The Urge

Woke up this morning feeling pretty much as miserable as yesterday's entry made me sound. Blood was 8.2, which is clearly unacceptable. Weight was up on Tuesday (Yeah, I weighed, shoot me!). Energy low, motivation subterranean. Funk level warp 10...

Mentioned this to my mate Wendy.
"Moderation's the key, Tone," she said. "Everything in moderation."

Ah.

Shame.

Moderation, clearly, is not very much of an option. It's since I started introducing moderation into my diet that things have been going wrong. It's pretty much the failure of the Aristotelian experiment.

Thing is - for most fat fucks, I'm sure the 'everything in moderation' advice is undoubtedly good advice. But - in case you've missed this, I appear to be an addict.

Not, particularly, a food addict - that's where the mistake comes in to people's perceptions of the thing. It's more an addiction to extremism.
I remember the urge that would go into a binge. It's not an urge to taste good food, it's not a pallette-pleasing, yum this is tasty thing. When the urge comes, you barely taste a thing. When it comes, you don't care what it tastes like. You just push. You push food into yourself, and then you push some more, and then, when you're sure you can't eat any more, and you're entirely physically satisfied, you push some more. The urge is not to taste. The urge is to harm. To hide. To disappear from the world behind a coat of fat and self-loathing. When the urge comes on you, you'll lie. Without compunction, without blinking, you'll say you're eating healthy, and nip out for a lardfest when you know no-one can see you. You'll do it in secret, because secret is private and private is the nature of the thing. You'll lie, and lie, and lie some more, as you feed yourself to destruction, to danger, to physical consequences that eventually take you out of this life.

There's of course a logical answer to this - take a psychological approach, and solve whatever issues drive the addiction to extremes. The point about which is, even when I was facing the possibility of surgery, and the alternative of doing...all this...I've never gotten to a point of wanting to be moderate. Moderation feels instinctively wrong to me. The closest I got was agreeing to the Aristotelian experiment, of trying to add moderate restraint into my life, doing "a bit of everything". Of trying to be Normal. At the point of being at least a stone over the weight I reached while Disappearing, I think it's fair to say I have failed this experiment.

And the thing is...I can feel the urge nipping at my head and my heels. The urge to eat the most harmful stuff I can find, and then some more. The urge to binge.

So what's the alternative? Clearly, the alternative is to get back behind my perspex boxes. Just as extreme in its own way, but with - for now at least - far more attractive personal consequences. So now I'm going to sign off and talk to d, because my perspex boxes changed our world radically the first time round, and, if I go back to them, they'll change out world again this time.

As part of this equation, I went to get some diabetic meds today...and discovered that, contrary to the Atkins-recommending doctor's advice last time, the Zenical is STILL on my repeat prescription. I took it to the pharmacy and was told it's STILL unavailable anywhere. So now I have two prescriptions for the chemical cosh, neither of which I can get filled. The perspex boxes are probably my only hope of not drifting into binging and cataclysmic Disappearing Failure before the drugs become available. So as I say - this is my going away to talk boxes with d.