Killing Monsters

I've been just on either side of 300 now for the past 6 weeks or so. And I'd be lying if I said it didn't get me down.  It's like I hit a plateau and can't quite find my way back down. Or more like the harder I try to find my way down, the more I eat to punish myself for failing.  We emotional eaters really have strange relationships to food don't we?

And, of course, I'm dealing with my own inner demons, though these days are much better than that recent post.  You know which one.  I'm not going to revisit it.  It kinda scares me.  Anyway.

This morning I remembered something.  Many years ago, I dealt with unwanted thoughts. Not voices, and not intrusive thoughts or thoughts of harming myself or others.  Just think of it as OCD of the mind.  Or think of it as ruminating and obsessing on emotional thought triggers.

I named it my Monster and worked so hard at killing it.  I was seeing a therapist at that time too, and we tried several cognitive strategies to deal with it. I journaled.  I talked about it in therapy.  I tried teflon mind letting those thoughts enter and slip off like an egg on a brand new non stick skillet.  I tried screaming STOP! in my head and turn my attention to other thoughts.  To no avail.

After about a year, I was finally fed up and said to myself that killing it only fed it, only brought it attention.  Berating myself over not being able to kill it made it laugh and grow stronger.

So I stopped trying to kill it.  I walked away and stopped trying to find ways to kill it.  And I woke up one morning, about three weeks later, and I noticed it was dead.

Now here I am, struggling with weight loss again.  I know I've done it before, so why can't I do it now?  It seemed so easy the first time.  All I think about is food and how I'm going to be good today and wonder at which point of the day I'm going to fail and by golly I can make it well into the evening but then the fear of failure is so strong that I eat that bread or bowl of cereal or box of granola bars or leftover spaghetti that the family got to eat but I didn't cause I'm on this stupid diet and can't eat what they eat and goddamit I'm fed up with it and eat it all because the fear of doing so...

is finally released...

once I let myself do it. 

I have a new monster.  And I only realized it this morning.  I realized I can't kill it.  And I realize that's what I've been doing for oh so long.

Tonight, I'm going to try walking away from it and down the slope of this plateau.

And if I can't, so what.  I'll still be just on either side of 300.  Nothing will change except a new day of opportunity will begin tomorrow.

The price of rain

My soul is tired.

I have done my best this year to keep it together, and keep it together I have.  But at a cost. It is a price I was willing to pay for my wife’s health and my children’s well being.  I would gladly pay it again.  I have no buyer’s remorse.

That price is my own well being.  Now that the crisis is over, I find myself falling. Failing. Tearing. My soul is tired, my head is heavy, and my heart is sad.  I am feeling the weight of my depression pushing down.

And so I eat.   

And I eat.

And I know it is counterproductive.

I know I will hate myself in the morning. Or in the next hour.  Or right now.

Last evening I overate just on this side of a binge.  I made conscious decisions to eat.  It wasn’t mindlessly done.  It was purposefully done.  And the right hand guy would ask “why?” and the left hand guy would say “who gives a fuck?”

And at that precise moment, for that half hour of carb induced inebriation, the right hand guy answered:

“No one.” 

Today, in the light of the day, I know I am not alone. But it often feels that way.

And right now I am not strong enough to keep it together.

Post Christmas Blues

So Christmas has come and gone.  And I'm feeling guilty.  And it's pissing me off.

My plan for eating over the holidays was simple.  No limits.  Simple as that.  I knew that the three family meals I was going to be at would have my most favorite foods.  I knew that the snacking table would be loaded with my favorite salty snacks.  I knew better than to say to myself Deny Deny Deny and then circle the drain of a shame cycle.

So I went with my eyes wide open, ready to enjoy three days of celebration with my families.  I made the decision to not deny myself.  I gave myself permission to ... well, there's no other way to put it except to say PIG OUT.

And, as it was, I didn't.

I snacked all day, but I wasn't stuffing snacks in by the fistful.  No, I grazed and not at a constant rate,  just every now and again.

I ate what I wanted at the meals, and damn the carbs.  But I was satiated after the first serving. So I stopped and did not stuff myself to the point of pain.  There was no feelings of scarcity or thoughts of "get it now while you can cause you don't know when you can do this again." I simply had enough.

I did not take leftovers home with me, despite my mother saying it would just spoil at her house (it won't; she'll freeze it). I knew that this freedom I'd allowed myself was limited.  Taking it home would have meant extending that freedom.

