It's All Your Fault

Every. Time. I manage to convince myself that THIS is my turn-around point to continue my weight-loss and "get back on the wagon" (Dear lord I'm sick of hearing myself say it, so I know you must be), and every time I manage to blow it. I need a new approach dammit.

I can blame my boyfriend. I can blame my family. I can blame the summer. I can point fingers at anyone for why I've been eating crap and not exercising. There's always another place to be or a person to go out with but the fact of the matter is that I can make the choice to suggest a more active activity or to make healthier choices off a restaurant menu. They may not be exciting. They may not be that delicious and juicy burger. But feeling good is so much better than the temporary taste in my mouth. The taste will fade and my guilt will emerge. Especially when it comes time to step on the scale the next morning. It's just not worth it. Yet here I am....for the 230948203948th time...trying to start over.

The only thing I can do is try. I can post pictures of bikinis on my fridge all I want but they're going to do me no good at work when Paul brings in those communal hostess treats for the kitchen. All the emergency almonds & cashews in my desk are for naught if I go home and let myself just eat whatever I can find because I'm hungry then and too lazy to cook something better for myself first. It's sad because there are quite a few times when I just eat way too much of something instead of eating a moderate amount of something unhealthy. I don't keep fried foods or junk of any kind in my apartment. On purpose. I don't keep ice cream, chips, cookies or any other such temptations. Sometimes I'll make sweet potato fries by cutting them up and baking them myself. Or I'll make some sugar-free jello or pudding. And sometimes I keep kettle corn in the house. But it's like I get home and someone flips a switch and my need to consume anything and everything is inconsolable.

I'll make a confession. A week ago I bought a gallon of that new red velvet Blue Bunny ice cream for my bf b/c he loves ice cream and  it was on sale. He has portion control issues too so I spooned him out some one night as a surprise and he ate it graciously. Over the course of the next two days, I finished the gallon of ice cream. I FINISHED 2/3 OF A GALLON OF ICE CREAM IN TWO DAYS. When I'm feeling good and happy and I'm eating b/c I'm hungry and not to get a fix, I actually don't need that much to be full. Yet it is absolutely disgusting how much I can consume when I'm feeling manic and out of control. I believe one of those evenings not only did I eat a good portion of that ice cream but I had two bagels, three bowls of frosted mini wheats and leftover pasta with meatsauce I made. It was within a relatively short period of time and I wound up passing out in a food coma at 8 pm that night.

Un. Acceptable.

I have to focus. That is key. At work I feel completely confident in my efforts. I know that my self control is usually slightly more under control if I hit the gym after work. So I really need to make an effort to get there no matter what just to help my chances once I walk in that door. Sometimes I think that living by myself is the reason I gained 20 of those 50 lbs lost back. I have no fear of someone catching my binge or someone noticing that a large portion of something disappeared quickly. Again...my own fault. Just because I'm eating alone and no one else knows what I'm consuming (and how ungodly much) doesn't mean that my body doesn't know. It reminds me of an episode of The Nanny where Fran Drescher grabs two slices of pizza but places one on top of the other and eats them as if it were one. She states "I'm only going to have one slice" but Maggie points out that she's holding two. Fran says "Oh no sweetie...it's okay. The body doesn't know." The audience interjects laughter. I shake my head. The body knows.

Just for today.....I can do this.