Without meaning to, I gave a really cool nickname to pigging out at night. The name seemed fitting. Much like the mythical monster, I felt a hunger and lost all control. Between 9 PM and midnight is when I would have my episodes, and they were really extreme.
Actual example:
- fettuccine Alfredo and garlic toast
- Giant bowl of Marshmallow Mateys
- McDonald's run with a root beer
- Peanut butter sandwich and a glass of milk
- Oreos, and not just a few
This was one night. And it's why I've lost 25 pounds this January, but I've gained 20. This happens because I'll do great for a short period of time, and then let the Werewolf be the justification for why I can eat insane amounts of bad food.
Why write this post? Because I'm done with the werewolf. It's not cool, it's addiction rearing its head and establishing itself in my life. No more werewolf experiences.
If I take my wife to dinner at an Italian place, that's 100% fine. That's my plan. But if I just feel the urge for bad crap late at night, I'll drink some water, eat some peanuts and get a good night's sleep instead. It's not worth my clothes not fitting right and feeling guilty.
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