red alert, red alert... you have crossed into the danger zone

It's only a pound or two, so you promise yourself you'll do better tomorrow. When tomorrow never comes and those one or two pounds become three or four you rationalize that it really isn't all that bad since you're still a wonderful pound under your goal weight - the weight you never really imagined you'd ever get to again, let alone surpass it and keep it off for a year. But when that rationalization fails and you find yourself one disgusting pound over your goal weight... it's a RED ALERT moment. There's absolutely NOTHING you can say to make that lowly pound (or the other three or four on top of it) be alright.

I'm ashamed to admit all systems are in RED ALERT status for me. I'm so freakin' embarrassed that I've ignored all the warning signs. How on earth could I have not already learned my lesson from the past? Or do I just not care?

Of course I care, or I wouldn't be here airing my secret dirty laundry. Right?

So what am I missing? I've got plenty of excuses I can give - winter weather so less physical movement, meds are off again, stress over things I have no control over. They all work, and individually are all truly part of the problem. But that doesn't make them excuses. It makes them action items. Things that need to change.

My future is very uncertain right now and I'm heading straight into that brick wall I've hit so many times before. I need to find the brakes, and quick. I'm just not sure I have it in me, again.

It Was One of Those Nights

Do you ever feel like someone else is at the master controls of your life, sitting behind the curtain flipping switches without warning and laughing hysterically to themselves at your actions? That's what life's like being an emotional eater. And let me tell you something. It pretty much sucks!

Last night was one of those nights for me. Day two on this week's emotional rollercoaster of life. And I plunged to the bottom. Then crashed. Literally.

The past two days have been full of extreme highs (finally moving my arse, getting a new computer & finding "forgotten money" on-line) and lows (being yelled at by my mother & hung up on by the ex). And in between there's been laughter, anger, tears, and apathy. Emotions I've grown used to over the years but somehow still can't seem to balance. They mess with my mind. Disrupt my sleep pattern. And worst of all, send me into an unconscious eating frenzy.

I didn't eat dinner with my son last night because he was out to dinner with his dad. Apparently this was enough of an excuse to my pitiful lack of self control to wait until after he went to bed to finally eat. I was good. A well balanced, portion controlled dinner. Shortly after, the sinking feeling I get when I've eaten too late, and when I'm tired. Emotionally tired. I rummaged through the pantry looking for anything to sate myself. Numb myself, maybe.

It wasn't until I was a third of the way through the bag that I realized what I was doing, but by then it was too late. The damage was done. I was tired. Physically, emotionally and mentally. I was sick. Sick to my stomach - not only for having eaten too much, but for losing what little control I seem to have over my choices.

And I crashed.

I'm disgusted.

I've Come a Long Way, Baby!

One of the "benefits" of my divorce was being granted permission by the United States Army to be issued a pseudo-military ID to access the hospital for my son. Along with this dubious honor I get to make an annual drive to Ft. Lewis to renew my ID, such as I did today. In the rain. And sleet. And snow showers. Oh what fun.

I got there at a good time (read as no waiting), walked in prepared to say "cheese" for the camera, when the girl behind the desk asks me, "Would you like to keep the same picture?" Now where the hell was she when I took my first military ID photo? The one that made me look hot, skinny, and kinda sexy. This last one. Let's just say it was, maybe, if you've got your beer goggles on, one step above my hideous driver's license photo. I asked if I had to keep it and she told me I could take a new one. A new one it was. And, although I didn't smile much, it's a million times better than the previously mentioned pictures.

So fast forward to dinner. WJ asks about my day, and what I did, so I tell him that I went to get my new ID. Which leads me to wondering where his ID went. I dug around looking for it and stuck it back in my wallet where it should be.

"That's not my ID," he says. "It's supposed to be white."

"No, that's my ID that's white. This is yours."

"Can I see your new one?"

"Sure," I say as I head over to my wallet to dig it out.

"Oooh! That looks great, Mom. And look. There's your other ID," he comments while looking at my hideous driver's license photo.

"Yuck!" I reply. "That ugly thing?"

"It's not ugly, Mom."

"It is to me. Do you know why?"

"No... why?" he asks.

"I was 32 lbs. heavier in that picture." And I held them up side by side, next to me. "Which Mommy do you like better?" I asked.

"I like YOU!" he replied.

Some day my son will be a politician.

I stopped and really looked at my driver's license picture. Really looked at it. It's not flattering in the least. And it repulsed me. My weight listed was 185, and that was probably a stretch - I was more like 190 at the time but wouldn't admit it. That me is gone. In so many ways. Put away in the past.

I've come a long way. And I'm still forging ahead!