Ten days later! I started each day with good intentions. I struggled to keep control of my ever-bending elbow. Then, as if some evil magician cast a wicked spell on me, the ol’ brain would snap again.
One day, I was cooking treats for my daughter Jennifer’s baptism reception. I had determined not to touch one bite of those luscious desserts. But suddenly I found myself chomping down on a mouthful of sugary, high-fat calories. And when I take that first bite of anything sweet—look out! I started shoveling things into my mouth. I went berserk. Finally, I was smart enough and brave enough to leave the kitchen. I knew I didn’t have a chance in there.
I became sick that night, feeling as if I were going to throw up. When I woke up the next morning, I was sure I had learned my lesson, so I wasn’t worried about overeating again. It wouldn’t be worth it to go through another night of total discomfort! Even though I had to cook some more yummies that day, I was sure I’d be in control. I controlled myself all right—all the way to the kitchen!
I also ate too much Saturday, while serving the food at the reception. Sunday, I was afraid to weigh myself. So I pulled a typical, stupid, self-defeating “fat-person” trick: I ate a whole lot more. Monday, I felt positive I’d be good on my diet. I weighed in because I felt brave enough to face the music. My fears were a reality. I’d gained two pounds. Oh, gag, I weighed 235 again. Then, despite my actual terror of climbing back up the hell scale, I overate again. As all fat people know, “fatophobia” can almost keep you from breathing normally at this point.
Sure enough, Tuesday was two more pounds—I had reached a petite 237! And now I was on a hot run, because Wednesday I was 238. Panic, terror, what will I do, where will I go? How can I grab on to that “magic ring” and get off this horrible ride? I can’t thinkof anything but food, yet I don’t want to eatanything. Oh please, God, help me make it through this one day.
I do pretty well during the day; then it seems toward evening, something bites me and shakes its ugly head from side to side till I feel like diving into a bowl of whipped cream. I’m writing to calm myself. I can’t stand my body at this point. It has to get better.