Has Anyone Seen My Spear?

I’m still in the hole.

On Sunday I managed to reset, and I went to bed feeling like a food survivor. I was pre-occupied with the thought of food all day but although I succumbed to the trifle, I trod carefully and acted like I had mud stripes on my forehead and a spear in my hand…I was a warrior, digging in and ready to fight one food battle at a time.

Monday was going to be my sugar-free ground zero, remember? It was a great plan, only I accepted a piece of apple cake at my Godmother’s wake, which had been baked by one of her good friends. Her friend’s need to find comfort through feeding people fitted hand-in-glove with my need to seek comfort in eating what she’d baked. The scones were good too, in case you’re wondering.

At that point I dropped my spear, and it was all downhill from there. As if the apple cake and the scone hadn’t done enough damage, my boy and I had promised to take mum out for lunch afterwards, and although I’d deliberately suggested eating at a great restaurant which has one of my favourite healthy menus, I went and ordered a dirty great gourmet burger with sweet potato fries, which wasn’t helpful.

I had a word with myself, and agreed to forgive the false start on the basis that Monday had been a particularly emotional and difficult day, and maybe I’d expected too much of myself under the circumstances. I made a new plan to start over on Tuesday.

Which I did. And it was all going really well until I hit lunchtime, when the wheels came off again. I allowed myself to be seduced by the idea of eating the same as the girls in the office who were visiting a local deli to pick up something good, and I almost broke my neck to join in. That, together with the five cookies I ate mid-afternoon meant I hit suppertime with barely any calories left in the bank, and bang on cue another fuck it moment happened when I went all out and cooked a calorie-laden supper for me and my boy.

Followed by ice-cream.

I’m going through the motions of saying I’ll reset again today. Except already I can hear the Asshole in my head pissing himself laughing at my intention to win back the upper hand. Whatever, whatever, whateverlet’s see you try, bitch.

I know where the booby traps are. I have to travel up to Scotland this afternoon on business. Three hours each way on a train with a trolly service and a buffet car, and I’m overnighting in a hotel with a room service menu. It’s got fucking disaster written all over it and I feel massively, helplessly out of control.

I’m home late tomorrow and then…then I’ll have a golden window of opportunity to reset the dial properly, since I’m going to be forced down the road of nil-by-mouth from twelve o’clock midnight.

My knee surgery happens on Friday morning. I imagine when I wake up afterwards I’ll feel as rough as toast due to the anaesthetic, which usually knocks me sick and I won’t feel much like eating. Nor will I be able to drive, so hobbling to the shops to buy Haagen Dazs isn’t going to be one of my options. So, here’s the plan.

When I get back tomorrow evening I’ll do a healthy food shop, which I’ll be stuck with until I’m mobile again. And that might take a while. There’s no point in asking my boy to bring me naughties since I have already formally appointed him as the fun police and no matter what tactics I might wheel out he’ll point blank refuse to help me wrap my chops around anything I shouldn’t be eating.

This isn’t me giving myself licence to throw caution to the wind for the next forty eight hours by the way…if I can find my spear, I’ll crack on with the business of being a warrior. All I’m saying is, if I can’t┬áthere’s a plan B.

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9 thoughts on “Has Anyone Seen My Spear?

  1. Best of luck with your surgery! I think the forced down time (aka no sugar) will be just what you need to get going again. My best thoughts and prayers are with you……..

  2. If it were me, i’d know my inner child was pitching a right royal fit, yelling, “I am in a grown-up body now, and I can do what I want because of it, and I am angry and sad and hurting and so what I want is to eat to make it feel better!”

    It would be my job to sit down with her and have a come to repentence meeting. Yes, i would tell her, you are in a grown-up body now, that does not give you license to do whatever you want. There are consequences to behavior. Eating has never made you feel better except for a moment, then it makes everything worse because you end up in a bigger body that hurts more. We are going to pick other activities than eating to help us feel better emotionally.

    Then we would discuss other activities we can turn to that help, like prayer, meditation, exercise, walking, or just sitting down alone or with a friend to have a good cry.

    My thoughts are with you, and i am praying your trip and surgery both go well.

  3. You’ve had a rough time over the past week, and I am terribly sorry for your loss. I’ve been there, and grief sucks raw eggs.

    But now? Here’s your spear. Pull your shit together, my dear. Not tomorrow, not after the surgery. Right this minute. You are amazing, tough as nails, and capable. I’ve been cheering for you for more than a year now. Tell the Asshole Voice to f&^k off because you have a healthy life to chase down.

    And cheers to The Boy for being the food police!

    1. Angela, thank you for caring enough to provide that kick up the tushy. It’s remarkably similar to the pep-talk I’ve been giving myself all week and I hear you. Genuinely.

      The Asshole voice on the other hand, is staring out of the window singing I’m Henry the 8th I am…

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