Aug 17, 2010


When exactly did I forget the tattoo on my back?  Today, yesterday--every fucking day, it seems. 

That's enough.  It has to be enough.

I had those words--You must do the thing you think you cannot do--engraved on myself because I meant them.  I lived them.  They'd gotten me through some tight situations when I wanted to cave and run away, but I remembered them and stayed, I did the right thing and made myself proud.  I practiced it, and over and over it helped make me who I am today: I don't lie.  I don't cheat.  I treat my family with respect.  I have honor.  What I lack is self-discipline, and it's past time that changed.

I know what I love and what I'll miss.  I also know that I'm lucky to be able to miss so many things.  I've had a full life so far and plan to keep that going.  Life doesn't end because I have to make trade-offs.  I read today about a woman who deliberately surrounded herself with the things she knew she couldn't have, just so she could face them head-on.  I was shocked, but then I understood.  I'm that brave.  I'm that tough.  I always have been.  It's who I am, who I trained myself to be, for better or worse.  Often, it's worse.  But if that's so, then let there be a better, too.  If one edge of this sword occasionally cuts and hurts, then let the other edge cut and help, let it make a path through the shit. 

Let me use my born gifts to achieve all that I know I can, and should.  Let it start now.

Aug 5, 2010


I weigh 199 pounds as of this morning.  The scale keeps climbing and it feels like I can't stop it.

I realized--actually, I've been realizing--that I need help with this weight issue of mine.  I hate taking handfuls of pills, and I hate asking anyone for help with anything.  But if I don't do something, I'll be a 200+-pound porker again in no time.

Yes, I'm angry.  Beyond angry.  I don't understand why I have this stupid addiction, this absolute need to eat all the time, and to eat foods that I know damn well aren't good for me.  But I can't "just" stop.  It's so much more than that. 

Taking away a food addict's favorite meals brings about a slew of emotions.  There's disappointment, followed by the kind of angry-hurt that makes you want to cry.  Then outright sadness bordering on depression, with pure hopelessness hot on its heels.  Verbalized, it goes something like this: Why can't I have that?  I like it.  It reminds me of happy things.  Why can't I be happy?  But I want it!  It's not fair.  Other people get to eat that and be happy.  What's wrong with me?  What am I supposed to do now?  I don't care if someone says it's bad for me--fuck them!  I'm my own person, *I* get to decide what I eat, not them.  I'm not a child, don't tell me I've been bad.  You don't live my life!  You don't know what I need to get through the day.  How am I supposed to cope now?  Why does something so nice have to be so hard?  Why does it have to be so awful for me?  How can it be awful if it makes me happy?  Please give it back.  I don't want to try other things to make me happy.  It won't be the same.  That's mine.  I don't care about how I'll feel in an hour.  If I can't have it, what's the point of anything?  I don't have the energy to fake being happy.  I don't want to fake it!  I'm tired of faking it!  What's the point?  Nothing matters, nothing feels good, nothing will make this awful feeling go away.  Leave me alone.  I don't want to talk.  I don't want to do anything but sleep.  If I can't eat, I'll just hide away and be miserable alone.

This is what I feel every time my happy food is denied me.  Every single time.  How can I describe this to my loved ones, the people who want to help me "get over" this?  How do I tell them that there's no "getting over" any of this?  I will never--no, not ever--be happy to eat oatmeal for breakfast instead of a sausage-egg-and-cheese on a bagel that reminds me of growing up in Jersey, that fills me up and makes me feel stabilized for the rest of the morning (and sometimes into the afternoon).  How do I explain that I will never willingly reach for a handful of raw carrots instead of a bag of chips that brings to mind images of cuddling on the couch, laughing at the T.V. while sharing a bag of munchies.  And how do I not snap their heads off when I try to explain that Friday night pizza night is not meant to be substituted with grilled chicken and steamed vegetables?  Sorry, no it's not.  And please, PLEASE, Dr. Phil/Oprah/Weight Watchers/Jenny Craig/NutriSystem and every fucking weight loss guru on the planet, don't tell me that it's okay to have whatever I want, so long as it's in moderation.  Fuck you.  One slice of pizza does not make a Friday Night Pizza Night.  I'm speaking to you as an honest addict, so listen up.  A food addict's joy comes from delving deeply into the world of culinary delights.  One piddly slice of pizza might take a whopping 5 minutes to eat, if I used a knife and fork.  How can one delve into 5 minutes of anything?

This may all be pitiful and pathetic, but it's the truth, with nothing held back.  I'm close to tears just writing about it.

Yes, it's time to admit that I need help.  I can't even begin to explain how much I hate knowing that.  This isn't how I was raised.  I was taught to deal with my own shit, suck it up and bear down and do what needs to be done.  Be strong, fierce, or someone will take advantage.  But now this.  I feel completely helpless.

I will  not be a nice person to be around for some time.  I am a true addict, that much I know beyond a doubt.  And like all true addicts, the backlash for taking away that which makes me normal(ish) will be misery in human form.  I have no idea how I'm going to protect my family from that, except to pull away from them.  They won't understand.  They'll insist that they can help me through this, but for anyone else who's under that illusion, please hear this: no one can help an addict.  It's all up to them.  Sure, you can pay for expensive treatment, you can be understanding of their mood swings and special needs, but that's it.  There's nothing else for you to do except stand by and wait.  Telling us you love us is nice, and we'll appreciate that later, once the mania dies down.  In the meantime, we don't care.  That's harsh, but I promised truth and there it is.  The only thing we care about during detox is ourselves and the immense pain we're going through.  Every single spark of energy is going into staying the course instead of breaking away and gorging on the stuff we've been trying to throw out of our lives.  If we lose concentration for too long, it's all over and we're back at ground zero.  Breaking an addiction is one of the most selfish things an addict has to do.  And it breaks my fucking heart to put my family through it.

My loved ones are always the reason that I don't follow through with bringing my food addiction under control.  I hate hurting them, especially my son.  I'm a bitch to begin with--now imagine me going through withdrawal.  It's hateful.  I'm hateful.  I try to hide it, but it never works.  Eventually, I go back to eating the bad stuff just so I can smile and stop crying.  And so I can become a part of the family again, because detox means I have to sequester myself so I don't destroy my relationships with my loved ones by taking my insane anger and depression out on them.  This is why I wished so badly that I could afford a real detox place, one of those fat camps where you go away for a few months and break the cycle of addiction in a peaceful environment where you can cry all you want in your private room, away from your family.  But that's beyond impossible.  We couldn't possibly afford to lose my income for three months, and even if we could, those places cost $3,000-5,000 per week.  And there are no scholarship programs, and don't even think that insurance would cover any of it, especially not for someone like me who's less than 100 pounds overweight.  People in my category are on their own, to sink or swim as their willpower sees fit.

I'll be shocked if I actually hit Publish on this post.  It's embarrassing to admit feeling all these childish things, to be so weak that I can't break this shit on my own.  I consider myself to be a strong woman in most ways, but I'm not strong enough for this.  It makes me feel like a disgrace and I'm not sure where to go from here.  I want to go up attitude-wise and down scale-wise, but lately it's only been the opposite.