I’m a big picture person. I want to get to the epic finale but I don’t want to put in the day to day work. I see my goals, but the thought of working every day exhausts me. Because of this, I simply don’t.
I don’t listen to my logical side
I don’t try to get better
I don’t try to reason with myself
Weight loss is a major part of this. I am by no means fat and I’m actually becoming more friendly toward my physical appearance (most days). The problem isn’t my size; it’s how I treat my body.
I know I want to be healthy. I know I want to listen to my body and eat better and workout more. But I don’t.
I can picture a healthier me, a girl who isn’t riddled with guilt every time she eats a bowl of cereal and then another and then another. I believe I can someday eat when I’m hungry and enjoy delicious food occasionally when I’m not. I have hope I can turn down cake in the break room. But I’m not there yet.
My eating is mainly an emotional thing. When I’m good and emotionally stable, it’s much easier for me to make the right choice. Current Chelsea making sure I take care of myself. When the depression creeps in, it becomes a crutch.
I can’t change anything in my life. I can’t make my debt go away or magically make more money appear. But by God and I can get lo mein, General Tso’s and an eggroll followed by a Blizzard and for 20 minutes believe everything is ok.
Food is my constant and my comfort. I know a ham hoagie with lettuce, tomato, mayonnaise and Italian dressing will be yummy in my tummy. I know that spicy chicken meal and Frosty from Wendy’s will hit the spot. Taco Bell is the best bae I know.
This also makes shame and hatred my old friend.
You want to hear something painfully honest and a little pathetic? I get sad when I’m almost done with my food. If I can, I add more because finishing means returning to my life away from the comfort. It doesn’t matter if my stomach hurts and my brain is telling me know, my poor, sad heart is begging for just a little bit more to dull the pain.
I eat and then I mentally tear myself apart. Not because of what I’m eating, but because I know why I’m doing it.
I will never stop loving the greasy and fattening, but I need to learn it can’t save me.
Today was a small victory and something rare for me. I’m alone in Buffalo for Thanksgiving and already feeling low. To cheer myself up, I planned all day to get a ham hoagie after work. I looked forward to to. I could taste the mayo saturated lettuce.
When I got to my second job, I had a snack and some candy and by some candy I mean too much candy. I’ve been in tights for 12+ hours and my stomach is feeling it. I still planned to go along with my plan because this week has been garbage and I’m sad and it will give me a momentary relief. Plus, I had a few extra dollars before pay day and the law of my life States I must spend it or lose it before I receive new money.
Maybe it was because I was so tired or maybe it was because I knew I’d regret it as soon as I finished. On some level, I think I realized it wouldn’t fix me.
I know saying no today doesn’t mean I’m all better. I’m sure some people might think this victory is silly. That’s fine. It’s not about you.
For me, it was a moment of looking past how I was feeling in this exact moment and realizing it wasn’t going to solve anything. It wouldn’t even make me feel better. Comfort food is one thing, but eating to be comforted when you’re hungry is something else altogether.
Food will always be an issue for me. I will always crave it above all else, even God for comfort. It will rule me at times and make me hate myself. But small victories like tonight remind me food won’t beat me.