A Slippery Sloppy Slope…

I’m sure as heck glad I dropped nearly twenty pounds so I could put ten back on over the holidays.

Hey, it’ll be a net loss.

As a matter of fact, I got an early start! After being so good for two weeks, I started sliding down a slippery sloppy slope . . .

It seems that once you make a bad choice or two, you fall victim to the default behavior that has gotten you fat in the first place. I know that’s what happens to me. It doesn’t help when the people around you believe that you will give up and revert to the old you that they are comfortable with. I talk about this more in The Push Back Problem

But crying VICTIM and looking for people to come save you from yourself is not the answer. They have their own problems and stuff they are thinking about. You can not depend on others to keep you walking a straight line. It’s your responsiblity.

While I contemplate all of this, I am also contemplating how much cheese I will consume tomorrow.

My choice. My cheese. My chub.

And my consequences.

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Rationalization Nation

Hey that person’s fat too . . . and so is that one!

I’m not nearly THAT big!

I’ve got a ways to go . . .

Screw salad. “I’ll have a cheese burger and fries, please. After the nachos come out, of course.”

That’s kinda how it goes in my mind when I am out at a restaurant and the mental tug of war between my gluttonous self and my know better self have at it. And it gets NASTY. When two out of every three people in the place are overweight, some super fat, gluttony wins out when I am not careful. The rationalizing that happens when I crack open the menu quickly turns to guilt and hand wringing once the last drip of sauce is wiped from the corner of my mouth.

It’s so easy.

No wonder Americans have problems losing weight. Just look around any store, eating establishment or gas station and reasons that we “aren’t that bad” are in your face. It’s like watching the television show COPS. You just feel better about your life because you aren’t trying to stick weed up your butt or run from the police in handcuffs.

Rationalization happens in other ways. In many other ways.

  • Ah well, I already had one slice of pizza. Another isn’t going to hurt. That much.
  • My nephew’s third birthday party is Saturday, I’ll loosen up my diet for the weekend and restart Monday.
  • That pumpkin spice latte only comes around once a year, I have to take advantage.
  • I had such a stressful day at work, I deserve to gorge as much as I want.
  • This cake is about to get stale. There are starving kids in China. It’d be inhumane to let it go to waste.
  • I didn’t eat breakfast or lunch, so depositing my daily allotment of calories into my pie hole at dinner is okay. Dang it.

But for me, it’s usually the COPS strategy.

However you like your rationalization, it’s usually just one of the stops in a vicious cycle. Once you’ve made the conscious decision to eat badly, to not work out, or to just not be good to your own body, shame, guilt and even anger can overwhelm your emotions. How do people stuck on fat cope? They eat. And so it goes on.

But it’s okay. At least I’m not as fat as her.

A Little Ditty on HATE…

Hmm. Is it a coincidence that the word HATE is just ATE with an H in front?

How could I Have ATE that?

I sometimes HATE myself after I ATE something that I knew I shouldn’t have stuffed in my face…

Did you ever have that feeling? That feeling of insta-guilt?

And then the obligatory WHY? Why am I doing this to myself? Why am I making the conscious choice to cram crap down my food hole?

Just the simple fact that I associate HATE with food means I have an unhealthy relationship with what I need to live.  It’s like saying I hate the fact that I took a breath of that dang oxygen. What the heck was I thinking?!

So the question must be asked. Why do I self-loathe? Even better, why do I eat what I eat knowing shame will set in the moment I crumple up the wrapper?

Is it because I am ashamed I’ve let myself go? So screw it. Lots of people are fat. Look! I’m not nearly as fat as that person . . .

No.

It’s because I want to be perfect . . .