My reaction to stress is definitely eating. I so wish this was not true. I wish my reaction to stress was exercising. Or making a lot of money. Getting better looking. Getting younger. Or smarter. “There she goes again! She’s getting better looking, so she must be stressed out.” — Said no one. Anything but food regulation. It’s such a drag.
I didn’t eat for about six months after “-” moved out. Seriously. I was in shock — beyond stress. I drank a lot of gin, had a lot of diarrhea, and lost about 25 pounds.
When that was over, I started eating a little. Gin goes down better with salty snacks. Wine doesn’t keep well — did you know that? And, the glass you have at 11:30 pm seems so far from the glass (3) you had when you got home from work and picked at some dinner.
Then I started eating from anticipating my unknown future. WTF would happen next? What fresh hell? (Love that saying.) Where’s the money going to come from? How long will this take? Will I get screwed? What will the kids think of me when it’s over? Will going through this ruin my new relationship?
I tried to curb it, because, really, 25 pounds NEEDED to go. I tried NOT to buy bags of things, or pints of things. I would just eat them up all at once. Then I tried to buy snack portions of things. This is how that’s going: So far today I’m on my forth portion of a five portion pack of 100-calorie snacks. Might as well have had a Big Mac.
I have tried a few meditation tapes. I have tried to breath in, and out, and concentrate on it. But nothing is like, or replaces, a little salt and alcohol, or little sugar and alcohol.
I’m paralyzed. I can THINK about walking, or running, but I can’t make my body do it. I can only do things with my body from the chin up, which, unfortunately, includes putting things in my mouth and ruminating about my situation.
This stress has to go! Otherwise I’m going to balloon back up to twitchy, overweight, tipsy, middle aged, divorcee. One 100-calorie snack pack at a time!