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Holy Fat-Day, Batman…

June 17, 2009

Recently, I have been eating a lot, and the last few days my pants have been hard to button. I even went shopping for a gift for a friend Monday night and had a sad moment when I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror.

“Wow, I’m fat. Oh, and I might be getting fatter too,” I thought as I turned to the side – it was a ‘this has to stop’ moment. I had another ‘this has to stop’ moment’ last night while I was eating chicken wings and watching “Sex and the City.” It started out innocently enough. I was hungry so I was eating dinner, and oh, I just happen to have some awesome chicken wings left over.

But then it went too far.

I ate far too much and, suddenly, I just started to cry. I was sitting on my living room floor, in my pajamas with a chicken wing hanging out of my mouth crying. I don’t know if that’s funny, pathetic or some combination of the two. It feels pathetic, but to an onlooker it might be funny.

At any rate, the food band-aid didn’t work that night. See, I know I don’t eat because I’m hungry or to sustain my life. I am an emotional eater. When I celebrate, I eat. When I’m sad, I eat. When I’m bored or tired or…well for almost any reason I eat.

All of my emotions demand cookies…or pickles.

Being an emotional eater is not that big of a deal on the surface. Basically you just need to be extra careful about what you eat when you are emotional, right?

The problem is, emotional eating isn’t on the surface. It’s deeply-rooted, subconscious and automatic. I do it without questioning why. I just think, “I want chocolate ice cream,” so I go to Wendy’s and get a frosty. I don’t stop myself and think, “Wait, why do I want chocolate ice cream?”

Do I even want chocolate ice cream? Or do I really want to call Daniel, but I can’t so I opt for a frosty instead? Or am I stressed out about the amount of work I have to get done so I go stress-eat a frosty in the car over my fifteen-minute break? Or do feel ugly and inadequate?

Yeah, I do it for all of those reasons and more.

I think the answer to stopping this is to deconstruct it more. However, I find that kind of depressing and it makes me want to eat (there’s a guy who sells brats down the street and they are good!). Ah, this has to stop – I can’t afford to buy new pants!

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