Tag Archives: Asshole

On Guard Against The Afters

So, I’m reliably informed that The Afters are coming for me, which is what Vickie calls it when you’re past the crisis and the urge to go rogue sneaks up on you without warning. I’m taking no chances. I might not have expected it, but that four pound loss on Sunday was hard-won, especially  when you consider it in the context of what was happening in my life last week, right? I’m doubly determined that the fuck-up fairy is not going to creep up behind me and make off with those four pounds like a thief in the night. So I’m on guard, 24/7 against myself.

I can feel her lurking. I had a bad day on Monday when the reality of life without one of my special people started to bite, and by mid afternoon I’d eaten breakfast lunch and dinner, with a handful of snacks thrown in for good measure. I was at least six hundred calories over my daily budget. I managed to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat by forcing myself to cycle down to the Kingdom of Pain and back – a very hilly eight mile round trip – and doing an hours’ worth of boxing whilst I was there. I brought it home on the nose, but only just…it was a close call.

I did a similar thing yesterday. By late afternoon I was in deficit, having eaten a big lunch and grazed through the afternoon. It was another tough day and seeing my mum so broken and missing her friend sent me hurtling towards Snacksville at warp speed. I pulled it back by going to an unplanned circuit training session last night, which meant that I ended the day with a few calories in the bank but again it felt like I was teetering on the edge.

Today, I’m determined that I’m not going to dance to the tune of that same upside-down fuckery. I’m done with the white knuckle ride. I am working out tonight, but I’m determined to walk through the doors of the Kingdom of Pain with a dinner’s worth of calories ring-fenced in the bank for afterwards. That means dinner and any additional healthy treats can come when I’ve earned them rather than spending my food budget up ahead on tick, and having to sweat my way back from the cliff edge.

I’m exhausted. For the last few nights, any hope of sleep has disappeared as soon as my head hits the pillow. I’m worried about my mum, who’s elderly and very fragile, and not in the best of health herself. I’m trying to sort out a funeral and I’m worried about holding it together long enough on that day so I can deliver a eulogy which is worthy of my Godmother. Most of all I’m grieving. It’s a killer combination and it’s fucking grim trying to hold it all together full stop, you know?

When food has always been your person, or the blanket that you wrap yourself up in whenever life takes a pot shot, finding a new way of processing stuff which doesn’t involve medicating with food sucks till the end of time. Despite logic telling me that five family bags of cheese balls and a Daim cake wouldn’t actually make me feel any better, it doesn’t stop me from wanting to give it my best shot. I won’t go there, but for the love of God I want to.

I just keep telling myself that this too will pass.

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Sometimes, When You Need It The Most…

My Godmother passed away on Saturday evening. I’m incredibly sad, but relieved at the same time that she’s no longer in pain and can now rest in peace. I sat and held her hand for the last three days of her life, which has been both harrowing and comforting all rolled into one. She didn’t have any family of her own, but we were her family through choice, and with a bond every bit as strong.

Always one to have the last word, she waited until I’d nipped home to grab a shower and some food before she drew her last breath and left this world behind.

I thought I’d feel guilty that she died alone, but actually I don’t. I see it as glorious affirmation that she lived life on her terms to the very end and there’s no doubt in my mind that had she wanted to die with her hand in mine she would have done so, and that actually makes me smile.

I think I’m still processing the fact that I’ll no longer be able to pick up the phone for a chat, you know? It doesn’t quite seem real. Hi, it’s me! Hello me… every conversation we had started that way, for as far back as I remember. It was our thing. And breaking the news to my mum that her closest lifelong friend had passed was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. It’s going to be a period of adjustment for all of us as we navigate our way around the massive hole which has opened up in our lives.

When I walked the green mile to the Shitbird Scale yesterday morning, my heart was heavy and the Asshole voice was positively bristling with advice. Skip the weigh-in Dee, your thoughts should be elsewhere…you’re grieving and now isn’t the time to think about dieting. In the grand scheme of things what does it matter today what the number says…take a few days off, just until you’ve got your head around everything…

Now, I’m not suggesting that when my Godmother’s spirit soared on Saturday she had a quiet word with the Gods of Skinny on her way up that stairway to heaven…I mean, I wouldn’t be so bold.


I did step on the scales, and somehow, despite meals snatched at odd hours and a lack of exercise this last week as I’ve kept my vigil, I’d bagged a 4lb loss. Are you serious?

