The word ‘ habit ‘ is sometimes a kinder terminology than ‘ addiction ‘. However, in my case, saying that I have habits is a form of denial because what I actually have is an addiction. This was never more apparent to me than this morning. I had already started to fret about my daily routine/ritual/call it what you will , last night. The tussle began whilst I was eating my dinner. I ‘ over-did ‘ it and ate, horrors of horrors, TWO poached eggs with my 4 brussel sprouts, 2 florets of broccoli, spoonful of corn and slice of butternut. Its hard to describe or explain without a detailed analysis of my daily rituals and routines which I hope to consign to paper as soon as I can muster up the energy. I know that in so doing, the stark reality and almost comical enormity of my situation may kick in and jolt me but I still don’t feel ready for this. I’m merely being honest here – call it denial or avoidance if you like. Back to last night : The first dilemma lay in the decision as to whether I should partake in the nightly ritual of some pudding and a couple of bits of chocolate or not. This was all linked into the fact that I had weighed myself recently and had put on about a pound in weight. I still cannot bring myself to make public how much I weigh but despite the intellectual comprehension that I should put on some weight, yet it is patently clear to me that this frightens the pants off me and is a major part of my struggle to change my habits and rituals. You see, by adhering religiously to the same foods and rituals, I know that I won’t put on weight because they are so carefully constructed and designed to literally maintain my weight. This pathological fear goes right back to my childhood with that insidious message from my mother that fat is bad/disgusting/ ugly and unforgivable. I’m digressing again . Its hard to stick to my intended train of thought when there is so much stuff churning around underneath.
So, back to the dichotomy of whether to pleasure myself with the sweet after-dinner titbits. The self-control rose victorious and the desire was quelled and subdued. An almost smug feeling of empowerment brought some satisfaction, that temporary feeling that most dieters can identify with. However, for me, the anxiety is always there -it never goes away and so I was already thinking about the next meal, ie. breakfast. You see, we are experiencing this chronically cold and bitter ‘ Beast from the East ‘ in London and the UK, a cold spell that has brought a bitterly cold wind and snow that has rendered some places to a complete halt as roads become untraversable and sidewalks become mini ice-rinks as people slip and slide their way along. Snow was predicted to fall for most of today making visibility poor and together with strong winds, my usual daily walk seemed like a distinct improbability. The fact is – my daily walk after breakfast always makes me feel better , physically and psychologically- Don’t you know that physical exercise utilises energy which then in turn, burns calories , ie. my breakfast ?? Now, I’m faced with this quandary. If I can’t walk , then I surely can’t eat breakfast because then I won’t be able to burn it off . Pure mathematics. Breakfast + no walk = putting on weight. Its as simple as that.
What did I actually end up doing? Compromising of course. Breakfast was a slice of melon with a cup of tea and then I stood at the window watching the snow coming down whilst wrestling in my head . The demons inevitably won and I gingerly tottered out for a shorter walk than usual. Did I enjoy it? Not particularly. I risked falling and injuring myself with every step, my hands were like blocks of ice and my nose ran constantly. I’m still frozen, 2 hours later but all this is a pleasure compared to how I would have felt had I not succumbed to the ritual. This illustrates how deeply entrenched and how strong my compulsions are and why it is such a mammoth and seemingly impossible quest to overcome them.
I am going to persevere and I AM going to find a way.
