Now, there's a creative (aka nuts) delusion to justify stuffing in the junky sweets

The Sweets Empire Parts 1 and 2

If you've never read Japanese manga online before, you read it right to left, top to bottom. You can click on the page to go to the next one, or hit the "go right" arrow on your keyboard.

This is a two-part story in a series of often dark stories about teens. Madness (transient or otherwise) or surreal escapist fantasies or skewed perspectives figure in many. The author weaves the characters into a very cool finale, complete with an unnatural natural disaster and "new day" sorta hope. It's an ending that lets them...fly...sorta...

In The Sweets Empire, a gal loses a lot of weight in order to confess her love to a boy in her class who favors thin beauties. But she's derailed by ONE spoonful of a sugary treat snuck into her mouth by a mischievous friend. What follows is ...not normal. Binge eaters will identify in part with her reaction!

The ending of her story is victorious for her, and man, some of us need a full-size poster made out of that last panel.  If cakes and sweets are your downfall, take a look at that panel and repeat like the heroine, "I won't ever surrender to you, evil sweets empire!"

Be well...

Grappling and Taking Down the Emotional Monster

You can guess life smacked me around a bit, since I haven't posted since, er, when, Saturday?

Okay, so Saturday began a descent that culminated in Sunday's insanity.

I found out some very stressful news from Sister A, which even today has me praying double and triple time for her. We all met up (siblings and their kidlets) for a birthday party Sunday. I'd had one of my happy but lite breakfasts to get me in a better frame of mind.

I brought over fruit and Greek Salad.

I had THREE servings of the salad with honey pear dressing, about 3 ounces of Serrano ham, white "Cuban style" cheese with coffee, who knows how many Amaretti cookies, I lost count. A piece of dark chocolate. One bit of Parmesan bread. Coconut water. White wine with strawberries.

But the situation with Sister A had gotten worse and she was near tears. Sister B was going through a new round of depression and had an infection causing her severe pain. Gosh, there was a pall over that party.

On the drive home, I was feeling the blossoming of Monster Binge. I really could feel that I was totally about to lose it. I wanted to weep. I felt so helpless that I could help neither sister right now.

So, I tell hubby in a voice not to be messed with: I want a hamburger!

He's the sweetest, dearest man in the universe, but at this point, he should have told me, "Honey, I love you more than my own life. No. You are not having a fast food hamburger."

I'm having visions of buffalo wings, tacos, burgers, pizza. I am possessed, I swear.

Well, the only blessing in all of this is that I only got the burger (no fries, no dessert, and even at the party, I bypassed the birthday key lime pie and apple strudels). I got home and I ate it. Very fast.

And I said, "Shit....this has to stop."

I started drinking water, water, had a high protein hot cocoa to give my mouth something that wasn't "evil".

I went to bed still feeling a little crazed.

Now, I felt horrible when I woke up 4 hours later. (Yeah, add not enough sleep, cause the sister and food thing is making me uneasy on the mattress there.) I ate a very small breakfast (200 cals) and water.

I almost cancelled Pilates, but that would have made hubby sad and me mad at myself. Hubby was heading out that afternoon to San Francisco for a business conference, so I didn't want to make him worry about me on top of everything else. I got my workout clothes on. I did NOT want to go. (A rare thing, as I like doing my Pilates and feeling that "I did it" glow aftewards.)

So, I went to Pilates. Bloated from all the sodium and crap the day before. I did the upper body work fine, but my knee was bad. Dunno why? Lower body work took a bit of modifying.

There's a Subway below the Pilates studio. I don't go there very often, but I decided before I got lured in by the various WORSE fast food options on the way home, I'd get something. I got the footlong Turkey Jalapeno Melt (extra turkey) (to share with hubby) with every veggie they had on top. And baked chips. And a Coke Zero. (I looked away from the cookies.)

I ended up having 1/3 of the chips and tossing them. 1/2 the sub with avocado. 1/2 the Coke Zero.

And I felt like I started to calm down.

Hubby had had lunch while I was gone, so I wrapped the Sub for dinner or lunch the next day (sans half the bread).

I had a blip later that day (too much tzatziki and too much almond butter, but not as bad as the day before).

