I'm keeping track of what I eat as I try to lose weight. Last night I was guesstimating about the points and amount I ate because we ate out for lunch and I hadn't measured how many shrimp I put in the salad for dinner. I could see myself wanting to minimize points and underestimate the amounts and ingredients. I was going to lie so I could feel better about myself and the chart would look good. The temptation was palpable. Now, no one is going to see this journal except me. But I couldn't or wouldn't be honest with myself about what I put in my mouth. Talk about wrong speech!
What this tells me is how fraught the weight thing is at this moment. I feel pressured by my health and doctors and good sense to lose the weight and feel better. I feel equally sorry for myself about missing out on sandwiches and mashed potatoes. And I feel most upset because I'm sabotaging myself and what I know is best for me. I'm taking a long hard look at my behavior. It's not a pretty picture. It's not mature or self nurturing. It is, however, a lifelong pattern. Feeling sorry for myself is familiar and comfortable. Somewhere deep inside my aging body I am the new kid in school with no friends.
I'm going to attempt to be brutally honest about what I eat and at the same time keep active with non food comforts like walking and seeing friends and writing. Eating hasn't yet solved loneliness and sadness. I'm going to take a wild guess here and say it never will. And what's so bad about occasional feelings like those? Everyone has them. Am I trying to revolt against being human? I'm actually grateful for my life and yet not acting like it. I'm going to grow up before I die. I'm determined.
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