Fear of Recovery

Ah, the confindence of the young! If only they would always think they look as beautiful as they do in this picture.

I've been doing really well, for the most part. T and I went out on Friday night -- 12 cops and me. Even the cops' wives were cops. I was okay though -- just sipped my iced tea and water, and listened to war stories. We'd eaten pizza with one of the couples before going, and I was careful to stop when I'd had enough -- 2 pieces from a medium pizza kept me full til we got home around 11:30pm. I ate a third piece before bed, but I was truly quite hungry.

Yesterday we had to give a post talk for Retrouvaille. We did it the first time six months ago and it was pretty stressful. We spend two hours talking about the time when our marriage was in trouble and how we healed, so it brings up lots of emotions -- good and bad. I knew there would be a table full of snacks there, and did some pre-day preparation. I told myself that yes, I'd feel some desire to chow down, both because of the anxiety of doing the session and due to the desire to decompress afterward. However, I planned to eat lunch and not be hungry. Therefore, I wouldn't eat anything. I eyed the snack table a couple of times, especially after we were done, but I didn't eat anything. I wasn't hungry and didn't want to feel bad. I still felt quite "bingey" after dinner last night. My mind kept telling me that I wanted ice cream! cake! cookies! I couldn't get my mind off eating dessert, but ate 3 graham crackers dipped in milk and a couple of Hershey kisses and stopped. I started on a lollipop, but realized that I didn't really want it and was only eating it to keep my mouth busy. I threw the rest away.

Because I think I've lost some weight (I haven't weighed myself but my size 10 Levis that haven't fit for several months were fine yesterday), my thoughts have been becoming a bit obsessive lately. Especially when I walk the dog or when I'm bored at work, my thoughts begin spiraling out of control -- all about how much weight I could lose by what date or what I've eaten or what I shouldn't have eaten or how I could have the lowest calorie dinner possible or..... on and on. If I'm with the dog (and hence, alone outside at 5am), I tell myself out loud, "Think about something else!" It is easier said than done. The problem is that nothing else holds my thoughts for very long. I tried to plan a flower bed I've been wanting in my front yard, and I've tried just staying present; staying in the moment. I admired the way the moss looks on a fallen tree, noticed how the gorgeous purple hyacinth contrasted with the yellow daffodils, took in the sounds of the birds and frogs, checked out the tangle of varying shades of green in the woods, but it was hopeless. My thoughts kept circling around to weight loss.

I think this is part and parcel of why I've always been a bit afraid to recover. What on earth will I think about? If I no longer have to dwell on weight, size, calories, food, and the like, what will I do? When I try to imagine it, my mind goes blank. I used to love reading, but most of the time I feel too restless to sit and read for hours the way I used to. I can only read at night before bed these days. I used to love scrapbooking but now, though I enjoy it, I don't have any passion for it. It has been a few years since I touched my supplies except to pack them for a crop. I kind of like golf, but I can't see myself as a daily player or anything. What do people without eating issues do with their time?

I had a sorta binge today. I don't know if it was a binge or not. Maybe it was, though it didn't have the urgency or "out-of-control eating everything in the kitchen" quality about it. I had my Sunday all planned out. We'd go to church. Then I'd go to the driving range to practice, buy my groceries, come home and eat lunch, then take the girls to the zoo while T had a meeting. After dinner I'd take a bike ride. My plans had to change though, when I found out that a friend's father had died and visitation was this afternoon. The zoo went out the window, and the visitation brought up all kinds of sad feelings about my mom. Today would have been her 72nd birthday.

I got home from the visitation, T was still gone, and I decided to finish the dessert R had requested for dinner. Then I realized that I didn't have the cream cheese I needed to top the brownie dessert. I tried not to be annoyed and just made some frosting to finish them. Suddenly frosting on a graham cracker sounded so delicious that I couldn't stand it and had to have one. Then I had about four more. Then I ate two brownies. Then I stopped. I felt kind of sick and thought, "I am NOT going to do this. I am done." I didn't really feel any temptation to keep going. I was hungry for dinner and though I didn't eat much, it was only because I got full quickly and wasn't hungry anymore. I did have one more brownie. I rode my bike ten miles and I confess that part of me was happy I was burning off some brownie calories. I didn't punish myself with a 20-mile bike ride though, and stuck to my original plan of 10 miles. I felt really good when I got back. So I ate some crap. So what. I stopped, started life anew, and I'm fine.