I spent a lot of time just grappling internally, and y'all who binge know what I mean. Just trying to destress, find a calm place, and not let food win.

By Tuesday, I had started to calm down. I talked to Sister A (things were still bad, she sounded down), and then I prayed some more. I ate the leftover sub for supper with a plum and some debloating coconut water. I was able to finally get good sleep--solid, not waking up feeling panic sleep: 11 hours' worth.

I was able to bring down the quantity again Tuesday, meaning after Sunday's worst and Monday's still a bit bad, Tuesday was almost good. :)

But good enough that when I checked the scale today (and I was terrified to do so before), I was less than Friday's weigh-in. Hallelujah! In fact, I haven't weighed THAT number (254.0) since July of 2002. And the only reason I remember the precise month and year is that is what I weighed after my emergency appendectomy (July 5th) during the follow-up weigh-in at the surgeon's office.

I'm not out of the woods emotionally, but it's calmer. It's been raining and raining and raining (tropical depression), and that makes me feel a little blue, but not too much. And that's a ray of light.

So, I have high hopes for today and tomorrow. I want a decent weigh-in Friday, and staying calm and not letting worry get to me will be key.

I wish you a calm day and night, with less food and more movement and a lot more sleep. :)

Why I'm Looking Eastward and Giving Switzerland a Dirty Look Today!!!

719 days, 7 hours to go....

Holy cow. I discovered a bomb in my house yesterday!

So, there I was. Eating well. Drinking pretty well. No binges. Pretty calm. It's suppertime. We're almost done eating. I made a no-sugar apple compote to give hubby for dessert with some vanilla frosty (I don't get tempted by those, so I can use half of a small frosty one night for his dessert and the rest the next night, usually with an apple compote.)

Then hubby gets up, goes, "Oh, I almost forgot..." and goes off to retrieve something from his office. He comes back and it's some treat a co-worker brought back from a trip to Switzerland.  He says he tasted it and it was good, but didn't know if I'd like it.

It's a chocolate bar with a chocolate mousse filling.

Oh, dear.

But wait, it's milk chocolate. No problem. Milk chocolate is not my big thing. The only one that really tempts me is the Jivara bar by Valrhona (expensive, super nice).

I take a taste, figuring it would cap my meal and I could hand it back.

Holy Swiss Cow on a Sugar Stick!

Whatever they put in that--I suspect crack--set me off. I have not had a chocolate frenzy like that in...well...a good while enough that I can't remember. This thing was created by chocoholic angels. I never came across milk chocolate moussey genius like this in any American bar.

I ate five pieces. Only one was left. Hubby had had two. Sweet Cream Demon Spawn of Candy Hell! It was like being possessed.

I handed the pathetic box with one piece left and told hubby FIRMLY and SOBERLY, never to bring this stuff in the house again. This triggered me like nobody's business, I told him. Don't bring junk food in the house again, period. This was bad. BAD.

He looked contrite and went and hid the last piece where I do not know. Maybe he ate it.

I don't even know the name. I didn't read the box, I didn't jot it down. I just had to get it out of my sight after the frenzy was done.

It was masterfully crafted. BUT...the fault is mine.

I chose to let it control me.

Let's face it: I am a human being with 50 years under my (decidedly overly large) belt. I have two college degrees. I have common sense. I don't do crazy rash things. I never did illegal drugs. I never smoked. I got drunk once when I was 18 and realized it was a very stupid sensation and never got drunk again. I drive carefully. I never got a speeding ticket. I pay my bills on time. I have an enduring and loving marriage (27.5 years). I am a good sister. I was a very good daughter.

So, it wasn't the chocolate. I chose to give up control.

Okay, so I understand that there is some scientific backing for the effect of sugar-n-fat on the brain and that first square was probably toxic to me in ways I cannot fully fathom. But it's still on me. I GAVE UP CONTROL TO A FRICKEN SWISS BAR OF CHOCOLATE!

How dumbass do I feel?

So, I got on the scale and, thankfully, there was only a 1/5th of a pound uptick. Probably more to do with the salty Italian fixings in my dinner salad (artichoke in brine, genoa salami (1 ounce), cappicola (1/2 ounce), mozzarella, briny peppers, black olives) than the 300 or whatever calories in the chocolate. Still...I messed up my momentum...it will affect my weigh-in.

