“Death is number two!”

garbage or junk food

A letter to future me:  Please read this whenever you think perhaps you can get away with it just this one time.  You cannot. You cannot get away with it.  You’ve forgotten the consequences because it’s been so long since you last attempted this foolishness.  Stop it right now.  Read the whine-fest below, and remember where it leads.  Dammit.

I’m a strong woman.  Sometimes I make poor decisions and regret them later.  Apparently, I’m also a bit of a sadist, because I’ve made this particular error repeatedly.  I know better.  I guess I forgot I’m autistic and have PTSD or something.  Oops.  Tut tut.  There are rules.  I can’t eat garbage without paying a hefty price. It’s due to consequences that usually take at least a week to resolve entirely, and sometimes far longer.

The universe is laughing at me.  (Not the fun kind you can join.)  I put the wrong fuel in my body, and now it’s acting up.  I need a priorities intervention, stat.  I get tempted by junk food every so often, and instead of analyzing why, I give in and indulge.  I need that data because the results are once again kicking my ass.  (Perhaps some mild public shaming will finally put an end to this folly.)

It hit me just before 7 AM.  I awoke later than usual with no desire to get out of bed.  Just the idea of rising made me whimper inside; a red flag because I’m not big on sleep.  Unless I’m unwell, I’m ready to get up when I wake up.  Then, The Depression Monster showed up.  That bastard went straight to a commentary about politics designed to raise my blood pressure.

My mood did a backflip over the cliff, while simultaneously flipping both birds at half mast.  It happened so quickly I was stunned.  It probably worked in my favor by causing me to question what the hell just happened.  I realized The Depression Monster was involved and slammed on the brakes.  Then I figured out why and launched directly into beating myself about the head and neck for doing this to myself again.  Sigh.

garbage

I didn’t manage to shower and dress until 4 PM.  I didn’t spend that time in bed, though.  I spent it pacing around my apartment while debating with myself silently.  Some of that time was spent experiencing awe over how long I’d been doing it.  I tried so hard to stop.  I even wrote out the one step I was trying to take on my whiteboard, (then passed it over and over without it registering for a long, long time.)  It said, Get in the shower.

These are hours of my life I can never get back, (and this is day one.)  All because I had to eat some freaking garbage.  It’s not worth it.  Memorize this, Alison.  You’re in training for menopause, and it could start anytime in the next decade.  Get your shit together, or it’ll end you.  Dammit.

2 thoughts on ““Death is number two!”

  • I understand. The beating yourself up part. I went out for one drink last evening to celebrate and had a double and than another. After that I did come home but my shame and disbelief started around 8 p.m. I than slept 12 hours and felt even worse when I woke up. This is a lesson to myself, not to do again. But much like you, there will come a time when I do, although I am hoping not.

  • Yes, you get it. Junk food seems like a highly addictive long acting pill that causes depression by gunking up our cells. Luckily, daily movement (like a brisk 45 min walk) to circulate the lymph and clean out the body’s daily accumulated cellular trash is a very powerful free healer. Helps my PTSD by calming my nerves and improves sleep. 👍

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