I’m not worried about big brother – I know I’m on camera most of the time (I just hope I look good). I’m not worried about the Department of Homeland Security reading my web posts and hauling me away. I’m not even worried that the strange things I Google (don’t ask) will come back to haunt me when the police arrest me for some crime I didn’t commit. OK, I’m worried a little, but I’ve got bigger worries.
Something else is watching me. From the moment I rise to the moment I rest in my bed, it keeps track of my every swallow. It knows everything I eat and everything I drink, right down to the maraschino cherry topping that sundae I shouldn’t have eaten. If I’ve had too much wine, gin, or vodka it rubs it in my face – it shames me. “Look what you drank! A quarter of your daily calories came from liquor? Seriously? What are you, a lush? ” I’m talking about TDP, my pet name for the online food diary, The Daily Plate.
Like all relationships … it started out so good. “What a great little site,” I thought when we met. “It’s so cute.” All I have to do is plug in my (real) weight and it tells me how many calories to eat. If I want to lose weight, it tells me how many calories to eat. If I want to (snicker) gain weight, it tells me how many calories to eat. It tells me if I’ve had enough protein, or too much salt. How sweet.
It lured me in with its gentle concern for my health. Then it started snapping at me. “You had 3,456 mgs of sodium yesterday,” it told me this morning. “That’s 143.98% of the RDA – what’s wrong with you? Does everything you eat have to come from a can?” Wow, that was harsh, but I'm getting used to it. After nine months together, the TDP and I have formed a love-hate relationship. I can’t stand it. Then, I can’t live without it. When I want to “take a break,” it lures me back by promising me beauty and everlasting youth. It also offers me comfort and security. When it’s not around, I miss it. I resort to stand-ins, like notebooks -- or worse -- my memory.
We need each other, the TDP and me. That’s how it is for a dieter with OCD. Or, maybe it’s OCPD that leads me to TDP. Wikipedia describes obsessive compulsive personality disorder as "a pervasive pattern of preoccupation with orderliness, perfectionism, and mental and interpersonal control ….” Yes, it seems I’m stricken with OCPD, hence my need for TDP. Or I’m just a neurotic freak obsessed with order.
Either way, this daily plating soothes me. In a world full of chaos, it offers me something I can count on, even if it’s not always kind. The TDP and I enjoy a mutual honesty uncommon in today's relationships. We give each other the painful truth. I confess every time I’ve been drinking. And it tells me “Yes, you do look fat in those jeans.”
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