It’s not you, it’s me. No, really, it is. I just can’t see how we’re going to make a future together. I have these commitment issues, you see. I can do it for a while, go along with our relationship, play by the rules, stay faithful…and then I cheat on you.

Don’t get me wrong; you’re perfect. You’re satisfying, good for me and the best thing that’s ever happened to me (in eating terms!). But I just can’t help myself; I have to have The Bad Things. And I don’t just mean The Bad Things in Synnable amounts; I mean All Of The Bad Things. All at once. In massive quantities. It’s a personality flaw, I know. But there it is. And one day off means the rest of the week is off, too.  It’s the weekends that do it. One sniff of a high syn snack and I’m off the bus faster than a caffeine addict through the doors of Costa. Those two little days in a seven day cycle are enough to derail me. Every. Single. Week.

It’s crunch time. And not of the high sugar kind, either. It’s time to put strategies in place to stop the inevitable weekend derailment that always seems to happen. Deep breaths, mindful eating, gaffer taping my mouth shut and cable tying my own hands…something’s got to give. And if it doesn’t this week, then that’s it. I’m resigning myself to being a slightly-overweight-thirty-something for the rest of my life (well, until I’m a slightly-overweight-forty-something in a few years!). There, I’ve written it. But there’s no point paying a fiver a week to stay fat. So it’s time to take some responsibility and sort it. Until the next weekend. Or just call it a day.

 I’m facing a decision. Commit to you totally, change my way of life and take control of my own personality flaws, or continue along the road of self-recrimination, (dieting) infidelity and doubt. Which is it going to be? Frankly, as I sit here on the eve of another potentially disastrous weigh in, having scoffed too many bad things for too many days, I really don’t know. I’m not even sure I’ll make it to the group tonight. Sigh.