Circular abdabs

Still feeling a bit doldrum-y. Not the lowest I've ever been by any means, just kind of treading water. I hit the wall with all my wonderful intentions and discipline, and I hate to say it, but this is about the same increment of time it always happens for me...day 55 of the food journal is today, so I'm right on schedule. I'm still eating what I'm supposed to for the most part; I just have to keep the bad stuff (or as they say, "the trigger foods") out of the house. This week my bugaboo was the !@#$%^ Lorna Doone shortbread cookies, which are not only quite delicious, but also have the added bonus of being mild and safe when my stomach does its best Vesuvius impression. I'm trying to stick to the whole-grain Triscuits instead.

Sleep continues to be a challenge. I am sleeping better on Seroquel than I did on Ambien, but I'm still waking up at least twice a night and still eating when I do. The difference is that I am cognizant enough to write it in the g-d food journal, sans weird subconscious commentary, rather than finding crumbs and wrappers later and just feeling ashamed.

Shame sucks; I vote for there being much less of it. In my mind, it's another thing that motivates human beings to do nothing except self-destruct. It reminds me of one of those software programs (like AOL!) that randomly attaches all kinds of stuff you never wanted or needed in the first place in directories you never knew existed on your computer. I know the seeds of my personal shame originated from the behavior and actions of other people, but my battle is not to perpetuate it and let it fester; in short, not to feed it.

Shame is the kissing cousin of depression. (Indeed, could one exist without the other?) Ashamed of what I am *not* doing (ie, exercise the past week) is not that different from shame that I am doing exactly what I should (eating right, exercising on cue like a chubby, pissed-off automaton) and not getting the results I want, need or desire for myself. Even if I was getting the results I wanted, needed or desired for myself (which, for those of you playing at home, has never happened to date), this would not make the medical professionals or indeed the world at large throw out their scorecards and STFU. Shame, self-hatred, anger, and depression are all tied up with the same stupid, gaudy bow, and the line blurs between want, need, and shouldacouldawoulda. Voila! Circular abdabs.