Diary of a madder, fatter girl

Happy, happy day. The stress of three little boys bored out of their skulls is really getting to me . . . but I am holding off on too much food binging today after yesterday’s caloric catastrophe. This morning greeted me with one cup of coffee immediately followed by an ice cold Mountain Dew. Immediately followed by another cup of coffee. I have the best will power in the morning – I can hold off on eating until 1 pm as long as I am drinking. To all you naysayers out there, yes, there are calories in drinks and yes they are empty. I am gleaning no nutrition from these drinks but they are tricking me into feeling full, allowing myself to eat less – and let’s be clear on one thing – my choices in what I put in my mouth are poor! So . . . the calories in my coffee and Mountain Dew are decidedly fewer that the calories I’d ingest if I chose to eat instead of drink. The only problem with my will power is that it drastically decreases as my self-tolerance diminishes. By afternoon, I am ravenous not for sustenance, but for comfort. Mmmm, greasy burger. Mmmm, butter pecan ice cream. Mmmmm, cold fried chicken. Mmmmmmmmmmmm, cream cheese. You know, it’s like “Calgon, take me away.” Only, “Calories, comfort my soul.” And just like Calgon, calories cannot take away one’s troubles. But unlike Calgon, calories will create new ones.

 When I did begin eating today, it was with a sensible and agreeable Caesar salad. I even went easy on the shredded parmesan cheese and dressing. So really, I ate a plate full of lettuce. It was really delicious. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed the idea of healthful eating. I slowly and methodically chewed my leafy greens, commending myself on an awesome choice. My son, always the scavenger of food that does not belong to him, took half of the croutons off my plate, yet again saving me calories. I was actually happy to part with them! I was totally into mindful eating. Until my plate was clean. Clean as a whistle clean because I wanted more and used my finger to wipe up the last little bit of dressing. Hey, if I’m counting these calories I might as well eat them, right?! I was at a loss. My stomach was actually growling after eating, like, two cups of lettuce. Looking around, I saw there was only one apple left in the fruit bowl (Hubby actually had me do the grocery shopping this week. Idiot. We are out of everything right now.) I thought I could sneak it until Son walked in and saw it in my hand. “Oooh, is that my apple?” No apple for me.

The pantry was no better than the fruit bowl with empty cereal boxes on the floor amid random Goldfish crackers. I knew what I wanted – Ritz crackers with cream cheese and raspberry chipotle sauce – but I also knew that I shouldn’t. But I did. Thirteen crackers, ¼ cup of cream cheese, and a slathering of sauce.  Anyone want to tally those calories for me?

Diary of a mad, fat girl

Allow me to introduce myself – I am a former SKINNY girl. You know the type – the one who can eat anything and never gain a pound. I once had a very perturbed friend open my office desk drawer to find a baggie with one Oreo in it. “How can you leave one?! I don’t get it! You ate two and left the last one?” Complete and utter hysterical disbelief, and, if my recollection holds true, incorrect in her presumption that it was self-control that limited me to just the two eaten cookies. No, I was a skinny girl remember . . . I just didn’t want the last one. Five years ago, after three c-sections, I weighed 95 pounds at slightly less than five feet tall. I wore a size zero and Target’s Merona brand didn’t even have a size pant to fit me.  I was living the life in tiny swimsuits (ahem, just the size mind you – I am a bit self-conscious and appreciate a little modesty). I could shop in the girls department for pants and shirts (and bras, but that changed soon enough). Okay, okay, I was small and I disgusted more than a few female friends with my body type and effortless weight watching.

Today, right this second, I am roughly 30ish pounds heavier. Some would tsk this by saying in that time frame I have had yet another baby and c-section, breast augmentation (but these perky little ladies only weigh maybe 3 pounds!) and I turned 30. BUT, but, I am also ANGRY. MAD. Hateful. Annoyed. And not because of the weight, in spite of the weight. My anger and ill mental health has caused me to turn to food for comfort, but it’s obviously comforting only my seat.

I know this isn’t rock bottom, but it’s bottom. I feel the slimy squishiness of algae covering the rocks I am sure to meet soon. I have spent the past day on the couch in Hubby’s red plaid flannel jammie pants enjoying a days’ worth of a Law and Order: SVU marathon (and they were all good! Not a dud for six hours!). Normally this type of day wouldn’t be so trying to my psyche, but I combined the lethargy with stuffing my face with no less than the following: 2 Cinnabon cinnamon rolls (and the extra frosting I licked from the plastic container it came in), three cups of Donut House coffee with 2 servings each of Italian Sweet Cream creamer, my McDouble, my medium fry, son’s McDouble minus half of one “meat”, son’s medium fry less half, animal crackers, the chocolate parts of countless Oreo cookies after said son licked all the cream off (saved some calories there!), and the pièce de résistance – an entire cucumber to redeem myself for my food transgressions. Unfortunately, my self (that spiteful harpy), had to eat a Hershey bar to make up for the cucumber. After the piece of four-day-old deep-dish sausage pizza. Oh, and the bowl of chicken-flavored ramen, which, strangely enough, tasted a lot like curry. Yummy. I’m starting to think I have an unhealthy relationship with food.

As I sit here tallying the mistakes I’ve made today, one thing is perfectly clear: I am my own worst enemy. I recently told a friend that it seems that I will sabotage any diet I attempt. Any psychiatrist would attribute this to self loathing. Sooooo, aren’t I just a ray of freakin’ sunshine?