Saw, saw, saw
I was doing so good. SO good. I was even going to go to the Fun Run tonight and meet up with other female runners. And then the weather changed dramatically, and I had to come home in windy, 40-degree weather with no jacket. One thing they don't warn you about is that losing a big layer of fat means that you're sensitive as hell to cold (at least, it is for me), and I hate the cold to begin with.
When we got home, I wasn't hungry. I ate immediately anyway, because I was freezing, because I was miserable, and because my Hub didn't have food planned (since we'd figured I was going to be running at 6:30) so it was immediately into leftover pasta for me. And then some roasted papaya, and corn on the cob (without toppings, at least-- I like it plain), and then three of the sugar-free/fat-free chocolate biscotti I bought yesterday.
I have been sitting on the couch like my life depended on it for the past twenty minutes, concentrating on one single image: imagining the chain of food, past and future, for the evening, and then imagining sawing through the damn thing so that I'm no longer being tugged toward the kitchen.
I am so embarrassed at how easy it is to totally lose my mind. WOW. It's not so much that I wasn't aware of what I was doing as that I was able to block out actually caring about it. Hell, I was happy. Puttering around, finding new things to put into my mouth, part of my brain chattering pleasantly about the situation: it's not like this has been a perfect week anyway, so this won't make much difference; the rest of the biscotti would be nice, and some popcorn, and cheese, and oooh, some peanut butter, maybe make a sandwich...
Happy. Content. That's the amazing thing there: I was having a lovely time. I was letting go, and relaxing, and agreeing with everything the Spoiled Brat in my head was saying (and the Brat is so pleasant to deal with when the Brat is getting her way)... and that's when I recognized the pattern, and it was like I woke up.
There was an immediate painful spike in my emotions, as if the Brat was howling Nooooooooo!!!-- but I backed away, miserable because oh, I wanted this so much (oh, it would be nice, oh, I was looking forward to it, oh oh oh), but I backed away. And sat down on the couch. And added the tally to my food log. And admitted that it meant I was done eating for the day. And then proceeded to sit there, mourning the binge that didn't quite happen.
As I told my Hub when he came in and I was sad and headachy and angry, I was mad because I wanted to binge, and I was mad because I didn't get to. I curled up with my head on his stomach and he stroked my hair and it got better.
Here's the good thing: that's the earliest I've ever recognized the pattern in action and snapped out of it. Yesterday I caught the Brat planning a day off because the Brat uses similar phrases every time, and today was the same, only a different set of phrases: "go ahead and eat the rest of the package", "already messed up so I might as well", "this sort of thing didn't hurt last week, so"... It's the emotions that threw me. Somehow I never quite grasped that I was so contented during a binge; that it's such a lovely state to be caught up in and so painful to tear my way out of it. No wonder I usually just go along with it; the Brat is so pleased when she's getting her way and gets even more upset than usual when she's so close and then doesn't get it after all.
Here's the other good thing: going through the emotional detox period and out the other side. I made it. Part of that time was pure danger time, too-- my Hub was in the other room, leaving me unfettered access to the kitchen. I've done it once, now. (And, thanks to this blog, documented the process.) Hopefully that means I'll be able to do it again.
Also, that's twice in two days that I recognized what was happening and shut it down. Progress, maybe. I hope.
When we got home, I wasn't hungry. I ate immediately anyway, because I was freezing, because I was miserable, and because my Hub didn't have food planned (since we'd figured I was going to be running at 6:30) so it was immediately into leftover pasta for me. And then some roasted papaya, and corn on the cob (without toppings, at least-- I like it plain), and then three of the sugar-free/fat-free chocolate biscotti I bought yesterday.
I have been sitting on the couch like my life depended on it for the past twenty minutes, concentrating on one single image: imagining the chain of food, past and future, for the evening, and then imagining sawing through the damn thing so that I'm no longer being tugged toward the kitchen.
I am so embarrassed at how easy it is to totally lose my mind. WOW. It's not so much that I wasn't aware of what I was doing as that I was able to block out actually caring about it. Hell, I was happy. Puttering around, finding new things to put into my mouth, part of my brain chattering pleasantly about the situation: it's not like this has been a perfect week anyway, so this won't make much difference; the rest of the biscotti would be nice, and some popcorn, and cheese, and oooh, some peanut butter, maybe make a sandwich...
Happy. Content. That's the amazing thing there: I was having a lovely time. I was letting go, and relaxing, and agreeing with everything the Spoiled Brat in my head was saying (and the Brat is so pleasant to deal with when the Brat is getting her way)... and that's when I recognized the pattern, and it was like I woke up.
There was an immediate painful spike in my emotions, as if the Brat was howling Nooooooooo!!!-- but I backed away, miserable because oh, I wanted this so much (oh, it would be nice, oh, I was looking forward to it, oh oh oh), but I backed away. And sat down on the couch. And added the tally to my food log. And admitted that it meant I was done eating for the day. And then proceeded to sit there, mourning the binge that didn't quite happen.
As I told my Hub when he came in and I was sad and headachy and angry, I was mad because I wanted to binge, and I was mad because I didn't get to. I curled up with my head on his stomach and he stroked my hair and it got better.
Here's the good thing: that's the earliest I've ever recognized the pattern in action and snapped out of it. Yesterday I caught the Brat planning a day off because the Brat uses similar phrases every time, and today was the same, only a different set of phrases: "go ahead and eat the rest of the package", "already messed up so I might as well", "this sort of thing didn't hurt last week, so"... It's the emotions that threw me. Somehow I never quite grasped that I was so contented during a binge; that it's such a lovely state to be caught up in and so painful to tear my way out of it. No wonder I usually just go along with it; the Brat is so pleased when she's getting her way and gets even more upset than usual when she's so close and then doesn't get it after all.
Here's the other good thing: going through the emotional detox period and out the other side. I made it. Part of that time was pure danger time, too-- my Hub was in the other room, leaving me unfettered access to the kitchen. I've done it once, now. (And, thanks to this blog, documented the process.) Hopefully that means I'll be able to do it again.
Also, that's twice in two days that I recognized what was happening and shut it down. Progress, maybe. I hope.
posted by Meg at
7:09 PM
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