With the holiday season upon me, all of my favorite sweet and savory foods come racing to the forefront of most family, work, and holiday social functions. And I am a social girl! I love a party. And even more than the party, I love party food.
When I go to a party with a buffet-style spread of foods, I always pretend not to notice the food...at first. I move around the room, meet and greet old friends and new, and then I casually make my way to the refreshments. No don't think for even one second that the food isn't my primary focus from the second I walked in the door because it was and is but, just as any good food addict, I need the few minutes of meet and greet time to plan out my strategy. "How could I make as many trips as possible to the buffet to get as much of the best food as possible without drawing attention to myself?"
Now to everyone in the room it looks like I really care about my fellow guests and the kind party hosts who are most likely my friends. But the reality is I am multi-tasking. I might be talking to you and pretending to give you my undivided attention but in reality you are a part of my cover.
Now after a few minutes I have assessed from a distance the tasty tidbits present, looked at the plates of my fellow guests and listened to their comments about said tidbits and I have a plan in mind. I then make my way very casually over to the buffet and make some comment like, "well, I was going to be good tonight but who can resist all of these wonderful treats!"
Then I casually put at least one of each tasty items on my plate and eat them. At this point I don't move very far away from the buffet. As soon as I finish the first plate, I seek out and comment to the hostess* about her "wonderful, homemade goodies". And they are wonderful.
I then make a follow up comment about my favorite items and all more of those specific items to my plate. This process continues until I am very full of food and beverages.
And then, and only then, will I relax enough to truly enjoy the company, some of whom I only see once a year at this particular party. The food is more important that my friend relationships and everything else. The food calls me from the moment I walk in the door and it has my full attention.
This scenario describes how my holiday season was one year ago. But today, I have almost 7 months of abstinance from flour, sugar and mass quantities of food marked off on the calendar. All of the food named above is not my food anymore.
Homemade pan caramels, and her evil bars, fudge, peanut and pecan brittle, Hershey's kiss peanut butter cookies, pumpkin pie, pecan pie, gingerbread cookies, rice krispy treats, sugar cookies slathered with frosting, cornbread dressing, gravy, potatoes mashed with cream and butter, green bean casserole, yams swimming in butter and brown sugar and topped with marshmallows, chocolate truffles, buckeyes, pita chips and many, many other holiday goodies are all examples of what is NOT MY FOOD.
Thursday was Thanksgiving. Many of my ex-boyfriends are named in the list above and came to the party. But instead of answering the siren call of those lost loves, I changed up the routine. I started out my day by spending over an hour on the phone with other food addicts talking about all the reasons we are thankful. Then I ditched my family and had my Thanksgiving meal with seven other food addicts where every bite was weighed, measured and abstinant. After dinner, even though it was a holiday, I made a couple of outreach calls to fellow food addicts.
AND, BY THE GRACE AND PROTECTION FROM GOD, I MADE IT THROUGH! I went to work, the day after Thanksgiving, wearing baggy pants and thinking with a clear mind. No headache, no bloating and no hangover from the excess from the day before. In past years I have often planned ahead and taken the day after holidays off because of how sick I knew I would be. But not this year.
With a sincere heart, I can honestly say that I am finally beginning to experience what it means to be a greatful food addict. My recovery is not easy and the program is tough but the rewards make all the difference. This is best summed up by a quote from my favorite poet in my favorite poem:
"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--I took the one less traveled by, And that has made
all the difference," as written by Robert Frost in The Road Not Taken.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Friday, November 28, 2008
Why I like being fat
Sometimes I like being fat. I'm sure that may be surprising to some but it's true. When a person lives their whole life a certain way it is hard to change. Even when the change is good. With a almost seven months of abtinance from flour, sugar and quantities of food, I find that I am being pulled outside of my comfort zone, or as I like to call it "the fat zone." My pants are baggy, even my shoes are smaller. I tried on a pair of winter gloves that I couldn't wear last year and they were lose on my hands. I even dropped two sizes in my underwear. I am losing weight in the strangest places. I have saggy skin on my fingers. Weird, right?
In the past when I successfully dropped pounds, I always had a magic "number" on the scale that caused me to freak out. About 12 years ago it was 352. I never dropped below that. Then when I had my weightloss surgery, I never dropped below 389. Now, I find myself obsessing at 424. I've lost 60 pounds since I committed myself to my addiction recovery program and more and more people have noticed the changes and are making encouraging comments. This "positive attention" is part of what freaks me out.
I am used to comments from people about my weight but not the nice comments. I am used to stares from people in public but not the good kind of stares. Now, with my recent success, I receive much positive feedback AND IT BOTHERS ME. I've really been thinking about this and I have a few fledgling conclusions: First, I don't feel worthy of the positive attention, second, if you could see the real me on the inside you would not feel the same about me and third, I really believe deep down that this "diet" will turn out like every other diet and I will gain back all the weigh plus more and then all of the negatives will be true again.
What I describe above is the root of my addiction...the root of any addiction in my humble opinion...and that is fear, doubt and insecurity. Fear that I'm not worthy of love, care and concern, doubt that my lack of worthiness will ever change and the insecurity that even though I have friends and family who love me, if they new the real me they would do a 180 and go the other direction.
I ate to numb the feelings that "we" had. By "we" I mean me and all the voices in my head that tell me over and over and over why I deserve to be fat and disgusting and miserable.
As I got the poisons of flour, sugar, alcohol and mass quantities of food out of my system, I began to hear the voices louder and clearer. At times I was tempted to go back to the food but I knew that it would not work. Right before committing to my recovery program, the food wasn't "doin' it for me anymore." My quantities were going up, the combinations of foods were becoming more bizarre and I was adding in alcohol on a pretty consistent basis. The disease of food addiction was progressing and it became harder and harder to find the high. I was at my rock bottom. I couldn't walk, my clothes were the largest size and getting tighter and tighters and I could barely breath.
So I took one small step of faith, a step toward my "higher power" and He met me, took my hand, and held me up when I couldn't stand on my own anymore. I realized that what Christ wanted from me, needed from me, was for me to put down my pride and come to HIM.
The words of a worship chorus that we sing at church comes to mind...and I would site the source if I could remember more that just a few lines...but here goes:
Brokeness, brokeness is what I long for
Brokeness is what I need
Brokeness is what You want from me
Take my heart and form it
Take my mind, transform it
Take my will, conform it
To Yours, to Yours, oh Lord
I can't say it better than that!
In the past when I successfully dropped pounds, I always had a magic "number" on the scale that caused me to freak out. About 12 years ago it was 352. I never dropped below that. Then when I had my weightloss surgery, I never dropped below 389. Now, I find myself obsessing at 424. I've lost 60 pounds since I committed myself to my addiction recovery program and more and more people have noticed the changes and are making encouraging comments. This "positive attention" is part of what freaks me out.
I am used to comments from people about my weight but not the nice comments. I am used to stares from people in public but not the good kind of stares. Now, with my recent success, I receive much positive feedback AND IT BOTHERS ME. I've really been thinking about this and I have a few fledgling conclusions: First, I don't feel worthy of the positive attention, second, if you could see the real me on the inside you would not feel the same about me and third, I really believe deep down that this "diet" will turn out like every other diet and I will gain back all the weigh plus more and then all of the negatives will be true again.
What I describe above is the root of my addiction...the root of any addiction in my humble opinion...and that is fear, doubt and insecurity. Fear that I'm not worthy of love, care and concern, doubt that my lack of worthiness will ever change and the insecurity that even though I have friends and family who love me, if they new the real me they would do a 180 and go the other direction.