I have no idea how it happened, and actually I don’t feel like I deserve it this week but what I do know is this…if the needle hadn’t moved, or worse than that if it’d gone in the wrong direction, I reckon I’d be midway through the mother and father of all binges right now. I was emotionally fragile, and the Asshole voice was seductive and persistent. Plus, he had a point. In the grand scheme of things does it really matter?

Yes. Of course it fucking matters, because I matter. And whether skinny divine intervention was in play or not, that number kicked the Asshole voice hard in the nicky nacky noos and I didn’t hear another peep out of him all day. No binges, no going off the rails. Just a quiet sense of satisfaction that I’ve taken care of business even in the midst of one of the single most difficult weeks of my life.

Sometimes, when you need it the most, help comes from unexpected quarters, right? I’m just sayin’ 🙂

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A Tough Old Time

It’s been a tough weekend in many respects. Not because I dragged my double arse over a bunch of giant inflatables, I know that was on the cards but sadly it didn’t happen in the end. I got the call on Friday to say my Godmother had taken a turn for the worse, so I cancelled all my plans and I’ve pretty much been with her all weekend.

She’s better, actually, than she was on Friday. I’ve been able to push her outside in a wheelchair over the last couple of days, and we’ve enjoyed a bit of conversation in the sunshine in between her naps, which are becoming more frequent. She’s nearing the end of her life, and I’m so grateful for the extra time we’ve had, because right after Christmas her doctors didn’t think she’d see the spring. I’m not entirely surprised that she’s defied expectations, since she’s never followed a single rule in the whole of her colourful life.

I was ambushed by the Asshole voice in the relatives kitchen at the hospice on Friday night. He’s been very quiet of late, but isn’t it amazing how quick he shoots out of the traps when my defences are low..? I’d gone in to make a cup of tea, and in the middle of the table sat a huge sleeve of Rich Tea biscuits with a handwritten note saying help yourself…for fuck’s sake, I didn’t need asking twice.

In my defence, I was hungry. I’d taken the call early in the afternoon, and rushed straight over there from work. By the time I clocked the biscuits it was around seven hours later and I hadn’t eaten anything since lunch. I did a swift calculation…thirty six calories per biscuit. I didn’t think that was too bad, so I made a conscious choice to eat two. The Asshole voice made a pitch for me to liberate the whole packet, on the basis that firstly I wasn’t going to have any proper food because there wasn’t any to hand, and secondly I was upset, which automatically bestows emergency permission for my diet to go to shit.

In the end I stopped at four, which I didn’t think was too bad. Let’s be honest, they’re not the most exciting biscuits in the world, but to me, in that moment they actually tasted like a piece of heaven. I could’ve done the whole sleeve, but I didn’t. Given that my default setting when I’m upset is to feed my face with crap until the crap runs out, I thought four was a bit of a result to be fair.

I had another decent loss this week, did you see? I’m now officially at my lowest weight in years, and I’m breaking new ground. That’s exciting, right?  I’m just hoping that when the inevitable happens I can keep the wheels on. I think I’ll be okay. My heart is hurting but my mind feels strong and those four biscuits haven’t even caused a ripple, much less a bump in the road. I only ate four, which means I walked away from the rest. I’ve seen that packet of biscuits a dozen times since, and it hasn’t tried to seduce me again even once. I’ve got this.

If my posts are a little sporadic this week, please bear with me…I know you’ll understand why.

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Having A Moan

I don’t imagine that any of you will have lost sleep worrying about the bruises on my nether regions following Sunday’s adventures with the saddle, but just in case you did, you can rest easy…it’s feeling much better. I mean, if I could be bothered to contort myself near the mirror and get a good look I suspect it’d still be a lovely mottled shade of purple but at least now I can sit down without wincing and I’m even starting to fancy another go.

At the risk of having a moan, I’m really struggling this week to stay upbeat and I think I’ve bumped headlong into a great big wall of dieting boredom. Progress is painfully slow and at this rate by the time I earn my skinny stripes I’ll be too fucking old and addled to enjoy that shiny new life. In the grand scheme of things I’d planned to rock skinny whilst I’ve still got some powder in me puff, but the clock’s ticking, you know?

I suppose when you’ve been on a diet for nearly eighteen months it’s only natural that boredom will set in at some point, and it has. It’s arrived with a vengeance. And you know as well as I do, my Asshole voice is going to be all over that like a rash.

I’m bored…I know, let’s eat something. Just have one. Or ten. 

