A half-empty jar of Nutella, a scraped out hole in frozen peanut butter, a sink full of dishes, a trashcan littered with candy wrappers: these are the hallmarks of being home alone.
A gym membership card untouched, a food diary with no entries: these are signs of giving up.
The other day, a friend chastised me for eating something I probably didn't even want, and I responded with "What does it matter? I'm going to gain the weight back anyway!"
Deep down, I still believe this. I don't have true freedom from overeating. Some days I envy people with other addictions. People who can go through withdrawal and WALK AWAY from the habit, avoid situations where it will confront them. But repeatedly each day I am forced to face my addiction, and more of than not, I give in to it.
I once said that burning off my tastebuds would probably be a positive choice for me. Isn't that just a twist on Mark 9:43? Apparently that is not even an elective surgery... though some bloggers mentioned coating the tongue in orajel...
Sometimes at church I think about getting prayer for freedom from this. But something always holds me back. I don't know if I feel weird talking about it, or if I'm afraid of the freedom, or if I am just plain lazy.
But I'm headed in the wrong direction.