I ate to numb the feelings that "we" had. By "we" I mean me and all the voices in my head that tell me over and over and over why I deserve to be fat and disgusting and miserable.
As I got the poisons of flour, sugar, alcohol and mass quantities of food out of my system, I began to hear the voices louder and clearer. At times I was tempted to go back to the food but I knew that it would not work. Right before committing to my recovery program, the food wasn't "doin' it for me anymore." My quantities were going up, the combinations of foods were becoming more bizarre and I was adding in alcohol on a pretty consistent basis. The disease of food addiction was progressing and it became harder and harder to find the high. I was at my rock bottom. I couldn't walk, my clothes were the largest size and getting tighter and tighters and I could barely breath.
So I took one small step of faith, a step toward my "higher power" and He met me, took my hand, and held me up when I couldn't stand on my own anymore. I realized that what Christ wanted from me, needed from me, was for me to put down my pride and come to HIM.
The words of a worship chorus that we sing at church comes to mind...and I would site the source if I could remember more that just a few lines...but here goes:
Brokeness, brokeness is what I long for
Brokeness is what I need
Brokeness is what You want from me
Take my heart and form it
Take my mind, transform it
Take my will, conform it
To Yours, to Yours, oh Lord
I can't say it better than that!
Thursday, August 14, 2008
One bite's too many and a whole cake is out of the question!
I battle fatigue. With a sleep apnea machine and oxygen therapy assisting my sleep, I get more good sleep than I used to but often it is still not enough. I struggle with insomnia. I am not sure of the cause, but there are nights when I lay awake for hours. Last night I slept less than 3 hrs. Now for a night or two, little sleep is an inconvenience. Four nights in a row is debilitating. I can't think, I am cranky, my joints hurt, my feet and legs swell and I WANT TO EAT. And what I want to eat is not my weighed and measured sugar free and flour free meals. I want snacks and chocolate because it will make me feel better...for a moment.
Today marks 131 days of abstinence in my recovery program. This number never ceases to surprise me. I wouldn't have belived that I could do this program for that long. But, despite my disbelief, I am proud of what I have accomplished. And my pride, which is truly a defect of character, partially keeps me from eating. I don't want to have to start over. Fear also keeps me in check. I know me. One bite of a forbidden food would never be enough and the whole cake is just out of the question but not out of the realm of probability.
When my dad was in the end stage of his alcoholism, I remember a doctor telling him that his health was so fragile that he did not have one more drunk in him. This is me also. My health is improving somewhat, but I was in pretty bad shape about 132 days ago. I am not sure that I have one more binge in me. I have heard my fellows say that they know that there top weight is still out there if they go looking for it. I know this is true for me. Although my top weight of around 525 was not comparable to where I would end up if I got back into the food.
Another piece of my puzzle that makes my desire for food kick in is when I throw up. In March 2003 I had Lap Band surgery and the side effect that never went away for me is vomiting. I vomit daily. Many times. This messes with my head. Like many other food addicts, I seek the overfull sensation. So when I throw up several times during a meal I start to panic. I worry that I am not getting in enough nutrition. I worry that my hair will fall out, my body will leech calcium from my teeth and that I will be even more tired. BUT more than anything, I feel deprived.
Fast forward to today...I am tired, I threw up part of my lunch and dinner and I am wanting to eat something that I know will go in and stay in. I know it will make me more calm and I will mellow out a bit...for a moment. Instead I did a little reading, wrote on this blog and said a little prayer to God..you know the one...about serenity, courage and wisdom.
Turning to God is not so easy for me. I struggle with thinking that how I feel about me is how God feels about me. But that is a topic for another blog. I think I'll take myself to bed, a momentarily reluctantly abstinant food addict.
Today marks 131 days of abstinence in my recovery program. This number never ceases to surprise me. I wouldn't have belived that I could do this program for that long. But, despite my disbelief, I am proud of what I have accomplished. And my pride, which is truly a defect of character, partially keeps me from eating. I don't want to have to start over. Fear also keeps me in check. I know me. One bite of a forbidden food would never be enough and the whole cake is just out of the question but not out of the realm of probability.
When my dad was in the end stage of his alcoholism, I remember a doctor telling him that his health was so fragile that he did not have one more drunk in him. This is me also. My health is improving somewhat, but I was in pretty bad shape about 132 days ago. I am not sure that I have one more binge in me. I have heard my fellows say that they know that there top weight is still out there if they go looking for it. I know this is true for me. Although my top weight of around 525 was not comparable to where I would end up if I got back into the food.
Another piece of my puzzle that makes my desire for food kick in is when I throw up. In March 2003 I had Lap Band surgery and the side effect that never went away for me is vomiting. I vomit daily. Many times. This messes with my head. Like many other food addicts, I seek the overfull sensation. So when I throw up several times during a meal I start to panic. I worry that I am not getting in enough nutrition. I worry that my hair will fall out, my body will leech calcium from my teeth and that I will be even more tired. BUT more than anything, I feel deprived.
Fast forward to today...I am tired, I threw up part of my lunch and dinner and I am wanting to eat something that I know will go in and stay in. I know it will make me more calm and I will mellow out a bit...for a moment. Instead I did a little reading, wrote on this blog and said a little prayer to God..you know the one...about serenity, courage and wisdom.
Turning to God is not so easy for me. I struggle with thinking that how I feel about me is how God feels about me. But that is a topic for another blog. I think I'll take myself to bed, a momentarily reluctantly abstinant food addict.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Mourning the Food, Feeding the feelings
When I am sad or lonely or tired or angry or happy, I want to eat. Basically, I always want to eat. I fantasize about certain foods. Like chocolate. Specifically, a very specific chocoalte cake made at Costco. I fantasize about Tim's Cascade Salt and Vinegar or Dill Pickle flavored potatoe chips. Or chips and really good salsa. Or s'mores. Or stuffing with gravy. Or fresh cut fries and ketchup.
On the one hand, I am mourning the loss of my companion. But when I get real, I remember that before entering into my food addiction recovery program, the food was not doing it for me anymore. I remember one specific day at work. I was having a bad day. That alone was no so unusual because I had a lot of bad days. But on this particular day I was pretty depressed. One of my co-workers noticed how down I was and decided to cheer me up and suprise me by bringing me one of my favorite lunches. From a favorite local diner she brought two grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches, an order of fries and extra fry sauce and a medium hot fudge milkshake. All favorites.
As I opened the bags and the smells filled my office, I remember thinking...maybe this will make me feel better. I took a bite of my first sandwich. Hot buttery bread, melty American cheese followed by a pull on a thick, icy shake. Ahhhh, the perfect combination...right? Nope. I did not feel anything. In the past, the start of the eating ritual was instantly calming. And as my belly filled to capacity, I would feel comforted, cared for and nurtured. But not this time. I just felt worse. I wanted to cry. I gagged on my bites. The hot fudge shake was too sweet on my throat. My stomach started to feel queasy.
At that moment I remember thinking, where do I go from here? How can I feel better? My addiction had progressed to the point of no return and I did not know what new flavor or combination of flavors was going to hit the spot and take away the sadness and nurture me.
So what did I do? I started mixing my favorite food choices with alcohol. I started drinking after work. After a couple of drinks, I found I could really loosen up. Then my co-workers started to arrange girls night out. I really enjoyed tequila. It took away my emotional pain and had the added bonus of taking away my physical pain too. This turn of events frightened me. I watched my father die from alcholism. I knew where that road ended...I'd seen it first hand.
