Since April 1st, JoJo (the missus) and I have been on a “lifestyle change”. Fuck it. We’ve been on a diet. We’ve been eating right, avoiding sugar, eating lots of fruits, veggies, lean meats, blah blah blah. And it’s mostly been okay.
Side note: we had a cheat day on May 1st…but, at this time, I’m not psychologically prepared to talk about the things we put our bodies through. So much meat sweats and temporary diabeetus…I mean, we, along with Cynthia (and her penis), got banned from a breakfast buffet. Allegedly.
Anyhow, other than our cheat day, things have mostly gone okay. Sure–it’s been hard sticking to a plan, eating the things we should be, and being healthier individuals. Of course, I’ve never wanted to smoke a pack of unfiltered cigarettes and pray for a quick death more, but overall, I started feeling a lot healthier.
But, even with the best diets, no matter how good you feel…there are incidents. Ya’ know, those moments where you just fucking snap and…
Specifically, sometimes you snap, grab a jar of peanut butter that is 1/4 full out of the cabinet, give it a demonic look, tell it “you’re my bitch, now”, then get after it with a spoon. Like, all of the peanut butter left in it. In like, 5 minutes. Hypothetically.
And, as you plow through the first few heaping spoonfuls, you don’t even feel that bad about it. The shit is delicious, and comforting, and fills your gut so you don’t feel as emotionally empty as you previously did. However, after the third heaping spoonful of Jif, you suddenly realize what you’re doing to yourself.
But is that going to stop you? Nah. You’ll just start weeping and continue eating, telling yourself what a fat fuck you are and that you should be ashamed. Still, you power through the feels that flood your brain.
And it’s not until you’ve hit bottom (rock bottom or the bottom of the jar–same thing), and you start scraping the jar clean with the spoon (or a finger, I don’t judge), that reality really sets in.
Side note: I’ve been known to walk through the house, imitating Monique in Precious and bawl “Who gon’ love me?!?”–which never fails to make JoJo run for the hills. You can imagine the joy I feel at utilizing this gif in a post.
So, yeah. Sometimes you take down 2,000 calories of peanut butter (estimated) in one sitting, while holding back tears (or letting them flow), and then immediately regret every decision you ever made while wondering who would ever love you.
Then you get back to editing some writing while trying not to think about whether or not tonight is the night that the massive STEMI takes you out for good.
Until next time…
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