The Comfort of Food
Saturday, September 30, 2017
I'm going through a rough time right now. N is in the hospital and I am spending my days running back and forth to spend as much time there as I possibly can. My exercise is spotty, and my regular exercise routine is nonexistent. This is partially because every time I go to exercise all I want to do is go be with N.
But that's not the real problem. The real problem is food. Not hunger. Because, truth be told I'm not hungry. Really, really not hungry. But I want the comfort of food.
I've surrendered to this to some extent, more than I should have. Two days ago I told myself that I could buy a thin crust, chicken, bacon, artichoke pizza because that would be at LEAST three meals I wouldn't have to cook. I ate three-quarters of it for one meal, and then got up at 3 AM and ate the rest of it. I wasn't hungry. But I wanted the comfort of the crust and cheese.
At lunch today I had to run home to let the dog out. I stopped at the store and bought two pieces of fried chicken and a couple of other things, including a box of mini chocolate ice cream cones. I reasoned that I could safely have two mini cones a day and that they would be a treat.
I got home and ate the chicken. I wasn't hungry but I wanted the comfort of crispy chicken and fat. I followed it by two of the ice creams. I went back to the hospital. When I returned home for the night I ate the other six. I wasn't hungry. I wanted the comfort of chocolate coated ice cream in a chocolate cone.
This isn't going to work. It wouldn't take much for the scale to start climbing upward, reclaiming numbers I am determined to leave behind. It wouldn't take much for diabetes to raise its ugly head and taking me back down a road to terrible health.
When I'm with N I'm determinedly cheerful. All will be well. Everything is fine. While I am there, I believe it. Leaving is a problem. When I leave all of the worries I have suppressed come roaring back. While I know I create my thinking, it somehow becomes silent when I surrender to the comfort of food.
I'm not sure what to do here. I'm struggling.
I guess I am trying to figure out how to cope. I have been on the "food is medicine" road for a little more than a year. It's a good, good road. But, I don't have time. I don't have energy. I don't want to cook for myself. I hate it. I know I have to take care of myself first. That I can't do anything for N if I make myself sick. And I am not hungry, but I want the comfort of food that tastes of my past. That tastes of good times. I want the comfort of food that makes me happy, but that is where madness lays.
I don't know what I am going to do to handle this. This blog is part of it. I am owning the feeling. I am also trying to get it out of my head. A lot of times if I write things out they cease to be an issue. I have no idea if this is going to work.
I am still tracking. I am still working towards my goal. But the world is spinning pretty fast right now and I need to learn how to get the comfort I need without sabotaging myself with food. Suggestions welcome.