It’s no secret that I like LOVE to eat. It’s not the best way to be but it makes me happy when I’m sad, it perks me up when I’m down, and it’s just the greatest thing ever.

That being said, I place my “Foodie” badge on my chest and wear it with pride.

There’s just a catch here: I get very depressed from time to time.

What this means is that I eat. A lot. All of it is sugar-filled crap that is only making my wedding dress tighter.

I stress about everything.

I stress about what time to get up tomorrow, what I’m going to make for lunch, if I’ll be in pain tomorrow, and I even stress about sleeping in on ‘weekends’. I stress about stupid stuff that I don’t need to. Every bit of stress is another candy in my dish.

I’ve been thinking of looking into help for eating disorders. I don’t even k ow if my addiction to sweets would be called an eating disorder but eating is all I seem to be doing these days.

Sweets and pizza.

…and I really don’t even like pizza.

The first step is admitting there’s something wrong, right?

I don’t think so. The first step is putting down the fork and saying, enough is enough.


I actually admitted to myself that I have a problem. Over a year later, I have my therapist on board and I start to tackle my addiction. Read about it here.