Write write write...blechhhh!

Good ol' writing... how I hate it!

But it seems to be good for me. Damn writing, damn exercise, damn meetings... it all dovetails together. This morning I have a combination of all three: I started off the day with a phone call from my friend from OA where we discuss our food (and life). Later on I have a swim lesson then I'm taking my lunch over to my sponsor's studio (she's a painter too) and we talk about programme... and life. Then into the studio for a few hours. Alas, I'm going to have to use the minivan for transport as it's cool and wet and it's just no fun on my beloved scooter when it's like that. I'm going to have to put the scooter away for the winter soon, but it's pretty good that I've been able to ride it into November in Canada, yet.

I know I'm blathering on about life, and I won't blame anyone for skipping ahead. It's therapy, it seems. I just know when I don't do it, I soon find my appetite on the rise. I know, it seems strange, but that seems to be how it is working. My muddled sense of what happens is when I don't regularly give some vent to what may be minor, petty emotions roiling around unacknowledged in my brain, there is a sense of discomfort that rises to a point that something in my unconscious kicks in and does its damnest to smother the discomfort. And without even being aware of it, I start looking for stuff to eat.

Last night, for instance, not only was I feeling hungry earlier in the evening because of the time change, I just had a nagging case of the nibbles. After I had had my dinner and a snack, I pulled from the fridge, of all things, cooked broccoli with garlic. Then I had 4 nose clearing wasabi coated peanuts (all that was left in the can)... then a small amount of dark chocolate, sharing it with Fuzz, again polishing off what was left in the box. Then I had a small piece of cheese. Finally, I made myself a cup of chai which put a lid on it, and went to bed. I was the nibbling Dustbuster. Not really bad, but I know the start of a trend. If I'm not on my game tonight, that compulsion will return.

I don't live in a vacuum. I have a life. And I have to eat to live. But my compulsion to eat to quash the discomfort of my psyche is so strong I have to keep checking on the condition of my psyche, much as you would check on a small child that might be occupied with a task to make sure they are ok. As much as the phrase "inner child" makes me cringe, it really seems like I am having to develop the skill of reparenting myself to keep from continually falling into the trap of self sabotage.