I just typed a big HUGE message and it's frigging disappeared!!!!!
So here I am at work taking a quick few minutes to re-type it.
Last night was a disaster. Self sabotage AGAIN. It's embarrassing, and makes me feel totally stupid and ashamed ... :break_diet:
Here's what happened - RC got in touch full of love, attention, hearts, flowers and sexy texts; as with men and buses, you know how this goes: I also met a lovely new guy (MH), and we got along so well we decided to exchange mobile numbers to continue the conversation (totally out of character for me!) - the WhatsApp chats and texts have been fun and crazy, sexy, cool (and if you get that reference you're as old as me lol)....
On top of that one of my sisters (M - the eldest) is acting bafflingly selfish because my Mum's carer dared to call two months ago and ask her to call/visit Mum as Mum was slipping out of the house and roaming looking for my sister (Alzheimers strikes again. Bl00dy disease) - so my eldest sis is sulking because "how dare she call me, who does she think she is?"; I pointed out this is exactly why we're paying the carer to be 'johnny-on-the-spot' five days a week - for exactly those kind of observations (as well as the live in care obviously), but it made no difference and she's decided to not help with having Mum ANY weekend nor visit. Her long running sibling rivalry with my middle sister has reared its ugly head and she snipes that E (middle sis) can be the "superstar" - she (M) is 'washing her hands of it' (?). I say all that because E always carries the whole burden every weekend (lives closest to Mum), and I chip in for long weekends when I can and when King Twat can drive her up. The downside is of course the exhaustion with my knee (luckily the ovarian surgery is out of the way and all is healed - touch wood! - but I can't use my crutch or knee brace when Mum stays over as it greatly distresses her), it all falls solely to me when Mum comes over so I don't sleep because she can't settle, and feels lost and depressed as the sun goes down (literally called 'sun-downing in Alzheimers), roams throughout the night so I don't sleep, then wakes up at first light etc, and king twat uses that as an excuse to stay over to drive Mum back - so is in my house throwing me longing looks, trying to touch me at every opportunity (*shudder*) for 2 or 3 days. Plus I will have to cook and entertain for all three days of the long bank holiday weekend, then come straight back to work, exhausted and depleted. I'm already running on empty. I want to run away, just take to the hills and keep running!
So. I binged like I was going for Olympic Gold!
What the heck is wrong with me? I know better. I've worked my butt off to get this far. And I'm actually embarassed and sick of my own whingeing and bleating - they're all excuses. All. Of. Them. I overate because I'm addicted to comforting and soothing myself with food - well, I'm tired of eating my emotions, internalising my angst, and killing myself with food. I'm tired of it. I want a success story of my own.
Years ago I went on a fabulous counselling session (Cognitive Behavioural Therapy - with NLP) and the HUGE breakthrough was that my 25 year old subconscious self had decided to protect me from mental, verbal and emotional abuse by overeating and getting Fat - thereby protecting me from King Twat. It worked. I got divorced and got strong; unfortunately my 'Fight or Flight' response to anxiety, fear, uncertainty or depression is 'Fight/EAT or Flight/EAT'. I have to stop. I'm 38! I HAVE to. I need to unlearn this behaviour. I need to believe that I deserve to be happy. And loved. And don't need titanium armour to survive romantic relationships (and King twat can jog on. He tries one of his creepy 'oh let me give you a casual hug hello then try to hang on, draped over you, with soulful gazes at your mouth, like a persistent case of head lice, hands trying to touch you .:9529:.. yuk!). I'm grown, surely I can handle the awkward and embarassing (for him!), the wonderous, and the new, with confidence and style
without food?
At 15 stone I'm rapidly losing my grip on all I've fought for and achieved. My size 16s are
tight, my face is bloated ... I'm sick of feeling embarassed and like I'm failing myself. I need an intervention guys. I need to wake the heck up to how far I've come and how far I need to go. I need to get that blasted ticker moving again!
I've got to get in the groove *sigh* I just don't know how.
Okay. Day 1. One hour, one day, one month at a time. I can lose a stone and get down to 14 stone by 1st June. I can.
I can. I'm the pilot, the navigator and the Queen of my destiny.
I am.
Goodness, I'm so sorry for this long essay guys and dolls
- but I actually feel slightly less frantic, I think having to write it twice helped me mentally, - and all my self-anger is here on this page, not rattling around in my head. Thank you for giving me a safe place to land
I actually feel better xx
