The Importance of Food

So many people have written about the importance of food and how its purpose is merely to provide sustenance. I have to wonder when it was that I began to place so much more meaning on what is merely supposed to keep us alive.

There are moments when I actually get excited about what I’m going to eat next. I’ve mentioned before about how I feel I get cravings that have to be similar to the cravings a drug addict must experience.  I also get excited when I know that a delicious meal is coming up.

And I get resentful at the thought that I can’t eat what I want.  Sometimes it is almost like I’m worried that tomorrow will be my last day on earth, and by god, if I don’t eat what I want now, than I may never be able to again. And oh my god how awful that would be.

A big part of my problem and why I’ve been struggling so much lately is because I, like a three year old throwing an internal temper tantrum, have been filled with resentment. “It’s not fair” that I can’t go out with family and friends without worrying about what I’m going to eat. “It’s not fair” that I can’t eat whatever I want when I want to. I’m an adult. I should be able to eat what I want when I want.

But unfortunately, being an adult comes with the obligation of learning to make the right decisions.  Blah.

And somewhere along the line, in my twisted mind, I got the terms “eating whatever I want” mixed up with “living” (and “happiness”).

I was making dinner the other night and was thinking about wanting to go out to eat this weekend (and before I get into this, I will state that I know that going out to eat isn’t my only option to spend time with friends and family – it’s just the one that makes me resentful).  But then I started thinking about how I really wanted to get back on plan and how it wasn’t fair that I couldn’t just pick up and go out like some people can without a second thought. It felt like, because I was having to limit myself on what I could eat when I went out, then I was depriving myself of a life experience.  But then, I realized, seriously, how screwed up is that?

Food is life (in the essence that it keeps us alive), but its not life.  And it’s not a life.  No matter what my internal system and crazy brain seem to think.  How many experiences and opportunities have I cheated myself out of, because of food or my weight? How many real life moments have I missed and may never get back because of food or my weight?

I know that, ironically, when I was completely on plan, I was completely consumed by food: what I was eating, when I was eating, and when and what I was going to be eating next. When I would go out to eat, I would agonize over what to order. I would agonize over the mere idea of going out. My first birthday on Weight Watchers was hell.  I struggled all day with whether to treat myself, and then after being on plan for three months, my body threw a huge rebellion after I did so.  Hey, when you look at it that way, I should just eat whatever I want whenever I want, right?  And forget the agony? 

But really, if you look at the overall effect of my weight loss, I became more and more active the more weight I lost. And when I hit my lowest weight at 164 pounds gone,  I began to feel like I was really beginning to live. I was starting to lose some of the fear that was keeping me from living.  Unfortunately, it didn’t solve all of the problems that were holding me back (and actually created a few new ones), but it was a start. The biggest issue of which is that it is much easier to go out and experience life when you’re not afraid to be seen in it.

I refuse to let food continue to be the most important thing in my life. I refuse to keep choosing death over life. Because that is exactly what I’ve been doing. Killing myself slowly. I’m worth more than that. We all are.

I’ve been tracking my points for two days now. It’s not much in the grand scheme of things.  I’ve gone longer in the past few months.  But it’s a start.  Today is Saturday. I’ve been off of work for five hours now, and by this time, I’ve usually screwed the whole day up points-wise (sometimes having eaten my entire day’s worth of points by this point – yes, ’tis possible).  Not so today.  Today, I had “breakfast” when I got home, and counted every point, which ended up being a reasonable amount and gives me plenty to get through the rest of the day.

I’m going to take this one day at a time and keep making that daily choice about what is most important to me and what constitutes living.  And some days it might just be the freaking ice cream. I’m going to try and fight these damn cravings and *needs*. I might fall again. Oh, hell, I most likely will, but I’m not going to give up on my weight, myself, or my life.  Not again.  Not ever again.