All in all, it was a good weekend.  I should be proud that I gave myself permission rather than scold myself for failing in the face of such temptation.  I should be proud that I stopped when I was satisfied and didn't keep eating for eating's sake.

But I'm not.  I am unhappy.  I'm in a shame cycle anyway.

And it pisses me off.

I gained 10 pounds according to the home scales.  Now, intellectually I know it is impossible to put 10 pound of fat on in a weekend.  I know it is water binding with all the carbs I ate to form the glycogen molecule.  I know it is the food as it's being, um, processed.  I know that it is the effect of my three days of permission...of going off program...of the very thing I made a clear and conscious decision to do.

But, damn.  10 pounds?

I hear the left hand side of the conversations in my head.  And he's laughing.  He makes me feel like I'm not taking it seriously.  Like I'm just doing it for show.  After all, I'm only three weeks out from recommitting to the program.

But that's his job, even when he's wrong.

So, enough.

The weekend is over and it cannot be changed.  I enjoyed myself as I wanted and allowed.  I know that these bad feelings will pass as time goes on.  I accept this pain and will not suffer.

I move forward.  I look back not by turning my head, but by looking through the rear view mirror. 

Conversations in my head

So, you're back on "the program" are you?

Yeah.

Feeling good?

Yeah.

Doing ok so far?

Mostly, yeah.

You're not going to be able to do it, day in and day out.

I know.

You're eventually gonna eat more than you should.

I know.

You're gonna have days where you just don't want to exercise.

I know.

You're going to screw up.

I know.

You are going to fail.

I know.

You a...what?

I know all these things.

I'm not perfect.

  We're not perfect.

So why do it?

Because most days, I will eat right.

Most days I will exercise.

Most days I will be good enough.

Most days I will succeed.

Yeah, but "most days" means some days you will fall.
And I'll be right there to make you feel like shit.

I know.

Aren't you scared?

Yeah.  But I do not fear you.

Dude, don't you get it?

I'm in a better place.

I can look at you and not fear you.

I know you now better than I ever have.

Sure I'm scared that it won't work in the end, but

I do not fear trying.

I do not fear facing you and

Telling you to go to hell 

When I need to.

I won't make it easy for you.

I wouldn't expect anything less.

You are a part of me.

You always will be.

But, what I've decided...

What?

I've decided that I'm not doing
This to prove you wrong.

I'm doing it for me.  

And you.

Me?

Yeah.
You serve a purpose. You make me

Question. Inquire. Challenge. 

Learn. Live. Love.

You are not evil.

You + me = ME.

And I'm ready

To make ME

Something new.

Something old.

Something real.

Something happy.

You're a tool.

Ha!

I know.  So are you.

You coming?

A Dip in the Sidewalk

So, I was going to write this post about how well things are going. How much things have changed since my life settled down and the new medication actually worked.  How I spent some time going through the blogs of others and found such inspiration.  I was going to write about change and, at the same time, change the layout of The Jogging Clydesdale as a some sort of symbolic representation of this "change".

I was going to, but then I wrote this one.

Today has been tough.  The girls had friends over last night and most of today. There was pizza. There was chips. And dip.  Did I mention the dip? And there was chips.  And doughnuts. And Bismarcks with cream filling. And I ate myself sick.  I am literally nauseous right now, tasting the burps of bbq potato chips. And dip.

Please tell me I'm not the only one to sweep a finger along the bottom and sides of a mostly empty chip dip container to get the last teaspoon of that sour cream goodness.  Please?

So, today wasn't a good day.

But this much has changed.

I am depressed this evening about my choices. But I'm not ashamed.  I know that I am human and can take only so much temptation. And dip.

I'm walking again, 2-3 times a week. And I'm trying to use the stationary bike the nights I don't walk.  And I did visit so many of the blogs I used to read for inspiration but had gotten out of the habit once my depression had really set in.  I am inspired by so many people who have walked down this road before.

I can feel a change just around the corner.

Today I've merely stumbled on a crack in the sidewalk.

And landed in the dip.

It's Official

It's Official.

I am too fat for Wal-Mart.

NOTHING in my size.

Shit.

Discoveries

It started with a memory.

I had been thinking about food and my odd relationship with it and I remembered a friend’s 30th birthday party. They had shish kabob gyro meat done up on the grill and all sorts of things to make Greek goodness.

And soon, as people were done eating, I got nervous.

