Abusing The Cold Turkey

I have no idea how many stuffed jalapenos I have eaten in this life, but I know the number is less than the amount I have wanted to eat. Still, I'm pretty sure I have consumed enough to create a life sized statue of me. Before I lost 100 pounds.

If fried cheesy jalapenos have ever upset my stomach, my Texas memory holds no record of it. I cannot say the same of any other fried or buttery food, but still I try to have it all whenever I can get away with it. I have redeemed myself a little bit recently. It's only taken my whole life, but I can finally admit that Sonic food causes sonic thunder in my tummy. Their cheese tater tots and extra long chili cheese coney no longer haunt me. The jalapenos are my one remaining weakness. Okay, also iced tea, but that's not fried so it really doesn't count.

I suspect that my persistent failure in the art of stuffed poppers lies in my refusal to bring a deep fryer into my home. I don't trust myself with one. I just know I'd try to fry everything and I don't want to become famous for creating beer battered lasagna. Honestly though, there are very few occasions when I can be trusted to make a healthy decision when offered so many tempting bad ones. Which brings me to this past Thursday morning.

I very foolishly assumed that I was the kind of woman who could wake up early in the morning to put a pot roast on. Lunch was quickly approaching and totally blown, and my husband suggested something that always puts a skip in my step. He thought we should eat out. I was still in a morning/afternoon fog. This is the only excuse I have for ordering $30 of breakfast. More than half of it came home in styrofoam, which really did not help my conscience.

Soon after the breakfast-fest my tummy let me know that what I did was unacceptable. This is when I realized that I had had enough. I decided to go cold turkey and give up the restaurants. Of course, a few exceptions would have to be made. I am a Southerner and therefore have an all consuming need for iced tea. Chipotle and Jason's Deli salad bar are still my friends, and friends don't give up on each other. Then there's the bigger question, would I have to give up my weekly cupcake?

This got me to thinking about how I felt when I quit smoking. There was both a sense of relief and panic. I was relieved to have made the decision to quit, but also dreaded the moment of denying myself a cigarette when I really wanted one. Would I give in? Would I make exceptions? How often had I tried to do something all at once only to fail? The scent of cigarette smoke could make my mouth water like there was a steak in front of me. What would I do when I craved a steak?

I'm actually just stalling here. The quest to eat right will always remain. It's despair that I want to give up cold turkey. I am so used to hearing comments about how I need to be careful of this, or worry about that, or how everything isn't actually okay, that these ideas have now taken hold in my own thoughts. This is not how I want to live. I need to be fearless. I need to know that maybe I can be that guy who somehow survives his parachute not opening. Otherwise I'm just waiting for the heart attack.

The truly frustrating part is that I am doing better now than I have in more than a year. I should be celebrating my life instead of feeling like a scared bunny. This is why tonight, while I was still alone, I did a dressing change. Traditionally my mom will change the dressing for me. We've got a system that works well. Very much a luxury for me. Tonight I needed some small victory. I quickly showered, briefly rested in my loveliest of robes and then changed my dressing. And then I put dinner on. I felt... relieved.