Buffalo-Flavored Kisses

As I write this, I can smell the warm, inviting fragrance, of Frank's Red Hot.

My husband is eating boneless buffalo wings for breakfast. I just forced him to kiss me so I could taste the sauce.

I was almost 140 days sober until Wednesday. Heroin? No. Crack? Not as far as I can tell. Puppy squeezing? Who wants to be sober from that?

No, it was gluten/wheat/ice cream-filled bathtubs (those have been replaced by wine bathtubs - people with addictive personalities typically replace addictions with new additions). The reason I cannot eat those is a whole other entry. I realize this is a bit of a fad right now, much like the Atkins diet, but this ain't no fad with me. (The Atkins diet was so much fun. I love meat. Pork rinds were also so great. The problem was just looking at a cinnamon roll while on that diet caused an immediate 15 lbs to adhere to your body faster than you can say BACON!)

I am going to be honest, I have had some breadcrumbs here and there, and some cheese. Honesty is key.

By now, those of you reading this should know that I am an all-or-nothing type of girl. Why slowly taper off medication when you can just stop it abruptly despite all medical evidence which will lead to massive binge-eating and dry-heaving crying fits with fits of screaming?

That leads us to Wednesday. Wednesday started off quite positively. I woke up with a smile on my face, which has not happened in about 29.2 years as far as I can recollect. My eyeballs did not feel as if they were wrapped in saran wrap, and my hunger levels appeared to be under control, versus Tuesday where random strangers looked delectable to me. Then I had to work on Wednesday, which was the usual "same shiz, different day." The usual spikes in blood pressure, seizures, and intracranial hypertension.

Sprinkle some haywire brain chemistry sprinkles on that, plus some poor impulse control sauce, and BOOM!

You have a binge-eating sundae!

Two pounds of penne vodka later, plus a me likey from Coldstone (ie, 2 lbs of cake batter orgasm-cream mashed in with cookie dough made by little angels), and then a Corona Light (my theory is that the carbonation would help break up the huge mass in my stomach, either that or a stomach pump), I was feelin' high on life!

And then the hyperglycemia wore off. It wasn't pretty, neither was the fact that the amount of air (it did not smell like roses, according to DB, and he was "nearly asphyxiated while sleeping") that exited my body was something that should have been tracked by Sir Guinness himself. If I pointed my butt in the right direction, I probably could have propelled myself into the air.

Thursday morning I woke up very upset. I know food consumption should not be equated with failure, but I felt like a big loser. I felt like I was a teenager again, hiding in my room, sawing through Doritos like a rabid beaver, washing my face to not be caught orange-lipped by my mother.

I just felt out of control. I am an adult - I don't want to have a safety blanket or a pacifier anymore (ie, Strattera). I want to be OK without this, especially for a child.

Yesterday really stunk. I walked around like my hamster died (that is rough, let me tell you) all day. By 7 pm I was doing the hardcore ugly cry (the one where your face looks like it's pressed against a window), alternating with violent screaming while driving to my appointment. It was a full blown pity party of disgust. I know I was acting like a binge eating episode was the end of the world, and that is lame, but some french fries are missing from my happy meal, if you catch my drift.

I love french fries. I also think the person that invented nacho cheese dust should be given a Nobel Prize.

Thank goodness for a special person in my life who bitchslapped me and my brain back into reality, my RAT. (Really Awesome Therapist.)

The bottom line is that I worked hard to get here, and the way I feel, and these hardships are just a measure of how hard I have worked over the past year. I am doing this now because I am ready. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Also, karma is a big bitch!

Pearls of wisdom from me.

Now if you will excuse me, I am going to go eat some pickles and sneak some sips of pickle juice from the jar. Don't tell DB.