Feels

About an hour ago I couldn't wait to write a post about how annoyed I am with my mom. I was looking forward to venting my feelings to the internet and vindictively enjoying the mental image of someone's face as he or she read all the dirty little secrets of how (well.. it's true) dirty my mom's house is and how her annoying little habits and personality flaws DRIVE ME CRAZY.

I was (understandably) frustrated and honestly angry with my mom.  I was angry that she 'let' herself fall into this state of apathy and depression, leaving the house to get filled with junk, covered with dirt, dust, fur, and mold. She claims she gets disheartened and overwhelmed by the enormity of cleaning the house and can’t imagine doing it all alone.  She makes promises to herself and to me and then doesn't follow through with them - and a million excuses are at hand. 

While I waited for her to work out with me, I grazed a little in the kitchen.  My plan is (so far) a Calorie limit, so I was still within it, but I ended up eating pointless, nutrition-less food instead of the sensible dinner I had planned.  I was angry with her and with myself, and I took it out on her in the form of attitude and criticism.  She left me to my own devices.

As I exercised alone, I had time and space to think. I recognized what I had just did, taking out unjust anger on someone that I profess to love and care for. 

What's worse is that I am angry with her for letting her life get into this mess.  WHO THE HELL AM I TO BE ANGRY ABOUT THAT?! CAN ANYONE SAY "HYPOCRITE"?

I, too, 'let' myself fall into this state of apathy and compulsive eating, my body filled with junk and covered with fat and concealing clothing to hide all the shame. I am easily disheartened and overwhelmed by the enormity of my weight and eating problems and can't do it alone. I make promises regularly to myself and to others - doctors, friends, family members - and don't follow through with them, making excuses that my life is too hard or my past made me eat.

Look at us. She has a dirty house. I have polluted my body and my spirit.  Maybe we should work together on this. Maybe I'm the one who needs to make changes.  After all, I have a lot of cleaning up to do too. 

Relapse? (ahem… DENIAL)

Can it even be called relapse if I likely never truly worked the program?  Probably not.

The first few days were amazing.  I was accepted in this new group, supported (as much as I can be) by my dad [in that he left me alone and didn't question when I said no to things like pizza], and had carved out my own little corner of abstinence. 

The gift exchange at the pizza restaurant wasn't that bad.  I had a very yummy salad bar and DIDN'T MISS THE PIZZA afterwards.  The lovely ladies at choir brought crackers, cheese, and [woot!] a veggie tray.  I planned and packed for my last day at work and the road trip.  I didn't stop for fast food, and I even stopped at a gas station and used their microwave to heat up my meal while I was getting a coffee.

I thought I was cured. Or at least that I was good at it and that it would be easy.  The weight would fall off on its own.

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA

Nope.

Being at home was all right. Mom tries to support me and buy food that doesn't tempt me. I managed to control myself for a few days while I set up my kitchenette.  The holidays and travel meant that I would miss meetings for a couple weeks, but I was confident that I could go it alone without the support of anyone, let alone a sponsor or meetings.

Christmas came, and I had decided to go on a juicing plan. I do truly love the juices, and I'd done the week in the past with minimal problems; it's quite amazing how fulfilled I feel when I drink nutritionally sound and wonderful fruit and veggie juices.  However, I didn't factor in the emotional and spiritual difficulties that came with traveling, loading the car last-minute, arguing with my mom (because she never even started packing until the last minute), boring car rides, and perceiving myself as an outsider to the entire family experience of Christmas dinner. I had isolated myself without even realizing it.

They all ate Christmas dinner, and then we played a board game. QUELF IS AWESOME! I sat sipping my juice while everyone stuffed themselves with ham, potatoes, and biscuits.  Plus pie. IT WAS CALLING TO ME. I gave some ham to the dogs (teaching them new tricks- yay!) and told myself that I deserved to have the same Christmas food as everyone else.  I could control myself. 

Just a little bit.  I can control myself……

Three hours, six helpings of ham [I don't particularly like ham], a half-cooked cold potato smothered in butter [blech], a few bites of pie [meh… it's not my thing], and Nick's half-eaten "Here Nick, let me put your plate in the kitchen so you don't have to get up," biscuit later, I was ready to scream. 

I had spent my entire Christmas in the kitchen (physically and mentally) and snacking on food that I don't even particularly like.  The next morning, I snuck more helpings of ham, a handful or two of each type of cereal Nick had in his kitchen (just a little; otherwise it might be noticed),  and the last biscuit, which I smothered in cheese.  I would have eaten a breakfast burrito after people left (but they might smell it upon returning), or some of the other foods like pop-tarts (but the package wasn't open), but I was too afraid of discovery.

We packed up, hugged, and said goodbye.  I put on a smile and said things like, "It was great.  Best Christmas in a long time. Let's do it again," with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. It took about a minute in the car before I broke down. I confessed what I could stand expressing out loud to Mom, and she tried to tell me what we could do to make it better.

Saturday came, and I found a meeting. I cried a lot, and the stories one person in particular shared gave me hope like no other. I'm getting a sponsor and working the steps.  I don't ever want to feel like that again.  Anything is better than feeling like that on a day you're meant to spend having a good and loving time with your family.

Day 1. 

Moving SOS

I went to another OA meeting today, my third total, and marking one week of being part of the program.  I am fully (at least intellectually) convinced that I belong with those people.  I will have to fail and repeat my pain (basically, relapse) to a great extent to know that at a deeper level. 

