Honey Roasted Cashews

A coworker of mine, we'll call her Katelyn, has ruined my life.  We'll call her Katelyn, because that is her name.  One day at work, she had a bag of honey roasted cashews and was sharing them with people.  Since that day, I've ingested approximately 27,159 honey roasted cashews.  They have been my greatest vice for the past few months.  They're just right there in the cafeteria...and at somewhere around 80 grams of fat per bag, they're obviously the BEST choice for a snack.

Last night, I said goodbye to honey roasted cashews.  Per strict orders, I am not allowed to buy them anymore.  During my last therapy session, I was talking about honey roasted cashews...because that's how we roll in therapy.  Mike was asking me if I could buy some and then portion them out and just have little amounts at a time...so I wasn't completely depriving myself but still making healthy choice.  I sort of chuckled...and then I imagined me sitting on my couch with 20 empty little snack bags sitting next to me after I ate every single little portioned amount of cashews in one sitting.  Because that is exactly what would happen.  I guess that's why I'm in therapy. 

Last night I was thinking about how I've always been one of those people who try to avoid self-deprecating talk, like calling myself fat and other names.  I wonder if those people who do that have better success with "just making the commitment."  Am I just not being honest with myself?  Let's give it a try...

A letter to myself:

Dear Fatty-fat-fat,
Stop eating honey roasted cashews.
Love,
Tubby-tub-tub

Shrug.  I don't think it matters much.  I think I'm being pretty honest with myself.  I think I beat myself up sufficiently even though I don't necessarily call myself names.

On a brighter note, at least my life is way better than the people on the Maury show.  I know who my baby's daddy is.