You see, there was still meat on the buffet table. Delicious gryo meat! I couldn’t stand it. There was meat and no one was going to eat it. Presumably my friend would have put it in a container and kept it as leftovers, but she wasn’t doing it. She left it out there! And no one was eating it! The compulsion to eat it was overwhelming. I tried to be sneaky about it. I tried to hide the fact I was snacking long after everyone else had stopped eating. To this day I don’t know if anyone noticed, but the memory of that shame has not left me after 9 years. I ate about a 1/3 pound of meat that I wasn’t hungry for….simply because no one else was going to and I couldn’t stand it being there. Perhaps a third pound isn’t excessive, but the thoughts accompanying were.

Does this make a lick of goddam sense?

That memory lead to other thoughts. Roast beef, gravy and mashed potatoes. OMG. Whenever we have this, I pig out. And the thought in my head is “who knows when you’re gonna have this again? Better get it while you can.” Pig out city. Same thing with what my family calls goulash (most people would call it chili mac without the chili seasoning). I go ape shit for this stuff and eat bowl after bowl with the same thoughts “Better get it while you can.” Same with tuna & noodles. Same with chop suey. Same with popcorn. Same with macaroni and cheese (homemade with Velveeta, not that boxed stuff).

It’s insanity is what it is.

It is a compulsion from my unconscious mind. These foods are my comfort foods. They are the foods we had growing up. We had at least one of those dishes every week (well, not the roast beef, but since we raised steers it was often enough). I’m sure there some emotional attachment there that I’m going to have to explore someday. And all this brought to mind many other things. Mom couldn’t leave a gas station without a candy bar, and one for each of us boys. There was always an after school snack (sometimes healthy, sometimes not). There was nearly always a bedtime snack. Then there were the things that were scarce: Pop was only on hand if we were sick or having pizza. We didn’t have pizza very often. Chips were only served if we were having burgers and dogs. There is still a part of my mind that considers these things treats and rarely enjoyed despite the fact that I have them all the friggen’ time now.

“Better get it while you can.”

It has never been so clear to me that any health gain for me will not happen until I address this emotional attachment to food. Habits, fears of scarcities, attachments to childhood memories. These things I hadn’t figured on. Here I thought emotional eating meant only to eat as a way to deal with stress and hurt. It goes much deeper than that.

I am grateful for these discoveries.

A friend on Facebook posted a quote from Regina Brett in God Never Blinks:

"Forgiveness is giving up all hope of a better past. At first that sounds harsh, but once you let go of what you wanted the past to be, you can start changing the present and create a better future.”

I don’t know what her book is about or what context this quote comes out of, but boy oh boy it is powerful. Forgiveness is giving up all hope of a better past. Forgiveness of myself is giving up all hope that I won’t eat that gyro meat 9 years ago. It means giving up all hope that I’ll be able to restrain my compulsions of the past. It means giving up all hope that my mother will be a better example to the child within me when it comes to diet. It means to come to the final, inescapable conclusion that the past is set in stone. The hurts inflicted by myself and by others will not be erased and no hope in the world can change what has happened.

The present, however, can be changed. And that is more power than I've ever had before.

I have a lot of work to do.

Falling shoes

Well, the other shoe finally fell yesterday. After 9 months of hanging in there on one paycheck, making the bills and the mortgage and buying enough food and clothes to keep the family from being hungry and naked, the good times have come to an end.

The hospital decided to call in all their chips. "Give us 9 grand by Thursday," they said "and we'll write off the rest. Or, alternatively, go to collections and pay an additional 33% on it all."

So, after making monthly payments for 2 years and not hearing a single peep of dissatisfaction from the health care facility, I gotta come up with a bunch of money I don't have in two days. I put it on a credit card and now I have to figure out how to pay two credit card bills. On top of everything else. And my wife needs to continue treatment at said hospital so it's not as if I'm done with them either.

I know there are a lot of families out there that are hurting, that are struggling to make it from week to week or even day to day. But, you know what? That doesn't bring me a lot of comfort.

I have no idea what I'm going to do. So long as I have my small savings, I can make the mortgage and the bills until August, but after groceries and gas there is nothing left. And once the savings is gone, I'm done. I have no plan B nor do I even know who I could talk to about plan B.

Just how much more does the universe think it can squeeze out of me?

And this situation does nothing for my wife's current state of health. Well, nothing positive anyway, making it even less likely she'll be able to work any time soon, thus keeping us in this evil cycle.

Yeah, I'm feeling rather Woe Is Me.

