This is the first Saturday I have had to be on my diet. It has been hard. Saturday is kind of the day I can to eat what I want, when I want. I usually eat with reckless abandon on Saturday (I try to be the best at what I do, which includes eating). Unfortunately, I could not do that today. I mean, I could eat all of my normal diet meals, but I also got to sit around while the rest of the family had these great sandwiches on great bread, talked about getting ice cream, snacking on pre-Halloween treats. I guess Emily and the kids decided not to really bother being “supportive” today. Not that it is their job to support me, it is just hard to sit around and watch them all eat while I watch and then finally withdraw from them so I don’t feel so bad for myself. Anyway, right now, as I write, Emily and the kids are down stairs eating their gourmet sandwiches on La Brea bread (this is a great bread, my favorite) with some great, fresh cheese and deli meat. I had barbeque chicken for the sixth night in a row. It sure isn’t fun without food.
Earlier today I had a few things I had to do away from the house. As soon as I pulled up, Emily had a bunch of tasks for me. I knew I should have stopped right then and gotten something to eat (this diet I am on requires me to eat every 2 to 3 hours, and I was at about 2 hours and 45 minutes), but I didn’t. Two hours later, I was scrambling to get something to eat. I was tired, ornery, and even a bit jittery. It was amazing to see how quickly my body has adjusted to getting several smaller meals every few hours. There was a problem though. I got so hungry, I wolfed down my dinner, and now, an hour later, I am still feeling hungry—even though I have had my last meal of the day.
In a lot of ways, it is a pathetic situation. To think that I have become so dependent upon food that I actually feel lonely when it isn’t around is (I think) kind of sick in its own way. At the same time, I have slowly come to the realization that this is something that I have chosen to become a crutch—something for me to lean on to relieve stress and entertain me. Of course not having it around would make me a bit depressed—and even a bit lonely.
Ultimately, though, I am just whining, right? I mean, honestly, who cares if I can’t have some bread? It is only bread. The challenge is that I have somehow allowed myself to create an addiction to food. I don't know, not just having a little bread is probably a mild form of what someone who is addicted to cigarettes or alcohol or some kind of drug. But like those addicted to more serious substances, I have used food as a pschyotropic drug. Something to dull the other senses. I suppose I should be grateful that I chose something to be addicted to that only affects my weight and not my brain cells (though over time maintaining my current weight will probably cause a lot more serious problems than lost brain cells), but regardless of what the addiction is, breaking the habit is extremely difficult.
In my life, food has become a companion. I guess that over time, the drugs, the alcohol, the tobacco, the food--whatever you are addicted to--becomes a constant companion. The addiction is always there, hanging out. And when things get stressful, it is there to ease the stress. When things get hard, it helps make everything just a little bit easier. Yeah, I know I am whining, but hey, I am whining over the loss of a very close friend. Sure, food may not be a good friend (it sure can pack on the weight!), but it can be a constant one. Telling it to go away is not an easy task, and frankly, it is a lonely one.
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