Fortunately for me, it was only a few months later that got into my recovery program and started traveling the recovery road. I learned that by abstaining from all sugar, flour and quantities of food AND ALCOHOL, I had the hope of a healthy life and a healthy body.
After I got through the physical withdrawls, I realized that that was the easy part. What was I supposed to do with all these feelings? I could not eat or drink to numb out. Forced to deal, I started learning new coping skills. It happened slowly, and in fact is still a work in progress, but when I am hungry I eat, when I am tired I sleep, when I am sad I cry, when I am lonely I call a friend or go visiting and when I am happy I laugh. In other words, I feel and I try and take care of myself.
Some days I am more successful than others. The thing that trips me up is that I miss my emotional cues. I am unfamilar with recognizing my own needs or anticipating them. In the past I reacted/self soothed with food or alcohol when I even started to feel like I might have an emotion. Now, I call another food addict or I read information about my addiction.
Sometimes, I find myself falling back into old patterns of denying my needs and that is when I fatasize about the food. In my recovery program we have a lot of sayings. The saying that I leaned that relates to this circumstance is this: "Don't let yourself get too Hungry, Angry, Lonely or Tired." Very true.
On the one hand, I am mourning the loss of my companion. But when I get real, I remember that before entering into my food addiction recovery program, the food was not doing it for me anymore. I remember one specific day at work. I was having a bad day. That alone was no so unusual because I had a lot of bad days. But on this particular day I was pretty depressed. One of my co-workers noticed how down I was and decided to cheer me up and suprise me by bringing me one of my favorite lunches. From a favorite local diner she brought two grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches, an order of fries and extra fry sauce and a medium hot fudge milkshake. All favorites.
As I opened the bags and the smells filled my office, I remember thinking...maybe this will make me feel better. I took a bite of my first sandwich. Hot buttery bread, melty American cheese followed by a pull on a thick, icy shake. Ahhhh, the perfect combination...right? Nope. I did not feel anything. In the past, the start of the eating ritual was instantly calming. And as my belly filled to capacity, I would feel comforted, cared for and nurtured. But not this time. I just felt worse. I wanted to cry. I gagged on my bites. The hot fudge shake was too sweet on my throat. My stomach started to feel queasy.
At that moment I remember thinking, where do I go from here? How can I feel better? My addiction had progressed to the point of no return and I did not know what new flavor or combination of flavors was going to hit the spot and take away the sadness and nurture me.
So what did I do? I started mixing my favorite food choices with alcohol. I started drinking after work. After a couple of drinks, I found I could really loosen up. Then my co-workers started to arrange girls night out. I really enjoyed tequila. It took away my emotional pain and had the added bonus of taking away my physical pain too. This turn of events frightened me. I watched my father die from alcholism. I knew where that road ended...I'd seen it first hand.
Fortunately for me, it was only a few months later that got into my recovery program and started traveling the recovery road. I learned that by abstaining from all sugar, flour and quantities of food AND ALCOHOL, I had the hope of a healthy life and a healthy body.
After I got through the physical withdrawls, I realized that that was the easy part. What was I supposed to do with all these feelings? I could not eat or drink to numb out. Forced to deal, I started learning new coping skills. It happened slowly, and in fact is still a work in progress, but when I am hungry I eat, when I am tired I sleep, when I am sad I cry, when I am lonely I call a friend or go visiting and when I am happy I laugh. In other words, I feel and I try and take care of myself.
Some days I am more successful than others. The thing that trips me up is that I miss my emotional cues. I am unfamilar with recognizing my own needs or anticipating them. In the past I reacted/self soothed with food or alcohol when I even started to feel like I might have an emotion. Now, I call another food addict or I read information about my addiction.
Sometimes, I find myself falling back into old patterns of denying my needs and that is when I fatasize about the food. In my recovery program we have a lot of sayings. The saying that I leaned that relates to this circumstance is this: "Don't let yourself get too Hungry, Angry, Lonely or Tired." Very true.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Feeling the need to isolate
Tonight I am tired and angry. I know why I am tired...limited sleep in the past few days. But I don't know why I'm angry. I have no reason to be angry. Life is going well. Work is work...always chaotic and stressful. So nothing new. My friend relationships are going well. And my family relationships are going well. I really have nothing to be angry about. I spent a good portion of the day trying to figure out what my problem is and the only thing I can come up with is that I am lonely.
I struggle with loneliness. In recent months, feeling lonely was not that big of an issue because I was very sick and almost immobile. But now I'm feeling better. I lost about 25 pounds in my first 30 days and my next weigh is scheduled for Monday, June 2nd. I know that I've lost more weight because my pants are getting really baggy. My point? Now that I am feeling better, I find myself wanting to get out and do more.
Let me share a little history...
I used to be a very active person. Always on the go and the life of the party. I didn't let my weight stop me. Sure it slowed me down...I mean at 480 pounds I did not move quickly...but I moved. I went to movies, restaurants, church functions, work, friends houses...just about everywhere. Then I got sick and started skipping the party. My world became very small. My socializing narrowed to just a few friends at work, phone conversations and an occasional friend or two that I considered safe enough to invite to my less that spotless house.
And when I did have company I was not a great hostess because I wasn't able to move around much. This was a hard transitions for some of my friends. I went from being social coordinator and life of the party to sick, needy and nearly home bound. My health deteriorated to a point where I could barely walk from my car to my office. I wasn't even sure how much longer I would be able to work. I looked into disability and even started the process of making my will. BUT...then I found FA, got a sponsor and felt the first real glimmer of hope in years.
Now, back to today and feeling lonely...
I live alone. I have critters that keep me company but sometimes it is just nice to have someone to sit and talk to face to face. My struggle comes when my friends are busy with their own families and their own lives. At the tender age of 39, most of my friends have children and families of their own that keep them busy and it is hard to find extra time to come over and hang our or go and do something. Logically, in my head I know that my friends cannot always be there but my heart feels rejected and lonely.
I am single. And I will likely remain single. My life choice to overeat contributed to my being single. My head knows that it is not fair for me to expect other people to fill the "hole in my heart" but my heart feels angry. Angry with my situation, angry with God and angry with my friends and family who cannot meet my needs.
I must find a way to cultivate and maintain relationships where others feel safe enough to set boundaries and hold them. Also, I need to build enough self confidence to realize that I am loved no matter how much I weigh. Then maybe, just maybe, I can allow others to be in relationship with me on their terms. Maybe, just maybe, I don't have to completely control my environment and everything will still work out okay. Or maybe even better?
I struggle with loneliness. In recent months, feeling lonely was not that big of an issue because I was very sick and almost immobile. But now I'm feeling better. I lost about 25 pounds in my first 30 days and my next weigh is scheduled for Monday, June 2nd. I know that I've lost more weight because my pants are getting really baggy. My point? Now that I am feeling better, I find myself wanting to get out and do more.
Let me share a little history...
I used to be a very active person. Always on the go and the life of the party. I didn't let my weight stop me. Sure it slowed me down...I mean at 480 pounds I did not move quickly...but I moved. I went to movies, restaurants, church functions, work, friends houses...just about everywhere. Then I got sick and started skipping the party. My world became very small. My socializing narrowed to just a few friends at work, phone conversations and an occasional friend or two that I considered safe enough to invite to my less that spotless house.
And when I did have company I was not a great hostess because I wasn't able to move around much. This was a hard transitions for some of my friends. I went from being social coordinator and life of the party to sick, needy and nearly home bound. My health deteriorated to a point where I could barely walk from my car to my office. I wasn't even sure how much longer I would be able to work. I looked into disability and even started the process of making my will. BUT...then I found FA, got a sponsor and felt the first real glimmer of hope in years.
