I Have Seen the Enemy and the Enemy is Taco Bell

The first step is admitting you have a problem. Hello. My name is Cindy. I am a compulsive idiot.

I make these plans in my head to really hunker down and prepare for a life-altering eating program. Time to exercise and take back control of my fat ass!

I have this conversation with myself several times a day. I use tools such as visualisation and I channel all my positive energy.(I picture John Belushi as Bluto saying "LET'S DO IIIIIIIIIIITTT!!) But it never sees the light of day.

It stays in my head. Once in awhile I'll air it out while commiserating with the not-so-fat world about how "our" eating is out of control. (They usually say something like "I can't believe I at a whole half of a double cheeseburger!")

If they only knew.

If they could see me hulking over my coffee table with some kind of take-out or fast food or peanut-butter and Fluff sandwiches, they'd most likely be appalled and a little grossed out. I know I am!

I was always a bit of a compulsive eater and sometimes a binger. But lately, I find myself coming home and feeling sorry for myself and coming face to face with my nemesis: FOOD. (cue the creepy music)

A person needs to eat. A person can't just stop eating like someone can just stop smoking. It's all about choices, right?

I make choices every day about what I am going to put into my body that day. I would never snort cocaine. I wouldn't smoke cigarettes. I would never choose to eat rat poison. (Having a "Skinny-and -Sweet", 9-5 flashback!)

And yet last night I ate Taco Bell. I told myself I was ordering enough so that when Hubby (not a fan of the Bell) came home he could have what was left. A quesedilla and a burrito.

When hubby came home, all traces of "Fourth Meal" (and fifth, sixth and seventh!) had been discarded. Except for one lone packet of Salsa Verde that must have fallen out of the bag when I was burying it in the trash.

Of course I was forced to come clean. And I usually do come clean. I tell my sister or Hubby or a friend about how "bad" I was last night and "What's wrong with me?" But I don't think I really ever make a full confession of how out of control I am and how scared that makes me!

So, in the light of day, I try to hide my shame (difficult to do when the results of your addiction are physical!) and make amends and do a little damage control by having a salad or, better still, nothing.

Then I come home and the whole cycle starts again.

I am a hamster on a wheel.

I am Astro and George on that treadmill! I don't know how to stop it.

And yet everything I just wrote is such BS.

I am poisoning myself! And I do know what to do to stop it. Just STOP!

It's so simple!!

I only wish I had thought of it before I gained all this weight! Duh. (She says smacking her forehead!)

I mentioned the physical affects of this weight gain. It makes everything, in a life that is already quite difficult, a lot harder.

Buying clothes in larger sizes costs a ton more money than it does for "normal" people. Chairs are uncomfortable if they have arms. Concerts are horrible because you're practically sitting on the person next to you! Cleaning, grooming, bathing, shoelace tying, sock wearing...all become very tough tasks. Breathing becomes labored when you're walking even the shortest distances. And stairs? Stairs are the enemy. As are booths in a diner. (more creepy music) 

In a life that's already quite a struggle why do we-well-why do I continue to add to the load?

Good question. I'll have to get back to you with an answer to that one. As soon as I have my dessert.