So in a rare burst of good sense, I just deleted a post about what a giant failure I am. It was a good vent, and I was really upset when I wrote it, but it didn’t need to be out there for posterity.
What does need to be out there is that binge eating is not a solution for anything, and the sooner I can figure that out and break the cycle, the better off I’ll be. “Sooner” being a relative term, since obviously in 40 or so years I haven’t quite gotten there yet.
It’s a pretty typical scenario. I get depressed, usually about weight or money or, more often, both. Maybe other stuff is added in. Maybe it’s February and I haven’t been to the beach in 4 or 5 months. Maybe the looming 40th birthday has me irrationally freaked out, particularly career-wise – I get terrified that I am not qualified to do any job out there other than the one I’m doing , and what the hell does my future hold if something happens? Even though the whole reason for that, of course, is my own crippling lack of self-confidence.
You know, just general stuff like that.
So the logical response to any of those issues is to eat. Even when you’re spending $40 a month on Weight Watchers and you’re so close to goal you can taste it (no pun intended) and so maybe possibly we can throw “self-sabotage” in there too as a reason for the binging. Because I know, as surely as I know anything, that once I hit my goal I’m going to think I’m fat at that new weight, and stress and obsess and screw up numerous opportunities to lose more weight. Repeat, ad nauseam.
I was doing great this week. I was a perfect little WeWa-er. I ate what I was supposed to, in its healthiest forms. Protein, complex carbs, limited sugars. Small glasses of red wine at night. Exercise. For four days. And the scale showed it, proving that if you just do what you’re supposed to, it works. So naturally, I fell apart in spectacular fashion. I binged. And I binged on what was in the house, so I binged on healthy food. Whole-wheat pasta with tuna added in because it’s important to have protein with every meal – even when your meal is about 6 serving sizes. A full tub of fat-free Greek yogurt with Swiss Miss mixed in for that chocolatey goodness that will make you forget to miss ice cream. Dark chocolate, because if you’re going to have a little chocolate, dark is much better for you, and if a little dark chocolate is better for you, a huge slab of it must be really, really better. A bottle of red wine. God, just think of the antioxidants coursing through my system.
So if you’re going to do shit like this, you want to be sure to save the worst of it for the night before weigh-in. That’s when, after a day when you cried more than you didn’t, you want to go OUT to dinner and make sure you get there in time to have three glasses of happy-hour wine, and since you’re splitting an appetizer-sized flatbread with your husband, who is at goal and will probably still be there tomorrow despite this, you should also order the bisque. Because nothing says Weight Watchers like cream- and butter-based soup. And then, just to be sure your weigh-in will be an utter failure, you should split a dessert the size of your head.
And just to ensure a complete meltdown on the scale, you should get on the treadmill to do a run and break down crying two minutes in. Crying does not earn activity points, sadly enough, even when done on a piece of exercise equipment.
What the fuck, people? What the FUCK? I can’t even get on that scale tomorrow – it’ll be up a good 5 pounds and I can’t even think of the tailspin that’ll throw me into.