RC #5

Yeah, it’s a weekend thing to step on the scale to verify that I haven’t binged since the last Reality Check and here it is Wednesday or actually Thursday.

Yes, I stepped on the scales last weekend and down two pounds, no big deal, didn’t have anything to say about it… oh, started a post but it was all happy butterflies and moon beams. Then I read the Sunday paper and did not feel like posting smiles and daisies fluff.

So, here it is Thursday in the wee hours of the morn, not even 4am, and I want to bake and eat a zillion cookies, call a taxi to find an open all night store that sells ice cream and chocolate sauce. I already ate a bag of chips.

WTF is going on with me?

I am tired but can’t sleep. That has become a frequent problem, not getting near enough sleep, some nights only 4 or 5 hours.

I have a shrink appointment next Tuesday, postponed from weeks ago till the end of June to give me a chance to pay off a stack of medical bills without adding to them. I am nervous about this and I don’t know why, dreading but looking forward to it at the same time. I debated about blowing it off, do I really need therapy?

I ordered clothes that don’t fit… knew I had dropped sizes so I measured myself and consulted the chart but should have dropped it one more. (Yes, returning loose jeans and capris and shirt that hangs too baggy, keeping a couple tops shaped well so loose is comfy.)

I shopped in stores, trying things on… almost bought a white cotton sundress until I noticed a rip in one of the fake macrame shoulder straps.

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LATER (Thursday afternoon)

Stopped writing in the night when it hit me… I have clothes in some of the same sizes that I was trying on in the stores stashed up in my “skinny clothes” box. So, I dragged out the box and tried things on.

I no longer have a skinny clothes box.

Oh, I still have three pairs of vintage jeans cira 1990 and one pair of leftover jeans from popping diet pills in 1998, which was the last time I wore the vintage jeans (got strange looks then, the styles are so dated). Those jeans can stack on a shelf as it is only a matter of time, ye maybe forty pounds, before I can wear them again.

I stepped on the scales this morning, against my better judgement… never weigh yourself the day after consuming 1120 calories worth of salty chips.

WHY did I buy them in the first place?

This is where it gets messed up.

First, let me share this: I have no problem keeping chips in the house – there’s an opened bag ye over half full of tortilla chips up in the cupboard right now. They’ve been there for oh, weeks? I’ve ate out of it several times, making mini tostadas for supper or crushing a few on a salad. If I want to eat chips, I eat chips, nothing is forbidden. I’m not dieting. So its not like oooo, that’s bad, not allowed or anything. So, eating an entire bag of these chips had nothing to do with an inability to have things like that in the house.

I bought the chips because a neighbor asked for a couple bucks the night before and I didn’t have the change so I sent him up to the store. I gave specific instructions of what to buy, including this particular type of chips and where to locate them in the store as they are in their own display rack over by the coffee pot and NOT in the chip aisle. He did not listen to me. Insteading of using my money to buy me what I wanted, he bought me what he wanted to buy me. I wanted “Munchies” (snack mix of doritos, cheese curls, pretzels, and sun chips) and sliced cheddar cheese from the deli. He came back with cheddar flavored potato chips and an ice cream candy bar.

I asked what happened. He forgot about the cheese. And they just didn’t have those chips I wanted. Yes, he looked where I told him they would be… none there. Okay, maybe someone came in and bought out the entire display rack, all four shelves? I let it slide, knowing that he just did not listen to me. Men. Generalization, yes, but typical problem with sending men to stores, they rarely return with what the woman asked for. Fresh spinach? Bring back a can. Ask for beans, lucky to get peas. Oh well.

I should have tossed the chips I didn’t want, but I ate them anyway, crunching down the irritation of not being heard, my instructions ignored. Then the next day, when I was walking past the store, I stopped in to see if he flat out lied to me. The display has obviously not been restocked overnight. I bought them out of spite, bit childish… but irritations simmer. It had nothing to do with chips and everything to do with feeling like I talk to the wind, my words ignored, as if what I say or what I want does not matter, ya-ya so what… so I ended up eating two bags of chips (and that ice cream bar) in attempt to crush those emotions instead of following my original intention… to eat ye about one serving of what I wanted and stashing the rest up for another day. I didn’t even enjoy eating them.