Now, back to today and feeling lonely...
I live alone. I have critters that keep me company but sometimes it is just nice to have someone to sit and talk to face to face. My struggle comes when my friends are busy with their own families and their own lives. At the tender age of 39, most of my friends have children and families of their own that keep them busy and it is hard to find extra time to come over and hang our or go and do something. Logically, in my head I know that my friends cannot always be there but my heart feels rejected and lonely.
I am single. And I will likely remain single. My life choice to overeat contributed to my being single. My head knows that it is not fair for me to expect other people to fill the "hole in my heart" but my heart feels angry. Angry with my situation, angry with God and angry with my friends and family who cannot meet my needs.
I must find a way to cultivate and maintain relationships where others feel safe enough to set boundaries and hold them. Also, I need to build enough self confidence to realize that I am loved no matter how much I weigh. Then maybe, just maybe, I can allow others to be in relationship with me on their terms. Maybe, just maybe, I don't have to completely control my environment and everything will still work out okay. Or maybe even better?
Monday, May 12, 2008
Please don't compare my outsides to your insides or your outsides
I am a food addict. Not too hard to figure out really since I weigh more than 450 pounds. I carry my problem around on the outside of my body for the world to see. My 39 years of life experience and my14 years of work in the human services field have convinced me that every person has their "thing". I eat. Some people use alcohol, drugs, sex, gambling, shopping or a combination to cope with life.
I am not sure how old I was when someone first told me I was fat but it had to be at a very young age because I don't ever remember a time when I didn't believe I was fat. From pictures, I know that I started gaining weight around the age of five or six. When I was in the first grade my parents took me to a pediatrician who put me on a 1000 calorie a day diet and recommended that I get involved in a fitness activity. The diet, as I remember it, was really fun for a 6 year old kid. Especially when I was the only one on the diet.
My dad was a southern boy from Mississippi and he was a naturally skinny snacker. Our father daughter evening routine was to sit in his "big chair" and shell and eat peanuts and suck on hard candy. Of course when I went on THE DIET that came to a screeching halt. Picture this...a 6 year old blue eyed little girl, scrubbed up, wrinkled from the tub and decked out in her favorite flannel nightie that mom made running to the living room ready to jump up in daddy's lap. Only to be told that she can't sit with him anymore because she is on a diet. It's 33 years later and I still cry as I type this.
Needless to say I hated the word diet. To me it meant rejection, it meant that I was not good enough...there was something wrong with me. My mom was a chunky teenager in high school and she did not want me to have to go through what she went through so she wanted to catch my "problem" before it got out of hand. So she did the only thing she knew how to do...consult the medical community. Unfortunately, she and my dad had no intention of eating the same way...after all they didn't have a weight problem.
The end result for me was resentment. In our family, food is a huge deal. It is abundant at all family functions and our traditions are marked with special recipes. My weight became a full family focus. And that first diet started my 33 year journey of jumping from one diet to another and hearing phrases like "you have such a pretty face" or "you would be so cute if you lost some weight" or "if you lose weight I'll buy you all new clothes". Now, I know that my family loved me and they were just trying to do anything they could to convince me to stop eating. The problem was my perception of rejection. I kept trying because I knew if I got skinny then I would be good enough and worthy of love.
Another layer to this story is this: I'm adopted. I don't look like anyone else in my family and I am the only fat one. In both my mom's and dad's families are all naturally thin people. And my personality is also very different. I am driven, articulate and spontaneous. I love to laugh loud and long and I can yell with the best of them. I have a quick wit that can entertain or cut to the core. I value absolute truth above all else and I believe that if you just "lay the shit out there" you can deal with it. As a result I can be too honest.
When I first started FA and this blog one of my friend's said, "I am so glad you're not in denial anymore." That could not be further from the truth. I haven't been in denial for a mighty long time. I know I am an addict. I mean, seriously, I own a mirror. Knowing that I am fat and knowing what to do to stop eating are two very different issues. I have tried almost everything possible. And I have tried diligently for a time. But it just never seemed to last for the long haul.
And because I have a tendency to be too honest I have shared my short term successes and many failures very openly. This has resulted in much judgement passed on me. I had a boss who conducted a survey of my customers to measure how they felt about having a fat case manager. I had another coworker tell me that SHE needed to be honest with me and tell me that she was prejudiced against fat people and believed all fat people to be lazy and undisciplined. I had a boss tell me that many of my coworkers resented me because they felt like I was forcing them to watch me die day by day.
In all honesty, I really would like to go line by line and share the faults of the unnamed critics mentioned above and tell you what their "thing" is but I choose to offer them the courtesy not given to me and instead I hope for their health and happiness.
So I am sure by now you are asking yourself what does the title of this post have to do with anything I have written? Just this, everyone has their own "thing" that they use to cope. Mine is obvious and out there for the world to see. But just because I am fat doesn't mean that I don't feel. Mu soul bleeds from the verbal wounds of strangers and family and friends. And I am not blind. I notice when you don't look me in the eye, point, whisper and look at me with disgust.
Also know that I am really perceptive...it is a survial skill for me. It is quite likely that I see your faults but know that I am not judging you because I don't ever want to make you feel the way I have felt. Instead of judging me imagine what it must be like to walk in my shoes and most importantly pray for me. Pray that God will show Himself to me and give me the strength to overcome and be the woman He created me to be. Or come along side me and tell me that you love me just the way I am.
My motto, which I borrowed from some random email, is this: "Be kinder than necessary because everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle."
I am not sure how old I was when someone first told me I was fat but it had to be at a very young age because I don't ever remember a time when I didn't believe I was fat. From pictures, I know that I started gaining weight around the age of five or six. When I was in the first grade my parents took me to a pediatrician who put me on a 1000 calorie a day diet and recommended that I get involved in a fitness activity. The diet, as I remember it, was really fun for a 6 year old kid. Especially when I was the only one on the diet.
My dad was a southern boy from Mississippi and he was a naturally skinny snacker. Our father daughter evening routine was to sit in his "big chair" and shell and eat peanuts and suck on hard candy. Of course when I went on THE DIET that came to a screeching halt. Picture this...a 6 year old blue eyed little girl, scrubbed up, wrinkled from the tub and decked out in her favorite flannel nightie that mom made running to the living room ready to jump up in daddy's lap. Only to be told that she can't sit with him anymore because she is on a diet. It's 33 years later and I still cry as I type this.
Needless to say I hated the word diet. To me it meant rejection, it meant that I was not good enough...there was something wrong with me. My mom was a chunky teenager in high school and she did not want me to have to go through what she went through so she wanted to catch my "problem" before it got out of hand. So she did the only thing she knew how to do...consult the medical community. Unfortunately, she and my dad had no intention of eating the same way...after all they didn't have a weight problem.
The end result for me was resentment. In our family, food is a huge deal. It is abundant at all family functions and our traditions are marked with special recipes. My weight became a full family focus. And that first diet started my 33 year journey of jumping from one diet to another and hearing phrases like "you have such a pretty face" or "you would be so cute if you lost some weight" or "if you lose weight I'll buy you all new clothes". Now, I know that my family loved me and they were just trying to do anything they could to convince me to stop eating. The problem was my perception of rejection. I kept trying because I knew if I got skinny then I would be good enough and worthy of love.
Another layer to this story is this: I'm adopted. I don't look like anyone else in my family and I am the only fat one. In both my mom's and dad's families are all naturally thin people. And my personality is also very different. I am driven, articulate and spontaneous. I love to laugh loud and long and I can yell with the best of them. I have a quick wit that can entertain or cut to the core. I value absolute truth above all else and I believe that if you just "lay the shit out there" you can deal with it. As a result I can be too honest.
