A hilarious battle about no more snacking between head and heart. I understand exactly what she means, this is exactly what is going on in my head since I take into account how much sugar I consume per day.
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No more snacking. I don't snack. Not for five weeks. I was shocked by my own nakedness in the mirror. My clothes were tight, too tight. You can first dismiss that as a hot wash, these pants were never good. But if the fine trousers suddenly become quite difficult to put on, it is inevitable.
Sinterklaas has arrived, I mean on my body. The jars of ice cream and bars of chocolate are still clearly present. I don't feel like that, so I don't snack anymore, ouch. Now I am not addictive. I don't smoke, don't drink. I don't even need coffee. But candy, oh! Candy is my trap.
I have a constant 'sigh', as it is called within the addiction world. People are going to say I look 'good'. That means plump. I see myself in pictures with a cozy muffin top. I would like to change that, no more sweets is the only solution.
I don't have much in my power, but I can control my weight and adjust my diet. Every day I want sweets. I sweeten to celebrate and to comfort myself. But candy as a reward? I'm not a dog! We will approach that differently. Exit candy.
It takes a lot of willpower not to do it, especially the first few days. The journey through the supermarket is brutal. My eyes draw directly to the hotspots, my cart has a clear deviation in the direction of the chocolate path. And everything communicates with me as if I had taken LSD.
I have a real candy psychosis. "Come on, you're not really fat. That's just sweet bacon. You are over fifty, what do you expect from yourself?'
No tomcats, I resist you. “Buy me, then just take a small piece with the tea. Then do it for dessert, that's normal. That should be possible'.
‘No Tony, no chocolate for me, I am strong’.
I back off again, even ducking for rice waffles with chocolate:”I'm quite healthy, isn't that allowed?” they beep.
I earn a gold medal if I make it to the register unscathed. That's where the last temptations await, the cash register candy. I'll never go for that, it's expensive. And I don't do expensive. So I laugh at that, not snacking anymore becomes a piece of cake. "Ha, I'm not vulnerable to you."
Outside there are rays from heaven, choirs of angels sound and people are cheering and dancing. In my imagination then, because I think I deserve it. At home, total abstinence works if 'it' is not there, but at work it becomes difficult.
There's cake, it's someone's birthday. It's hot, there are ice creams. I sprint away, feint. My heart cries:'Why?????' But I resist! I now earn a crown and confetti. After a few weeks I get something of a waistline, oh how happy I am.
I consider myself the boss of the world.
But then I have a visit from my grandson. He wants an ice cream and is allowed an ice cream, with chocolate flavour. He's not a sweet tooth like Grandma. I am weak and order myself a scoop of lemon. The ice cream maker misunderstood. He gives us both a scoop of chocolate and a scoop of lemon. The monster deep inside me smiles contentedly. I can't correct the ice farmer, I just don't have the inner strength for it.
I pay and smile. Thank you! The ice cream is gone in three bites, I purr like a cat.
Grandson, as said no sweet tooth, no longer needs after a few licks. He likes it rather than tasty, a symbolic ice cream. Because I think it's wasted - besides being an addict I am also a miser - I eat his too.
I just feel the fat cells inflate themselves, like a bouncy castle for a birthday supermarket. The crowd taunts. “Weak, weak!” I bow my head and drip. Brave tomorrow…
