I get it.

I had an epiphany on Saturday, about why my weight loss train had derailed. I realized that when Vernice died last summer, and the resulting treatment of her family ("you're no really related, so you don't count"), it set off something big. Really, really big.

I've spent these months thinking that I was eating junk to make myself feel better, but actually I was eating to make myself feel worse. That "you're-no-good" voice that I thought was long dead was having a field day, and I was punishing myself, making that voice happy by proving I
was a failure.

Like the big bald guy says, "It's not what you're eating -- it's what's eating you." Now that I've figured it out, it's shockingly easy to stay on program this week.

Well, "easy" is relative, given that this is my "munchie" week. But hey -- I'm down about six pounds, so I'm not complaining too much.