A Spiral of Shame

"The line between persistence and obsession must be fine because I didn't even see it when I crossed it."

If confession is good for the soul, I am counting on it being good for my waistline. I thought I could contain it - pass it off - pull the proverbial wool over your eyes. But no.

I am in a shame spiral.

It started Saturday. It was innocent really - all sins mortal begin with just a toe in the water of deception. I had friends over for dinner. An act of hospitality. I planned for it - I ate very lightly during the day. The menu, while not exactly spartan was healthy-ish. For pre-dinner munchies there was freshly blanched asparagus and crispy strips of red pepper with a heart-healthy herby olive oil for dipping. Hmmm...I can stick to the crudites.

But then there was the baked brie with walnuts, honey, and dried cranberries. Just a nibble. Entree - spaghetti with Brooklyn Red Clam Sauce - not too bad in small portions (for the recipe see our April 2007 newsletter at www.wecarepeople.org). I did pretty well. Congratulations. Tomorrow will be easy to just return to the disciplined ways of the Lima Losers.

Then Sunday came - and it all went to - well you know where it went. I am not a person who does things halfway. The quote at the top of this post is my original work and is basically my life motto. What's worth doing is worth doing until you stroke out. I was organizing my pantry when I saw it: a Hershey bar. It was a forgotten leftover from when Chauncey and I went on a "S'mores for dinner" jag. [Note: He only ate the graham crackers - chocolate is toxic to dogs.]

210 calories, 8 grams of fat. Not a binge by any means. I'm not even a chocoholic. I can quit any time I want. Lots of people eat more chocolate than I do. Delicious.

And so it went. I ate my way through the entire pantry aligning process. Pop Tarts. They are deliberately packaged for desperate consumption. I gingerly tore open the shiny foil and inhaled their cinnamon-y goodness. Two were down before I realized it.

Well, okay - all is not lost. If I eat two more that can just be dinner and we'll call it a day. Chauncey looked at me with his big brown eyes - knowing full well where this was headed and that there would eventually be cheese and/or peanut butter that I would share with him like hush money to Tony Soprano.

Now who wants a messy box of Pop Tarts - two-thirds empty - cluttering up the neatly arranged and mostly alphabetized shelves of their pantry? I ate the last two to tidy up really.

Enter self-loathing. Not only have I just eaten the [possibly] most noxious food stuff available, I have let down the children. Visions of bigger jeans and the winsome, neglected faces of little kids going without needed services haunted me like the ghost of binges past.

All of this, of course, comes on the eve of a required trip to Washington, DC, with the Allen County Juvenile Court. I know they no longer serve peanuts on planes, but there are gastronomic wonders to be had in the nation's capital.

Focus focus focus. Think of the children. Think of the public humiliation. Think of a toaster pastry induced coronary.

I may need help.