Signs you are not in control

Here’s my sign:At 10:30 last night, I got out of bed, went to my computer, searched on recipes and then deliberately went downstairs and made almond shortbread. Then I proceeded to eat it until I wanted to die. Fortunately, that doesn’t take long with a gastric bypass. Four pieces and I was in the bathroom, huddled over the toilet, waiting to puke or die. Then a few minutes later all that crap made it to my intestines (thanks to my tiny little pouch) and I was BACK in the bathroom.

I thought about eating something else. Drinking a glass of water. I thought about blogging. I thought about putting on some music and dancing. I thought about just going back to sleep. I thought about calling for help.

I did none of those things.

I ate until I puked.

I ate until I dumped.

There, I said it. I dumped. Part of me is jubilant – I DUMP! Really, I’ve been pushing the limit and pushing the limit and other than a sweaty, heart racing kind of experience, not so bad.

Last night – hideous. My heart was pounding so hard that I was in pain. My whole body was shaking and sweating. My stomach and intestines were bloated, and so painful it stole my breath. It took about three hours for the pain and symptoms to subside. Three hours while I drifted in and out of sleep, shaking and sweating under the covers.

This morning I woke up, pain and sweat free, trying to figure out what the hell is going on in my head. It is clear to me that the shopping was doing something for me – distraction, reward, pleasure center – whatever, that I’m not getting now and that I haven’t taught myself not to need.

Here I am, entering the danger zone: close to gaol, a year from surgery. This is when people start to slip and slide or in my case, run screaming back to where they were.

I will not do that.

But – I have over eaten every night this week. I have been eating crap. I have been drinking with my meals. I have broken every rule I’ve learned, except the exercise. I have gained four pounds.  All my pants are tight, because all that four pounds is in my poor, bloated belly.

Is it just boredom? Flirting with danger so I can have a little drama back in my new peaceful, yoga breathing, meditative life? Is it that I know how to lose weight and have still not mastered the mindset for maintaining it, so I want to gain so I can go back to losing? Is it because I am so close to goal? I got to within 1 pound of my goal this week. Did that scare me too much? Is this a reaction to getting what I wanted? What I worked so hard to earn? Do I think, somewhere, deep down inside that I don’t deserve it? That I can’t ever be a normal, healthy person?

I have to stop.

I have to gain a measure of control. No one else can do this for me. I can’t blame it on my husband, my best friend, my sister or my mother who told me I was fat when I was eleven. It’s just me. Right now.  This minute. Making a choice.

In an effort to do that, every day this week I’ve gone to the site and posted my intentions about what I would eat and when I would eat it. Every day I’ve made it until  mid-afternoon and then gone on a wild Mr Toad’s ride with carbs instead.

Today must be different.

I am going to start over at the beginning. Today: clear liquids with unflavored protein added. All day. 24 hours from now, I will have made a good start at de-carbing my system. Tomorrow I will start a three-day liquid protein training session. I will make protein shakes and sip them all day. For three days. That should bring me to Monday and back to sanity. Back in control.

Send me some power, my friends. I need it. Call, write, email, send up smoke signals or let fly with a carrier pigeon. Tell me that I am not alone. That I am heard and loved and supported. That I deserve to succeed.

Or not.

If I am truly alone, then I can still be okay. I am strong. I can do this, alone if I must. After all, I’m the one with the hand, cutting the almond shortbread. I have to be the one to pour the protein drink instead.