Oh well… it could have been a LOT worse… combined chip calories over two days still way less than than how it used to be, since writing and trying on clothes in the night stopped me from turning it into a full blown binge.

Damage? Temporary, mostly an OD on salt thing, as total calories consumed does not equal enough for a five pound gain. I feel puffy and miserable.

So, it’s a be kind to myself day.

Binge eating disorder has very little to do with food and everything about repressed emotions, how to do deal with things that are “inappropriate” to express. I cannot take out a lifetime of feeling ya-ya’d what I think or feel or say does not matter on a man who screwed up on a store run.

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People have told me that my blogging about it has helped them, which came as a shock as I had no idea that they even read my blog. I’ve been asked to be more specific, share what am I doing… what I eat, etc. Straight up, its not about food. Thanks for listening.

Reality Check Sunday

I slept hard, slept in, and slowly awoke in the midst of a bingeing nightmare.

I have not mentioned binge eating disorder for awhile because I did not want to write about it, didn’t even want to think about it. So much for avoidance.

In the dream, I was bingeing on sugar, a homemade concoction of a creamy nougat center coated with caramel and pecans (later peanuts, when pecans became too exspensive to keep up with me) and double dipped in chocolate. They were shaped like gourmet easter eggs and my sister was making them for a wedding. She needed hundreds to serve all the guests, but I was sneaking them by the handfuls. She resorted to hiding batches all over the church and I was still eating them, hunting them like easter eggs and gobbling them up for the mind numbing sugar high. By the end of the dream, the candies were individually wrapped and boxed in attempts to slow me down, but only long enough to rip each open.

Oh yes, definately a nightmare. Yet thinking about it later, I realized what was missing… the dream lacked guilt, remorse, and shame. It also lacked that sicky thing that comes with a real life sugar high binge. (Anyone who thinks it is impossible to experience a sugar high has never consumed enough to get there. Most people, I assume, get sick enough to stop before the numb rush kicks in. Suppose that sick thing is body rebellion trying to make you stop before serious harm occurs as it can’t be healthy to mess with glucose levels or whatever physiology is going on.)

So, that was an odd dream… but dreaming it reminded me that avoidance is not the best way to deal with anything. Avoidance is just a temporary escape from reality.

At the same time, I don’t want to become obcessed with recovery from binge eating disorder as that is almost as bad as being obcessed with binge foods. I don’t want to have to think about it. I want “not an option” to become “not an issue” someday.

In all honesty, I am not quite there yet. I have become quite adapt at stopping binges in the early stages, but I’m skirting the edge, walking the fence, and crossing over the line a little too often. And the scales, the undeniable means to check reality, prove that with stagnation. If bingeing, I gain weight… if not, I lose.

It has been exactly one month since I stepped on the digital scales for a precise number, as I weighed myself at home before going to the doctors on March 28th, and the number is only two pounds less… which doesn’t count as a lost as it is “normal” to fluctuate up and down a couple pounds. I weigh the same.

Okay, maybe the body “reaches a plateau” between loses but I know the reason has more to do with number of times I’ve had to stop myself from bingeing and yes, I can lie to myself with words like “progress not perfection” which I know is total bull. That’s like saying it is okay to stop yourself from chopping off your fingers after your hand is a bloody mess. It is much better to just not do that in the first place.

Since I have the tendency to use avoidance, maybe I need to scheduale a weekly weighing as a reality check. If I use the spring scales (shown below) instead of the digital, then (maybe) I won’t become obcessed with the actual number down to the tenth, thus limiting possible personal judgement to a simple okay or not okay. All I know is avoidance is not cutting it.

As for the pencils on the scale? Ah, that is the other thing I need to do this week, narrow down my dick blick wish list and order pencils to replace some stubs. Thanks for reading!
~ Nancy