplyDelete
  2. In defense of the pizza, it sounds really good. Your mom must be a good cook.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. She truly is, there isn't a single other pizza I'd pick over hers, it's that good.

      Delete

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