In brief

Struggling a bit today.  Feeling overwhelmed by the fact I am back to my heaviest (on record) and have needed to buy a new wardrobe.  It's been true for several weeks, but it is just hitting hard today.  Hard to not feel a failure. Hard to love myself in spite of my imperfections.  Hard to convince myself I am worthy.

These mind games are really putting a twist on me.

Therefore:

I acknowledge that these feelings exist and I declare that they have served their purpose:  they have informed me that something is wrong; there is an imbalance in my life.  I accept this, and I forgive myself for wallowing.  I am so worth it and I will never be perfect.  And I do love myself.

Even so, I am not too proud to say I could a couple of attaboys.

Bump at Lesson 3

I've been making my way, slowly, through Marianne Williamson's book, A course in weight loss (citation at the end of this post) after one of my favorite bloggers, Karen at Before & After suggested it to me.  I've only made it through 5 of the 21 lessons and I'm struggling a bit with it.

The author's main point seems to be that, until I resolve the very basic fears and issues I have with myself, no amount of dieting program or exercise will be successful in the long run.  I believe that, and the 21 lessons are a guide in helping me navigate down to the core of my negativity and building myself back up.

It is pretty powerful stuff.

I've gotten a fair bit of positive comments on my preceding post, Letters from a madman.  That was the result of working through lesson 2.  I was completely thrown by what my thin self had to say to my fat self,  AND vice versa.  I honestly had no idea how much I was holding in.  My wife took me to task for dropping the F-bomb not once, but twice.  But those letters convey exactly what my different perspectives I have of myself have to say.

Working through the book, however, it becomes clear that it was written with a strong focus on giving up to God my struggles and desire to control my habits.  Much like the AA program, I'm asked to believe in a higher power that can overcome my food addictions or compulsive eating because I certainly do not have the power to do it alone (or at all).  That's a problem.  Despite the fact that I am a 40 year old Mennonite man, baptized at 16, member of a congregation and, until recently, an appointed member of that congregation's leadership team...I have a very, very hard time with my faith.  I am a closet agnostic who wants to believe, wants to share with a body of believers, but, in the end, I know I cannot categorically say I know there is more.

And I wonder if it is worth pursuing this book further if I am continually encouraged to place my trust in the Divine Mind.

Much of what I read in her book makes sense and has already made an impact.  I am aware, now, just how much self loathing I have created and carry (well, I know how much I've discovered...there may be more to come).  I am trying to accept myself and be comfortable with my size to the point where it is no longer a problem for me to solve, but a life I can choose. Or not choose.  I am convinced more than ever that before any meaningful change, I must learn that I am important enough for me to love unconditionally.  And this doubt in a higher power so early in the book is a stumbling block as I begin this journey.

The author invites the reader to take whatever notion of a higher power one can feel comfortable with. Right now the only power I feel comfortable in taking on is Love.  I know that is corny.  But there are so many people in my life who have shown me love even when I don't always recognize it.  The love of my wife, my parents and my children (and, occasionally, my brothers).  The love of my 20 warriors who journeyed with me when I lost 60 pounds in 08-09; and journeyed with me again when I put it all back on.  The love of the readers who come by my blog, strangers for the most part, but still willing to leave a message of encouragement or sympathy or empathy.  The love of my many friends IRL and elsewhere on the internets.

If I can learn to give myself that kind of power from myself to myself, I will get past lesson 3 and move on.

And, as promised, the bibliographic information:

Williamson, Marianne. A Course in Weight Loss: 21 Spiritual Lessons for Surrendering Your Weight Forever. Carlsbad, CA: Hay House, 2010. Print.

I'm so tired, I haven't slept a wink

I don't know what I'm going to do.  I've alluded in the past that my wife is sick.  She's not been able to work since the very end of July.  Today we found out that if she doesn't return by this Friday, she will lose her position.  If she's not back by October 24, she'll be let go entirely.

There is a treatment for what ails her.  We've been waiting 2 weeks for treatment to start.  But a medication that is needed is in short supply nationwide.  So we keep getting told next week.  Always next week.  If she had started two weeks ago, it is very likely she'd be back in shape by the 24th.  Now.....

Stripped to the bone, my salary can cover our mortgage, bills and expenses.  But if I need to pick up her insurance, since she covers the kids as well, there is no way we can make it.  I'll be half a grand short every month.

OMG.  I know this is supposed to be a running blog or a weight loss blog.  But the stress I am experiencing is overwhelming.  I want to eat everything in sight.  The only thing stopping me is knowing I can't afford to.

Thanks for listening.