9:43 a.m. - Monday, Jul. 15, 2002
We Interrupt this Program......
I hate it when this happens. I feel myself slipping down again and I can�t push it away. I�m not losing the weight I need to.. even though I�m exercising like crazy and trying so hard not to eat or eat foolishly. I can�t recognize myself for losing over 50 lbs in six months, or for setting down my Camels on the first of July and never looking back at them. My successes mean nothing in the shadows of my failure. And then I see myself as if I�m a different person. I see myself through Big Brother�s eyes as I scrounge through the kitchen, eating whatever I find. There�s very little there. I refuse to bring food into the house. Now I�ve been through the canned beef stew, the canned chili, most of the oatmeal, nearly all the rice, and I see myself eating brown sugar with a spoon. So I dump the whole canister down the sink, and the sugar too, and move on to whatever is left. Last night, I finished off a can of bamboo shoots floating in thousand island salad dressing. I�m eating to destroy myself again. It doesn�t even taste good. And with every morsel, I hate myself a little bit more. I have a little bit less hope for a future. I can feel myself going down again and you know what? I�m almost glad because it�s easier. It�s a lot easier, as a matter of fact. It�s easier, but just so fucking sad. It�s physically sad. So sad it physically hurts, from right behind my eyes, where the tears start, all the way down to the bottom of my stomach. It feels like acid honey dripping down inside of me. Like the only thing sadder would be to give up and let go of it all and just drift away� just knowing my whole life was just a waste of everyone�s time. I should have died at the right moment, �way back in 1968. It would have saved so much trouble. My little picture of me in my cute soldiers uniform could have sat on a bookcase or a mantle somewhere and I would have been remembered as a miniature hero, instead of the fat middle-aged depressed asshole confused and scared PTSD lonely old failed father, husband, son and lover I�ve become.
Ah, but then I remember the meds. Could it be the meds? I can never feel them. I never know if they do anything for me. I let myself run out of them and I�m not very concerned because everything is going my way anyway. I was out of them for ten days or maybe two weeks before I got my renewals a few days ago. And I�m taking them again, so everything should be fine, except it�s not. The stupid pills are like emotions on a bungee cord. Everything�s a delayed reaction. It takes time for them to work when you take them and it takes time for them to stop working when you quit.
So.. here�s my plan: I�m leaving the apartment today. I�m going out for breakfast and I�m going to eat what I want in celebration of my success as a non-smoker and for the weight I�ve lost so far. And I�m going to do it without guilt. And then when I come home again, I�m coming home with some of the right groceries that I can use to make decent low-calorie meals. I�m going to leave the TV off today and work around the apartment instead. I�m going to listen to music and do cross stitch. I�m taking a vacation from my sorry little two-dimensional life for a while. It�s on hold. Let�s see what happens.
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