When I first started FA and this blog one of my friend's said, "I am so glad you're not in denial anymore." That could not be further from the truth. I haven't been in denial for a mighty long time. I know I am an addict. I mean, seriously, I own a mirror. Knowing that I am fat and knowing what to do to stop eating are two very different issues. I have tried almost everything possible. And I have tried diligently for a time. But it just never seemed to last for the long haul.
And because I have a tendency to be too honest I have shared my short term successes and many failures very openly. This has resulted in much judgement passed on me. I had a boss who conducted a survey of my customers to measure how they felt about having a fat case manager. I had another coworker tell me that SHE needed to be honest with me and tell me that she was prejudiced against fat people and believed all fat people to be lazy and undisciplined. I had a boss tell me that many of my coworkers resented me because they felt like I was forcing them to watch me die day by day.
In all honesty, I really would like to go line by line and share the faults of the unnamed critics mentioned above and tell you what their "thing" is but I choose to offer them the courtesy not given to me and instead I hope for their health and happiness.
So I am sure by now you are asking yourself what does the title of this post have to do with anything I have written? Just this, everyone has their own "thing" that they use to cope. Mine is obvious and out there for the world to see. But just because I am fat doesn't mean that I don't feel. Mu soul bleeds from the verbal wounds of strangers and family and friends. And I am not blind. I notice when you don't look me in the eye, point, whisper and look at me with disgust.
Also know that I am really perceptive...it is a survial skill for me. It is quite likely that I see your faults but know that I am not judging you because I don't ever want to make you feel the way I have felt. Instead of judging me imagine what it must be like to walk in my shoes and most importantly pray for me. Pray that God will show Himself to me and give me the strength to overcome and be the woman He created me to be. Or come along side me and tell me that you love me just the way I am.
My motto, which I borrowed from some random email, is this: "Be kinder than necessary because everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle."
Saturday, May 10, 2008
36 Days and Counting...
Today marks the 36th day since I stopped eating sugar and flour. I started on the sponsored FA food plan on April 5th, 2008. It's the best decision I've ever made and one of the hardest. The first two weeks were hard because of the withdrawal symptoms...erratic mood swings, headaches, body chills, fatigue, nausea and interrupted sleep. After about three weeks, the bulk of the symptoms to leveled out.
By going to meetings and listening to other food addicts talk, I heard about cravings for the sugar and flour going away immediately. That has not been my experience (so far), but I am only about a month into the rest of my life. One thing I can say, is that every day it gets easier to make right food choices. The surprising and hard thing is that as I am peeling back the layers of my addiction, I find challenges in unexpected areas of my life.
I always thought that once I got the sugar and flour out of my system the cravings would go away...and the physical cravings have gone away. But the emotional cravings haven't. While my head knows which food is my food my heart wants what my heart wants. As I write this post I am lonely. I want to feel arms around me, to feel someone stroking my hair and face and hear a voice telling me that I am loved. I want to be cherished. And I miss the smell of a man. For 20 years food has been my runner-up lover. Always available, saying just the right thing at the right time and making me feel warm, content and full. Food "completed me".
For me, success in abstinence means divorcing food. Like any woman in relationship with an abusive lover, I have left many times only to go back again and again. I know that if I don't make a successful break, food will kill me. But at the same time my heart longs.
This hole in my heart, that I filled with food, is the hole that God created in me and He intended to fill it Himself. But being the most perfect of gentlemen, God never forces His way in. Instead, He waits patiently to be invited. In the New American Standard Bible, Revelation 3:20 says, "Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and will dine with him, and he with Me."
When I re-read this scripture I was amazed. Although I have read this many times I had forgotten the last few words...I will come in to him and will dine with him, and he with Me...not only was God waiting for me, HE WOULD DINE WITH ME. HE WOULD BE PRESENT AT EVERY MEAL.
Now, since I graduated from a Christian College located in the Bible Belt, I must confess that this is not the first time I've read this scripture. But I always interpreted this verse as referring to the act of becoming a Christian. I never thought about this verse referring to God's companionship.
The third step of the twelve steps of Alcoholics Anonymous says, "Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him." My understanding just changed. If God's desire was to fill my lonely heart and "dine with me" why not let Him plan the menu?
Does turning my will and life over to God make my struggle any easier in the heat of the moment? Sometimes, yes.
The only time God does not ease my struggle is when I refuse to submit to His authority and I rebel against the structure of my FA food plan. I know that God led me to FA and God led me to my sponsor, but my pride and my desire to "be the boss of me" creates moment by moment struggle.
But, with God's help, and in spite of myself, just for today, I am abstinent. And for that, I AM grateful.
By going to meetings and listening to other food addicts talk, I heard about cravings for the sugar and flour going away immediately. That has not been my experience (so far), but I am only about a month into the rest of my life. One thing I can say, is that every day it gets easier to make right food choices. The surprising and hard thing is that as I am peeling back the layers of my addiction, I find challenges in unexpected areas of my life.
I always thought that once I got the sugar and flour out of my system the cravings would go away...and the physical cravings have gone away. But the emotional cravings haven't. While my head knows which food is my food my heart wants what my heart wants. As I write this post I am lonely. I want to feel arms around me, to feel someone stroking my hair and face and hear a voice telling me that I am loved. I want to be cherished. And I miss the smell of a man. For 20 years food has been my runner-up lover. Always available, saying just the right thing at the right time and making me feel warm, content and full. Food "completed me".
For me, success in abstinence means divorcing food. Like any woman in relationship with an abusive lover, I have left many times only to go back again and again. I know that if I don't make a successful break, food will kill me. But at the same time my heart longs.
This hole in my heart, that I filled with food, is the hole that God created in me and He intended to fill it Himself. But being the most perfect of gentlemen, God never forces His way in. Instead, He waits patiently to be invited. In the New American Standard Bible, Revelation 3:20 says, "Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and will dine with him, and he with Me."
When I re-read this scripture I was amazed. Although I have read this many times I had forgotten the last few words...I will come in to him and will dine with him, and he with Me...not only was God waiting for me, HE WOULD DINE WITH ME. HE WOULD BE PRESENT AT EVERY MEAL.
Now, since I graduated from a Christian College located in the Bible Belt, I must confess that this is not the first time I've read this scripture. But I always interpreted this verse as referring to the act of becoming a Christian. I never thought about this verse referring to God's companionship.
The third step of the twelve steps of Alcoholics Anonymous says, "Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him." My understanding just changed. If God's desire was to fill my lonely heart and "dine with me" why not let Him plan the menu?
Does turning my will and life over to God make my struggle any easier in the heat of the moment? Sometimes, yes.
The only time God does not ease my struggle is when I refuse to submit to His authority and I rebel against the structure of my FA food plan. I know that God led me to FA and God led me to my sponsor, but my pride and my desire to "be the boss of me" creates moment by moment struggle.
But, with God's help, and in spite of myself, just for today, I am abstinent. And for that, I AM grateful.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
I can see light at the end of the tunnel and maybe it's not a train!
On Saturday morning, March 15th, 2008, I walked into my first meeting of Food Addicts in Recovery Anonymous...30 minutes late. I had waited until the last minute to leave because I was not sure if I really wanted to go or not and then I was not sure where the church was located and then I went in the wrong door and wandered all over before I found the correct room. Whew.
AND then, when I walked in, the chairs the people were sitting in were those flimsy, white, plastic lawn chairs with arms. Now you need to know that me and flimsy, white, plastic lawn chairs have a history...we go way back. They fear me. I have murdered their friends.