I am able to share without reserve at the meetings.  I can talk frankly about my past and my fears, and their stories give me hope that no other program or weight loss plan gave me.  They have been through this pain, lived with an ache deep down in their psyche that something is wrong and that things could be so much better. These are people who accepted that they had a disease, an addiction, and took the steps necessary to overcome it.  In finding physical recovery, they became emotionally and spiritually whole.

Speaking of fears… *sigh* ...I have a lot floating around in my head right now.  Tomorrow is dad's family's Dirty Santa gift exchange at a pizza restaurant, and Dad inevitably orders a massive loaf of meat and cheese and crust but mostly cheese that weighs in at about a pound a slice. Tuesday the choir members want me to go to rehearsal and have a mini going-away party (mixing sadness with snack foods… GREAT). Wednesday and Thursday will include the stress and upset of packing all my crap. Friday will have more student-going-away snacks at work. Friday afternoon will include a five hour road trip over dinner time, ending at a friend's house (and this friend got to know me over buying a pizza after work, marching into my dorm room, and proceeding to sit on the floor and share it with me).  I'm staying the night, and we're doing breakfast the next morning before another five-hour drive.

After that, I have to clean up the hideous mess that is my half-finished kitchenette upstairs at home, as well as the pit that is my main room; part of the mess is my own, the wreckage of a single week between fieldwork settings (mostly books). The other half is my brother's from when he started cleaning out his closet but didn't bother finishing the task.

What am I going to do?

My only answer can be to stick to the plan, right? One day at a time? Commit it to God?

God, help me. Please.

Overeaters Anonymous

Yes, indeed, a post.  No grand promises this time.  I'm writing for me today, and for me only. I'm taking this one day at a time.

I said no to pizza and bagels today.  I looked at them and thought "Oooh boy, those would set me off. I should avoid them." AND I DID.  And what's more, they weren't looking at me all day.  They weren't calling to me… Sarah… SARAH I'M HERE EAT ME. They were just sort of there. 

After work, I went to Wal Mart.  I really dislike shopping, and Wal Mart even worse.  I bought some Lean Pockets.  As soon as I got home, I got them out and prepared to cook them and scarf them down as usual; as I opened the package, a voice inside me [no - outside.  I could swear it] told me to put it back, and I did.  I waited until I was hungry, and then I ate ONLY ONE.

There is some sort of milestone in here. I've controlled my eating before - sometimes for days, sometimes for months.  I lost and gained more weight than most people can fathom.  But that's all it was: control.  It was white-knuckle, teeth-gritted, barely hanging on control of the chaos inside me. The insanity.  The compulsion to eat and eat and eat until I'm stuffed to sickness and physical pain and I'm disgusting what's wrong with me I don't deserve to live I'm a horrible excuse for flesh, God why did you even bother creating me if all I'm going to do is FAIL… and still feeling pushed to take another bite.  I've hidden my pain all my life, choosing instead to drown it in the anesthetizing effects of binge eating - and then the shame and self-loathing make me feel worse, leading to another binge, more hiding, isolation, and cutting myself off from the world and all things good in it.

I was drowning.  I was I was dying.  I've been killing myself little by little with food for a while now.  I'm in my 20s, and working in a health career, but I have high blood pressure, borderline high cholesterol,  arthritis, asthma, am morbidly obese, and have had to ask for seatbelt extensions on airplanes since I was a teenager. Food is my addiction; a bagel in my hands is as dangerous to me as is a fifth of Jack to an alcoholic or a needle to a heroin addict.

I am a compulsive overeater. I do not have control over certain types of food.  I, the one who likes to control everything, who straightens items on supermarket shelves because she can't stand the disorder, and who contains the willpower and self-discipline to graduate [God willing, in ONE WEEK] magna cum laude from a program ranked 2nd in the nation in my field.

Yet I don't have willpower strong enough to tame the chaotic need inside me that yearns for more food than could fit in the Indian Ocean.

Don't believe me? I didn't.  Hell, I'm still honeymooning on this program and I know it [I know this in my head, but I'd like to deny it and keep it going as long as possible].  My powers of denial have been strong: not even the crazy heinous acts I've done could convince me that I was out of control. I've stolen food from roommates.  I would regularly go to fast food restaurants [plural], park in a secluded area, and eat as much as I could; then I would make another extra stop to throw away the evidence before getting home.  Then, at home, I would eat dinner like normal. I've ordered two pizzas, breadsticks, and cinnamon sticks and eaten them all in one sitting. 5,000 calories? 7,000?  I don't even know.  I've eaten  food out of the garbage.  I've eaten a still frozen frozen meal because I wanted to eat it in the seclusion of my car, too ashamed to eat it in front of anyone else.

Last Friday night, I was feeling particularly miserable after a binge and seeking to distract myself from my self-hatred in another anesthetic: internet. I stumbled on OA.org - I don't even know how. I was led there. The more I read, the more I realized that there were others out there who had gone through and felt and done the same things I had… and found salvation from this disease, this compulsion, this destructive force that is eating [pun intended] away at my life and my soul.  As I read, I broke down.  I gave up control.  I gave it away.

I went to my first meeting.  I met a lovely woman - someone at whom I would have scoffed and of whom I would have been jealous for looking normal - who introduced me to the program.  She let me borrow a book and even gave me her number.  I didn't call, but I took comfort in the fact that I could if need be.

By acknowledging the truth that I can't control myself and by giving that control to a Power higher than myself, I've gained freedom.  I'm no longer shackled by food.  I'm no longer controlled by it. 

I told Lena that OA could be what saves my life, and I know it to be true.