The cake is a lie...

On my recent trip to Vegas, I passed on alcohol and gambling, but I did overindulge in cake. In fact, I managed to give myself a cake hangover on my last day in town. (Totally worth it, by the way.)

It's mostly funny, but it also makes a nice metaphor. Grief is chronic pain. I manage it with antidepressants, exercise...and cake. 

Anyone who knows me knows I want cake pretty much all of the time. If the question is "do you want cake?" the answer is always yes.

Cake is my favorite comfort food and, despite how things might appear on the surface, I have a fairly constant need for comforting. 

Some people have a drink at the end of a rough day. I have cake. 

The problem I run into is the conflict between self-comforting and self-care. 

As I've said in the past, every step forward feels like a step away. Moving toward my new life, goals, and pursuits creates distance from my old life and the goals and pursuits Brian and I shared.

It's an ongoing cycle of breaking and rebuilding myself. Sometimes consuming a few calories and carbs is necessary to kick in the dopamine and get me through the day. Sometimes it's just a fat girl eating cake. 

FYI - I hate sprinkles almost as much as I love cake.