So I quickly scanned the room and saw some metal folding chairs along the back wall. As quietly as possible, I unfolded one of those chairs and set it up in the last row. I was trying really hard not to interrupt the speaker but I was not very successful. I don't walk or sit down quietly and I was breathing pretty hard. In spite of the disruption, several ladies smiled at me and then we continued to listen to the speaker.
Truthfully, I really don't remember much of what was said that day, except that I had to stand up and introduce myself to the group. Most everyone said the line I have seen in many movies..."Hi, my name is ________, and I'm a food addict." I've seen the movie 28 days, I know how these meeting things work. Then another lady stood up, did the intro thing, and then called herself a grateful food addict...what a minute...back up the bus...grateful to be a food addict? I wondered if food was her only "issue" because that was the craziest thing I had ever heard.
I know that I am a food addict but there is nothing grateful in me. In fact I am pissed off that I am here and having to face this problem. I want to eat what I want to eat and be thin LIKE SO MANY OTHER PEOPLE. BUT I'M NOT AND I AM DAMN SURE NOT GRATEFUL! Maybe this was not the place for me.
Then we came to a place in the meeting where everyone took a break to socialize. Everyone was so friendly and made it a point to come and talk to me and welcome me to the group. I was shown to the literature table and even picked up a few pamphlets about my disease and and how to better understand it. That part was cool and seemed to fit. I had considered bolting but I was mellowing a bit by then. I mean really, I was already there so what's another 30 minutes out of the rest of my life...and this program had worked for my classmate.
Then the meeting resumed and it was then that my aha moment happened. There was a gal at the meeting who stood up and started talking and she was sharing experiences that I could really relate to. AND she had lost a lot of weight in a pretty short amount of time. So here was another person who had radically transformed. Small seeds of hope started to crowd out my weeds of doubt. If it had worked at least three times that I knew of then maybe, just maybe it would work for me.
And, all they did was stop eating flour and sugar, weigh and measure their food and drink no alcohol. There were no program fees, expensive food to buy or exclusive tips. All I needed was to believe that I was a food addict, believe that my life was messed up (duh!), and be willing to do whatever it took to stop eating. Then, and only then, would I have a hope of a normal sized body.
I knew that what I was doing definitely was not working. I knew I was a food addict. I knew I was dying bite by bite.
Now, my normal pattern of behavior is jump in feet first and say this is the thing for me and go gung ho into it...full throttle ahead. But something interesting had caught my attention. At some point, the group suggested that newcomers attend a few meetings and see if the program had something for them. If it did, you would choose a sponsor and get started. "So what do I have to lose?"
Nothing. Nothing to lose at all. And any mirror showed how much I had gained. So I decided then and there that I would go to another meeting that following Monday and that I would come back again on Saturday...and listen. Just listen. No action. Just see if this program was meant for me.
When I pulled out of the parking lot I felt the presence of God. I knew He was in this and that I was on the edge of possibility. But I was afraid too. Programs that worked for other people often did not work for me...so many times I have been the exception to the rule...maybe I would start strong like usual and then fail as usual.
I made two decisions on that cold clear morning: First, all I could do was try, and second, if I tried and failed then this was truly it...NO MORE DIETS. With the decision made, and a fledgling plan in place, I had a contented, satisfied smile on my face as I pulled into the Taco Bell drive thru.
To find out more information about food addiction and to locate meetings in your area click on the following link. This blog in no way represents FA. I only share this link as a tool that I use in my journey. http://www.foodaddicts.org/
AND then, when I walked in, the chairs the people were sitting in were those flimsy, white, plastic lawn chairs with arms. Now you need to know that me and flimsy, white, plastic lawn chairs have a history...we go way back. They fear me. I have murdered their friends.
So I quickly scanned the room and saw some metal folding chairs along the back wall. As quietly as possible, I unfolded one of those chairs and set it up in the last row. I was trying really hard not to interrupt the speaker but I was not very successful. I don't walk or sit down quietly and I was breathing pretty hard. In spite of the disruption, several ladies smiled at me and then we continued to listen to the speaker.
Truthfully, I really don't remember much of what was said that day, except that I had to stand up and introduce myself to the group. Most everyone said the line I have seen in many movies..."Hi, my name is ________, and I'm a food addict." I've seen the movie 28 days, I know how these meeting things work. Then another lady stood up, did the intro thing, and then called herself a grateful food addict...what a minute...back up the bus...grateful to be a food addict? I wondered if food was her only "issue" because that was the craziest thing I had ever heard.
I know that I am a food addict but there is nothing grateful in me. In fact I am pissed off that I am here and having to face this problem. I want to eat what I want to eat and be thin LIKE SO MANY OTHER PEOPLE. BUT I'M NOT AND I AM DAMN SURE NOT GRATEFUL! Maybe this was not the place for me.
Then we came to a place in the meeting where everyone took a break to socialize. Everyone was so friendly and made it a point to come and talk to me and welcome me to the group. I was shown to the literature table and even picked up a few pamphlets about my disease and and how to better understand it. That part was cool and seemed to fit. I had considered bolting but I was mellowing a bit by then. I mean really, I was already there so what's another 30 minutes out of the rest of my life...and this program had worked for my classmate.
Then the meeting resumed and it was then that my aha moment happened. There was a gal at the meeting who stood up and started talking and she was sharing experiences that I could really relate to. AND she had lost a lot of weight in a pretty short amount of time. So here was another person who had radically transformed. Small seeds of hope started to crowd out my weeds of doubt. If it had worked at least three times that I knew of then maybe, just maybe it would work for me.
And, all they did was stop eating flour and sugar, weigh and measure their food and drink no alcohol. There were no program fees, expensive food to buy or exclusive tips. All I needed was to believe that I was a food addict, believe that my life was messed up (duh!), and be willing to do whatever it took to stop eating. Then, and only then, would I have a hope of a normal sized body.
I knew that what I was doing definitely was not working. I knew I was a food addict. I knew I was dying bite by bite.
Now, my normal pattern of behavior is jump in feet first and say this is the thing for me and go gung ho into it...full throttle ahead. But something interesting had caught my attention. At some point, the group suggested that newcomers attend a few meetings and see if the program had something for them. If it did, you would choose a sponsor and get started. "So what do I have to lose?"
Nothing. Nothing to lose at all. And any mirror showed how much I had gained. So I decided then and there that I would go to another meeting that following Monday and that I would come back again on Saturday...and listen. Just listen. No action. Just see if this program was meant for me.
When I pulled out of the parking lot I felt the presence of God. I knew He was in this and that I was on the edge of possibility. But I was afraid too. Programs that worked for other people often did not work for me...so many times I have been the exception to the rule...maybe I would start strong like usual and then fail as usual.
I made two decisions on that cold clear morning: First, all I could do was try, and second, if I tried and failed then this was truly it...NO MORE DIETS. With the decision made, and a fledgling plan in place, I had a contented, satisfied smile on my face as I pulled into the Taco Bell drive thru.
To find out more information about food addiction and to locate meetings in your area click on the following link. This blog in no way represents FA. I only share this link as a tool that I use in my journey. http://www.foodaddicts.org/
Monday, May 5, 2008
Seeds of Hope planted...anyone have a watering can?
As I mentioned in my last post, I decided to listen to that still small voice that asked, "so what do I have to lose?" Somewhere around March 15th, I went on line and Googled "food addiction." It was that simple action, that turned out to be the first step of my journey away from hopelessness...but I did not know it at the time.
