You would think this would make me uber conscious of my health but it does not. I continue with my eating disorder. I haven’t done much to deal with it. I’m avoiding some blood work my Dr ordered months ago because I know things have changed for the worse. Really, I bide my time. If you could hear inside my brain, it would go something like this:
“Grandmother was XX old when she died. Aunt was XX old when she died. Father is XX old and he’s still alive. There is [this person] who is XX old and he’s morbidly obese and he’s still alive. And then there’s this other person who was only XX when he died of a heart attack. Now….I know my cardiac workup was perfectly fine 2 years ago so I’m probably still okay. If I can just make it to XX age, then DD will be XX age and she’ll have had enough of my influence to be okay for the future.”
How sad that I don’t demand more for my life. How sad that all I do is calculate the odds like a big old Russian Roulette. How sad that I’m only trying to eek out a certain amount of years and, in the meantime, accepting feeling like crap and allowing my addiction to consume me, quite literally.
So I start again. Day One. Last time I made it to 60-something days. I lost motivation because I wasn’t losing any weight. I think that might have to do with the Effexor I’m on. So I go into this not expecting a loss but rather with the mindset of facing the reasons I make the choices that I do. Frankly, once I can face those, I can probably come off the meds and then hopefully I can start losing again. As Oprah says "It's not what you're eating....it's what's eating YOU." I know this is emotional in origin and I want to get to the bottom of that so that I no longer feel the urge to stuff it down with food. But for now….back at square one.