It was incredibly delicious. It was not worth it.

So, now that I've thoroughly admitted my humiliation at the hands of Swiss candymakers, I am happy to say today has been back on calm. No Swiss candy bombs in sight!

I do admit there is a bar of chocolate in my dining room. It's Valrhona, it's very dark, it's not a temptation bomb. I can now and then indulge in a square and not feel like I have to scarf up the whole thing. This is the only kind of dark chocolate I can allow--one that has some bitterness, one that can sit on the table for weeks and serve its purpose without setting me off the way a creamier, sweeter one can. Maybe cause it's nice, but not INSANE LOGIC SUCKING sorta nice. A treat that can be kept discreet.

So, hey, you, Switzerland. Yes, that prickle on the back of your collective Alps-hiking necks--that's me giving you the eye of death for making that insane chocolate bar. It's lethal. It's of the devil. It's just too good. Hope you all get fat!

:)

Today, so far, 400 calories. All is calm, all is bright...no Swiss bombs in sight...may it remain so....

The Tapas Won...and so did Taco Bell. Dang.

728 days to go...

I had allowed plenty of calories for the party. I did fine with the omelette and Serrano ham and Machego cheese and garbanzos with chorizo. I didn't have much rice (though, really, I should have skipped that). I skipped cake and had some Valrhona dark chocolate and 1/2 cup of of soft serve ice cream with strawberries and crunch (this last is, in my opinion, the worst choice at supper, since it was reflexive and it wasn't even all that good. It was the, 'oh, it's time for dessert" rather than the "this is amazing and I a gonna have a treat". Waste of calories.)


Then that weird "it's later evening and I wanna eat" impulse that has always been my downfall through the decades hit. Weird, as I hadn't felt the late night snackies hit that often this summer.  So:

1 2 inch slice of French bread with olive oil
2 tacos and 1 enchirito at Taco Bell


What? What the hell was that? I'd been doing well with fast food so what hit that?

(Note: I do want to say that a typical Taco Bell visit last year would have been easily double that order, sometimes triple. I have had meals that included 2 tacos, 1 taco salad (sans shell, which is icky) or burrito and nachos. Or 3 tacos and 1 burrito. Or 2 burritos and 1 or 2 tacos. Yes, I could eat that much. A person doesn't get to 300 lbs eating just 2 tacos.)


I'm assuming that the sugary dessert and carby French bread evening double-carby-damage splurge set me up for the impulsive "on the drive home" detour to crappy fast food.


My appetite is a much calmer beast when I avoid the white bread, white rice, and sugar and load up on protein and fiber. I don't buy white bread for the house, haven't in years. I can eat a whole loaf of French bread (with butter or EVOO or cheese). It's like what potato chips are for other people. A trigger to "not just have one".


We have one excellent, one pretty good, and a couple so-so Mexican places in  my neighborhood. Had I wanted a really good taco or enchilada, I could have hit one of those places. Why Taco Bell? Cause it was there


Yeah. I'm in the car, my late-night-snack-frenzied mind is looking at the shiny signs as hubby drives home. My brain is working at it, feverishly, steadily, like some sort of stalker--what can we stop for? What? What?


I keep saying no, no, no, but the will power caves and you pick whatever is your last chance before the turn into "no restaurant avenue to the house".


It's a sickness, I swear. It's like a junkie.

I know some of you out there have this same thing happen. It's like your body is possessed, right? Geez, I hate that feeling.


And over Taco Bell? Let's fac it: Food there's not even that good. Really. I know what good Mexican food tastes like--had it homemade by Mexicans, had it in a Zagat-rated restaurant, had it from a Mexican family down south who dish home recipes from a truck.


Taco Bell ain't good Mexican and it's not even good food, period.


It's just the salt-fat delivery system. Prolly sugar, too, if the sauce is accounted for.


Fat-salt-sugar for the junkie.


Anyway, I woke up, saw the 1.5 bloat and prolly some fat (though I suspect mostly bloat) price on the scale.


And today, it's back to eating for a calm brain. I hate the "desperation brain" that sugar foists on me.

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