I need to rewind and talk a little bit about the weeks preceding my Google visit...
It was March 11th and I had just weighed in at Jenny Craig. I gained 8 pounds in one week. Not what I was hoping for, but also not unexpected. I had been doing Jenny Craig for about 6 months at the point. And it was not working. Now, in all fairness, the failure to lose weight was all mine. I did not follow the plan with any consistency. I did not eat my fresh fruits or vegetables, and the only food items that I ordered, and ate religiously, were the frozen desserts and the cheese puffs. In fact, I always ordered extra desserts so I could have two per day. Fourteen slices of cheesecake or chocolate cake or brownies or a combination of them all. And not surprisingly, I was usually out of desserts before the week was up.
I also supplemented my frozen entrees, by going out to lunch with my co-workers almost everyday. I would start the email chain at about 9:00 am to pick the lunch spot. Sometimes burgers and shakes and fries, or hot wings, or Mexican. And then I would get off work and hit a drive thru window or buzz the drive thru beverage hut and get a gallon of milk and a couple of pints of Ben & Jerry's. And we can't forget the Friday night bowls of Gumbo and pints of Blue Moon. My ass was expanding and my bank account was shrinking.
I was bouncing checks, taking out payday loans and choosing food over my mortgage and utilities. I am college educated. I know how to balance a check book and do simple math. Fact...if you spend more money than you earn, eventually you can't borrow your way out. Although the math was simple, there was nothing simple about my addiction. And I couldn't stop eating. I would vow that today would be my last day of eating "bad" food and that tomorrow would be the day I would take my life back. Unfortunately, tomorrow never seemed to come.
The final straw was my eight pound weight gain in one week. That did it. I decided then and there that I was through dieting. I'm fat, I've always been fat and despite all my attempts not to be, it was obvious to me that nothing would change that. I knew that I needed a miracle but I did not believe in miracles anymore.
Miracles were what God did for other people. I knew they existed because I had seen them first hand. I personally prayed for miracles and witnessed God's handiwork...in other people's lives. But He never seemed to throw any my way.
I talked tough about eating and enjoying whatever might be left of my life, doing what I wanted to do when I wanted to do it, but deep down I did not want to die.
"I am young, and full of promise," I would hear my still small voice say from deep down, buried beneath the food I swallowed. "What about a husband?" Two grilled cheese sandwiches, down the hatch. "I am beautiful, or at least I could be?" Where's that pint of Chunky Monkey? "I wonder what it would be like to not hurt all the time?" I need to refill those prescription anti-inflammatories and I wish Dr. X would quit getting so hosed up about prescribing the Vicodin...how would he like to haul around an almost 500 pound body. Then off to bed for a night of fitful, pain-filled sleep, with the oxygen concentrator and the c-pap machine humming through the night.
THEN I got walking pneumonia. Two courses of antibiotics and much sick leave used, and I was still running a fever and coughing until I saw spots dancing in front of my eyes. I had fluid building up all over my body and in my lungs. I could not breathe well at rest, let alone when I tried to move around. I could not roll from my back to my side in bed. I knew that my body was losing it's fight against me. And while a part of me wanted to continue down that path I was really afraid that I would have a health event that would NOT kill me...just put me in a nursing home in a position where I was unable to care for myself.
So I had a decision to make...fight or die. It was then that I Googled "food addiction." I came across a couple of 12 step groups that I had tried before and the meeting times were while I was at work or on a night when I had another commitment. I was not sure what to do next. I knew I was a food addict but I did not know what to do about it. And I had tried both of these programs before and I unable to achieve any lasting success.
At the same time this was going on, my former college roommate was nagging me, as she had been for months, to join Facebook. After all, I had just bought a new laptop and got broadband so I really had no more excuses. She would often tell me of former classmates that she had reconnected with. Finally, I did it. I put together a Facebook page. Almost immediately, I hooked up with a former classmate who was a few years younger than me. I remembered her from college and she was also overweight in school. BUT when I looked at her Facebook picture I could not believe my eyes...she looked like a model...thin and glamorous...what the hell had she done? I had to know.
It took me three days to get the courage to email her. Just one sentence that read something like...You look GREAT and how did you do it? And fortunately for me she shared her story and encouraged me to try her path. She gave me a time, a date and an address where I could meet other people in my area who shared my addiction and who could help me find my way out. All I had to do was go. I was hopeless and sick and desperate. Out of options and willing to do anything to stop eating.
So on a cold and snowy March morning, I found where God had been waiting for me all along...
I need to rewind and talk a little bit about the weeks preceding my Google visit...
It was March 11th and I had just weighed in at Jenny Craig. I gained 8 pounds in one week. Not what I was hoping for, but also not unexpected. I had been doing Jenny Craig for about 6 months at the point. And it was not working. Now, in all fairness, the failure to lose weight was all mine. I did not follow the plan with any consistency. I did not eat my fresh fruits or vegetables, and the only food items that I ordered, and ate religiously, were the frozen desserts and the cheese puffs. In fact, I always ordered extra desserts so I could have two per day. Fourteen slices of cheesecake or chocolate cake or brownies or a combination of them all. And not surprisingly, I was usually out of desserts before the week was up.
I also supplemented my frozen entrees, by going out to lunch with my co-workers almost everyday. I would start the email chain at about 9:00 am to pick the lunch spot. Sometimes burgers and shakes and fries, or hot wings, or Mexican. And then I would get off work and hit a drive thru window or buzz the drive thru beverage hut and get a gallon of milk and a couple of pints of Ben & Jerry's. And we can't forget the Friday night bowls of Gumbo and pints of Blue Moon. My ass was expanding and my bank account was shrinking.
I was bouncing checks, taking out payday loans and choosing food over my mortgage and utilities. I am college educated. I know how to balance a check book and do simple math. Fact...if you spend more money than you earn, eventually you can't borrow your way out. Although the math was simple, there was nothing simple about my addiction. And I couldn't stop eating. I would vow that today would be my last day of eating "bad" food and that tomorrow would be the day I would take my life back. Unfortunately, tomorrow never seemed to come.
The final straw was my eight pound weight gain in one week. That did it. I decided then and there that I was through dieting. I'm fat, I've always been fat and despite all my attempts not to be, it was obvious to me that nothing would change that. I knew that I needed a miracle but I did not believe in miracles anymore.
Miracles were what God did for other people. I knew they existed because I had seen them first hand. I personally prayed for miracles and witnessed God's handiwork...in other people's lives. But He never seemed to throw any my way.
I talked tough about eating and enjoying whatever might be left of my life, doing what I wanted to do when I wanted to do it, but deep down I did not want to die.
"I am young, and full of promise," I would hear my still small voice say from deep down, buried beneath the food I swallowed. "What about a husband?" Two grilled cheese sandwiches, down the hatch. "I am beautiful, or at least I could be?" Where's that pint of Chunky Monkey? "I wonder what it would be like to not hurt all the time?" I need to refill those prescription anti-inflammatories and I wish Dr. X would quit getting so hosed up about prescribing the Vicodin...how would he like to haul around an almost 500 pound body. Then off to bed for a night of fitful, pain-filled sleep, with the oxygen concentrator and the c-pap machine humming through the night.
THEN I got walking pneumonia. Two courses of antibiotics and much sick leave used, and I was still running a fever and coughing until I saw spots dancing in front of my eyes. I had fluid building up all over my body and in my lungs. I could not breathe well at rest, let alone when I tried to move around. I could not roll from my back to my side in bed. I knew that my body was losing it's fight against me. And while a part of me wanted to continue down that path I was really afraid that I would have a health event that would NOT kill me...just put me in a nursing home in a position where I was unable to care for myself.