It’s funny isn’t it, when I started this journey eighteen months ago I was reluctant to let my mind wander into the territory of how long it was going to take to undo the damage caused by years of food abuse. I didn’t want to run the risk of my Asshole voice screeching FUCK YOU and forcing me to dive headfirst into a big vat of cheese balls at the prospect of years of depravation.

Not thinking about it has served me well…I can’t remember a time where I spent this long following any kind of food plan. I’ve lost big amounts of weight before, but I never had this much to lose. I’m a stereotypical fat-girl…every time I’ve lost weight, I’ve found it again and then some.

By the time I arrived in Skinny Town last time I’d lost around 100lbs. This time, 100lbs will only get me a little over halfway there and I the reality of that is starting to bite. I’ve also woken up to the fact that even when I get there I’m going to have to carry on counting and measuring ’till the end of time because if I don’t, I’ll do exactly what I’ve always done and bounce right back up the scale without even pausing to admire the view.

I guess I’m just having a moment, right? I’ve done well to stick at it but my progress has slowed and the Asshole voice is trying to lead me into the is it really worth it? school of thinking. It’s a good job know it’s him, and not me.

I’m buckling in…things might get a little bumpy for a while 🙂


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A Quick Transaction

Well yesterday was testing, I seemed to spend pretty much the whole day vexed with one thing or another. My mum had lost one of her hearing aids when I went to collect her after lunch, which is unfortunate because the one she wears in her other ear is currently away being repaired, so with no help in either ear it’s fair to say we’ve had easier days when it comes to communication.

God knows where it’s got to. She thinks she put it in a safe place, only now she can’t remember exactly where that was. She was frustrated because she couldn’t hear anybody and by the end of the day, I was getting that way myself. And then I felt guilty. It’s not her fault, you know? Mum gets very confused these days although to be fair, even before old age messed with her memory my Mum’s safe places had a lot in common with the fucking Bermuda Triangle .

The day wasn’t helped by my decision to burn fourteen of my thirty three points on a big breakfast. I had no weeklies left, so I sailed really close to the wind, in fact I went over by a couple of points at the end of the day. I’d done a supermarket shop, so the fridge was full and the cupboards were looking healthy which is always dangerous when I’m starving. Eating a big breakfast meant that I wasn’t hungry at lunchtime, so I just grabbed a piece of fruit, and ate dinner around 4.30pm, which used up the rest of my daily points allowance. By 8pm I was ravenous. And skint. No food budget left at all.

That’s the point at which the Asshole voice woke up and spied a window of opportunity. Why don’t you have something to eat? This is ridiculous! You’re hungry, and you’ve had a really tough day…nobody would blame you for going over your food budget just this once and you’ve only really bought healthy stuff so what harm could it do? You’re a grown woman, it’s not right that you should have to sit there and starve! 

I resisted all evening. Right up until the moment I went into the kitchen to pick up my bag so I could take it upstairs with me to bed. On the way past the food cupboard I accidentally ate three walnuts and a drizzle of organic honey. As you do. And that little indiscretion pushed me three points over what I’m allowed for the day. I mean, I appreciate that doesn’t sound a lot but it’s almost ten percent over. It’s the start of the slippery slope. That’s all that was racing through my head as I lay in bed last night and reflected on the day.

I’m chasing two pounds this week. Going over my daily allowance isn’t exactly going to cover me in glory, is it? I won’t be doing a victory step-on after I’ve recorded the number on Wednesday if I let that frame of mind take a hold, you know the one that thinks it’s okay to push the boundaries.

In the back of my mind yesterday as I stood in front of the cupboard and pushed those walnuts into my face, tipping my head back so I could squeeze the honey straight into my mouth I was transported back to those days where that kind of action was familiar. It was a quick transaction, you know? A swift surreptitious snack in the half light of the under-cupboard halogens, out of sight of anyone. Well, anyone except the dog, who heard the food cupboard open from three rooms away and immediately assumed the position by my feet like a one-dog SWAT team just in case anything got dropped.

Also in the back of my mind was the intention to knock those extra three points off today’s total…sort of like a loan that has to be paid back. This morning, I can see that for exactly what it is…a fine example of broken thinking. The Asshole was behind that pearl of wisdom, in a move designed to undermine today too. Go to bed feeling like you messed up and start the next day feeling disadvantaged and with an even smaller food budget than usual…way to go to set today up for a fail too. But at least I see it, right? I know his game, and he can fuck right off.

Yesterday’s gone. All I need to do today is colour inside the lines. Stick to my food budget, and make good choices. It’s all okay…I can do that 🙂

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