Angry...Because

I’m angry.

Well, yesterday I was extremely angry.

We were at Target (where else? Paper towels, toilet paper, earrings on clearance for $3.58, and high-speed free WiFi, what’s not to like?)  And I had planned on getting a big raspberry Danish.  You know, the ones that come in the big pan. Entenman’s makes the best one, but Target’s Archer Farm’s brand makes a pretty good simulation.

I didn’t even walk over and look at it.

I got the needed household items, cruised through the clearance racks, both jewelry and clothing, met my husband and we checked out, and we went over to Schnuttbucks to have something to drink and surf the web.

And I couldn’t stop thinking about that damn Danish. I wanted it so badly.

Why didn’t I get it and put it in my cart? The one thing that kept me from purchasing it and gobbling it down right there in the store, surreptitious piece after surreptitious piece?

Shame.

I knew my husband would gang up on me about buying it—if he paid attention. Sometimes he doesn’t.—and then there was the shame of having the cashier look at it, look at me and wonder why the hell I needed a big Danish (when I was fat, they knew why I needed it.). So why did I care what either one of those people thought about me? Knee-jerk. Thirty+ years of being obese. Also, it was admitting to myself that I couldn’t control what I put into my mouth.

So I just didn’t put it in the cart. Plus it was $5-. I needed coffee more than I needed a big Danish. And of course I forgot the coffee. *rolleyes*

So there I was, sitting in the Schnuttbucks Café, on my laptop, thinking about that fucking Danish about 100 feet away, being pissed off.

And then I got hungry. Real hungry. The kind of hungry where you start looking in your purse for mints or anything to eat because you can feel your blood sugar dropping. The “I’m going to kill something if I don’t eat right now.”

I asked my husband to watch my stuff, grabbed a few bucks out of my purse, and headed for the snack aisle by the cashier. Chips. Cheetos. Beef Jerkey. Candy. Nuts. My repertoire was limited because for whatever damn reason, my dentures were not staying on the roof of my mouth. The gums must have shrunk quite a bit because so far neither Super Polydent nor Sea Bond can keep them in place, and eating is difficult.

So I’m looking around for something soft that I can eat without the top denture in, and so I bought a Three Musketeer’s bar. I haven’t had one in years. They were my favorite as a little kid. Very soft, gummable, tasty, and instant sugar. Also? Only a dollar.

I took it back over to the café, sat in front of my laptop, ripped it open, and gobbled it down. Was it the best choice? No. Could I have made other choices? Of course, I was at Target with a big grocery section. I could’ve walked to the back and grabbed a yogurt. But I didn’t. But it was still better than buying that big Danish. Why? Portion size. One candy bar versus a whole Danish. Mitigation rather than deprivation. Sometimes you need to feed the monster.

I’ve also discovered that some chocolate once in a while does not bother me in any way: No diarrhea, no constipation, no weight gain. Note I said “once in a while.” I usually get a big Hershey Symphony bar, the one with the almond bits and toffee chips, and I usually have a couple of squares per day when I get it and put it in the fridge (because everything in the cupboards melts in this heat).

Guess how I felt after I ate the Three Musketeer’s bar?

Angry.

I still wanted the Danish.

More anger. Because I was angry. Being angry made me angrier. 

WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY was I having this obsession. I decided to unpack that. What was it that made me want the Danish? Now mind you, I’d been planning on buying it for two days. Yes, two days. I knew we’d be at Target yesterday (I had a prescription refill to pick up + WiFi).

Comfort. Emotion tamping. But I was so angry at deprivation, I couldn’t tell you what emotion I was trying to stuff by desiring the Danish.

At the time, I could find no reason why is was beating a gong in the back of my brain. Eat me eat me eat me eat me eat me eat me. Is this was alcoholics or drug addicts go through? There is no abstinence with food addiction—you must eat to live. Using food to soothe myself hadn’t worked for 35 years—well, actually it did. I was soothed. Over and over again until I hit 351 pounds. While you’re shoving it in your face, you’re not thinking about how it is going to nudge your weight up and your health down. All you’re thinking about is the sweet relief that that delicious morsel is going to scratch the emotional itch, whatever it might be, right now.

I’m stressed, there’s no doubt about it. Finances, health, relationship issues. All major stressors by themselves let alone in conjunction.

So I’m going to go with stress eating for $1,000, Alex. *sigh*

I still want that fucking Danish.

I’m not angry about it anymore. I’m just sad. Sad that something so delicious, so comforting, is so bad for me, both physically and mentally. I just wrote an article (for money!) about carb addiction and how it works on a chemical level, and yet knowing all that, it didn’t lessen my desire for that box of fabulousness (and chemicals, and sugar, and processed whatever). I still want it. I’m white knuckling it right now. Fortunately it’s 10 miles away or I’d got get it, dammit.

URGH.

So last night I made this instead, and it was FABULOUS. OMG. It really was. I had two more halves for breakfast with whipped cream. This is something I could see myself making on a weekly basis for dessert, a snack, or even a meal.  (Check on my new recipe page for directions and photos.)

I still want that damn Danish. If I can hold out today, hopefully the carb craving will diminish. We’ll see.

*NOTE: I am creating a recipe/cooking page. Once I do that, I'll be putting up some of my low carb and other experiments in the kitchen. With crappy cell phone pics. It'll be fun! You'll find it on the upper lefthand side of the homepage, half @$$ed cooking.

I’m not angry anymore, I’m just anxious. Monday’s make me anxious. Years of anxiety about going to work on Monday on Sunday nights must still be kicking in. On Mondays? I’m usually a wreck and have difficulty getting my shit together. When we lived in Reno, I used to spend every Monday (nearly) wrapped in a blanket, watching TV all day, drinking coffee and snacking on crap, as I trembled and struggled to go outside to get the mail. Sometimes I didn’t.

Today, I’m just not going to eat the Danish. Tomorrow is unknown.

So far today I’ve had two cups of coffee with HWC, two peach halves with almond “roofs”, one serving stacked ground beef enchiladas with cheese, and 15 ounces of water with SF raspberry lemonade in it. I’m full, but thinking about my next meal.

Dammit.