So I had a decision to make...fight or die. It was then that I Googled "food addiction." I came across a couple of 12 step groups that I had tried before and the meeting times were while I was at work or on a night when I had another commitment. I was not sure what to do next. I knew I was a food addict but I did not know what to do about it. And I had tried both of these programs before and I unable to achieve any lasting success.
At the same time this was going on, my former college roommate was nagging me, as she had been for months, to join Facebook. After all, I had just bought a new laptop and got broadband so I really had no more excuses. She would often tell me of former classmates that she had reconnected with. Finally, I did it. I put together a Facebook page. Almost immediately, I hooked up with a former classmate who was a few years younger than me. I remembered her from college and she was also overweight in school. BUT when I looked at her Facebook picture I could not believe my eyes...she looked like a model...thin and glamorous...what the hell had she done? I had to know.
It took me three days to get the courage to email her. Just one sentence that read something like...You look GREAT and how did you do it? And fortunately for me she shared her story and encouraged me to try her path. She gave me a time, a date and an address where I could meet other people in my area who shared my addiction and who could help me find my way out. All I had to do was go. I was hopeless and sick and desperate. Out of options and willing to do anything to stop eating.
So on a cold and snowy March morning, I found where God had been waiting for me all along...
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Rock Bottom
(Caution! This is my first post and I started my blog where I started my most recent journey out of the land of fat. It is dark and depressing. If you are weak of heart, or just not in the mood to read the inner thoughts of a fat girl hitting rock bottom, this first post is not for you. However, it is necessary for me to write it out because the truth will set me free!)
I am a Food Addict. Hard to say but completely true. I love food. Food is my lover, my friend, my God and my executioner. And I am fat...ultra morbidly obese actually. My top weight was over 500 pounds but unrecorded because there was no medical scale capable of weighing me. That was in 1988. On April 5, 2008, I weighed in at a trim 484 pounds. Today, I heard a person say, "I am digging my grave with a fork and a spoon." And I thought to myself, me too.
Why am I fat? Because, historically, I have made poor food choices. But I was fat at age 6. Why can some people eat and metabolize their food more effectively than others? Who knows? Not me, for sure, but it is a question I have pondered for 33 years. Other people can eat chocolate chip cookies and Ben & Jerry's ice cream and french fries and Tim's Cascade Salt and Vinegar Potato Chips and not get fat, so why can't I? I even have friends in my life who fall into this category. In fact we have bellied up to many a restaurant table together and consumed great food and mediocre food with very different results. But I digress...
After 33 years of inconsistent dieting, exercise, hypnosis, self help books, prayers where I pleaded and begged with God, a $25,000 weight loss surgery and a most recently failed attempt at Jenny Craig...I hit rock bottom. So many 12 steppers talk about rock bottom but I was never sure where that was exactly...and who cared really...because they were crazy, drunken, drugged out, 12 steppers. Around the end of March 2008 I bought a one-way ticket to rock bottom and it was NOT a fun trip.
My legs and feet were so swollen I could hardly walk. I had fluid building up all over my body and in my chest. I could not breathe. My joints and my back ached. I couldn't stand in place more than about 2 minutes and I couldn't walk any further than about 25 yards. When I was awake I was exhausted and when I should have been sleeping I was in pain. Short term memory vanished. Me, the one who can repeat conversations from 10 years ago verbatim, could not remember the answer to a simple question I may have asked only 10 minutes ago. And my spunky, happy-go-lucky personality was no where to be found.
And I couldn't turn to God for help because I wasn't talking to Him. After all, where was He when I needed Him? I mean, if He really loved me He might have answered at least a few of the many prayers I tossed up over the years...right? But more likely, He thought I wasn't worth the effort. And who could blame Him. Certainly not me. I knew, deep down, in the places we don't talk about at parties, that I was no damn good. Unlovable and hopeless.
So now what? I could kill myself, but really it's just too messy and I'm a coward. Or I could just keep eating and go out real slow and painful. Or I could try and find a way out of my deep dark hole...AGAIN.
Believe it or not, I'm an optomist. In college, a friend told me I was like Pollyana because I always played the "glad game". No matter what the crisis or problem you can choose to find a positive side. So I forced myself to search for a positive and I found one. It was a bit of a gloomy positive, but a positive...I'm not dead, yet. There it was. In all its glory. I'M NOT DEAD, YET!
But did that really matter? Maybe the future was inevitable. Maybe I had done irrepairable damage to my body. "So, then, what do I have to lose," my internal, optimistic voice asked quietly. And I listened to that still small voice.
I am a Food Addict. Hard to say but completely true. I love food. Food is my lover, my friend, my God and my executioner. And I am fat...ultra morbidly obese actually. My top weight was over 500 pounds but unrecorded because there was no medical scale capable of weighing me. That was in 1988. On April 5, 2008, I weighed in at a trim 484 pounds. Today, I heard a person say, "I am digging my grave with a fork and a spoon." And I thought to myself, me too.
Why am I fat? Because, historically, I have made poor food choices. But I was fat at age 6. Why can some people eat and metabolize their food more effectively than others? Who knows? Not me, for sure, but it is a question I have pondered for 33 years. Other people can eat chocolate chip cookies and Ben & Jerry's ice cream and french fries and Tim's Cascade Salt and Vinegar Potato Chips and not get fat, so why can't I? I even have friends in my life who fall into this category. In fact we have bellied up to many a restaurant table together and consumed great food and mediocre food with very different results. But I digress...
After 33 years of inconsistent dieting, exercise, hypnosis, self help books, prayers where I pleaded and begged with God, a $25,000 weight loss surgery and a most recently failed attempt at Jenny Craig...I hit rock bottom. So many 12 steppers talk about rock bottom but I was never sure where that was exactly...and who cared really...because they were crazy, drunken, drugged out, 12 steppers. Around the end of March 2008 I bought a one-way ticket to rock bottom and it was NOT a fun trip.
My legs and feet were so swollen I could hardly walk. I had fluid building up all over my body and in my chest. I could not breathe. My joints and my back ached. I couldn't stand in place more than about 2 minutes and I couldn't walk any further than about 25 yards. When I was awake I was exhausted and when I should have been sleeping I was in pain. Short term memory vanished. Me, the one who can repeat conversations from 10 years ago verbatim, could not remember the answer to a simple question I may have asked only 10 minutes ago. And my spunky, happy-go-lucky personality was no where to be found.
And I couldn't turn to God for help because I wasn't talking to Him. After all, where was He when I needed Him? I mean, if He really loved me He might have answered at least a few of the many prayers I tossed up over the years...right? But more likely, He thought I wasn't worth the effort. And who could blame Him. Certainly not me. I knew, deep down, in the places we don't talk about at parties, that I was no damn good. Unlovable and hopeless.
So now what? I could kill myself, but really it's just too messy and I'm a coward. Or I could just keep eating and go out real slow and painful. Or I could try and find a way out of my deep dark hole...AGAIN.
Believe it or not, I'm an optomist. In college, a friend told me I was like Pollyana because I always played the "glad game". No matter what the crisis or problem you can choose to find a positive side. So I forced myself to search for a positive and I found one. It was a bit of a gloomy positive, but a positive...I'm not dead, yet. There it was. In all its glory. I'M NOT DEAD, YET!
But did that really matter? Maybe the future was inevitable. Maybe I had done irrepairable damage to my body. "So, then, what do I have to lose," my internal, optimistic voice asked quietly. And I listened to that still small voice.
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