CONFESSIONS OF A FULL-BLOWN FOOD ADDICT by Lee Anne French

Jan. 22, 2008

Today the scales informed me that I have reached an all-time high. True, only a couple pounds more than my previous all-time high, but that’s the way it’s been going for the past … let’s see … 13 years. That’s 13 years since my last major weight loss success, of which there have been several in my life of overweightness.

The reason for this latest new zenith in pounds is because I’ve been RE-reading some stuff I’ve collected about how the way to stop being a compulsive eater is to stop depriving myself. The theory is that very business of thinking about what I can’t or shouldn’t have, or what I just ate way too much of, is making me fat. The first step in correcting this problem is to stock my larder with every goodie and forbidden food, and enough of it to make SURE I won’t run out before my next shopping trip. And in the meantime, I’m supposed to banish all thoughts of diets or counting calories/carbs/fat from my consciousness; stop thinking about food, and just eat what I want. In both the books that tout this method as The Answer, they urge the reader to TRUST this, not to worry – I might gain a few pounds. But then, after I’ve come to believe that I will never inflict deprivation on ourselves again, I’ll automatically correct my eating, crave the things that are good for us, and eventually arrive at a comfortable weight.

I can’t do it. I’m sorry, but I just can’t. In just a few short days, I gained 12 POUNDS from doing this. I’m already so fucking uncomfortable with my body IN EVERY WAY that throwing caution to the wind and having an eternal binge-fest is just not something I can do.

I’m 54 years old. I’ve lived my whole life worrying about being fat, even as a little kid (I wasn’t then, but dear old mom thought I was and made sure I knew it). And now it’s come to this:

I can’t walk around for very long – my back and feet start hurting. Climbing stairs anymore like to just about kill me. Tying my shoes in the morning involves me tossing my foot up in the air so I can catch my pant-leg and haul my foot over my knee to reach the laces. Bending over to pick up stuff, with all this extra flab in my mid-section, is quite an ordeal. I can barely get down on the floor, and getting back up again requires either nearby sturdy furniture, and/or a strong person with a good grip. Because if this, it is difficult to play with the grandkids or dogs the way I want to. Getting in and out of the car is a real heave-ho process.

I can’t run, or even trot. I sweat like a pig (do pigs sweat??) at the least little exertion. I don’t even enjoy being outside in this little slice of heaven we live in, because all the chores I want to be doing will be hard for me to do, and remind me that I’m obese. I love to garden, walk about the property, take photos, etc., but often choose to stay inside because it’s feels more … safe.

I am embarrassed in public, especially in the summer. I’m always tugging at my shirt tail or my pants or my bra strap, just the way I observe other fat women doing. I’ve eliminated places and activities from my life that I used to excitedly look forward to. I won’t go to Mexico anymore, or raft down the river that runs by our house or camping; don’t want to go anyplace where I will be uncomfortable in my skin, which lately seems like everywhere.

I find that sitting in my recliner here at home is the most comfortable place for me. Sitting there, eating.

I have tried or at least looked into every weight loss plan know to human-kind. I’ve been successful and gotten down to being ‘normal’ three times in my life. The rest of the time, I’ve hovered in the neighborhood of 40-50 pounds overweight. Until the last 8 years, when I retired and my body entertained the menopause idea seriously. Now, I am a full 100 pounds heavier than I should be.

One hundred pounds. Oh my god. It was hard enough to look at losing 40 pounds, but it didn’t seem totally overwhelming. This does.

I’m humiliated to admit that I have a standing binge-date with myself every night as soon as Tim goes to bed, UNTIL I fall asleep. A few times I’ve even fallen asleep WHILE I’m eating. If there are no goodies to eat (cookies, chips, crackers, etc.) I will improvise, no matter what.

Then the shame, guilt, betrayal, and comes the morning when I realize what trance-like behavior last night’s eating was, and vow to never do it again.

Until sometime later in the day when I start thinking about all the things I can eat after Tim’s asleep.

Sick, sick, sick, SICK.

After much research, I have come to the conclusion that I am heavily addicted to food. Whether I’m dieting or bingeing, I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about what, when, how much I’m going to eat. When I start eating something that tastes good to me, I start obsessing about how I want more and more. I pay no attention to my body cues, whether I’m hungry or stuffed. While I’m eating I don’t care a bit that I’m morbidly obese and I’m slowly killing myself. That thought just magically goes away. Once I start eating when I’m in binge-mode, there’s just no shutting it off. Last night I decided to have a piece of a Costco muffin (yeah, I always start by telling myself I’m just going to have a litte something). I sliced off a couple pieces, buttered them heavily, and after the first bite I knew I would be eating the whole muffin. And I did, even though that last few bites were making me feel literally ill, I was so full.

Anyway, enough history for today. I’m planning to study up on compulsive eating, and see if there is any help out there for people like me. And I believe that I eat at night because I’m avoiding thinking about other things, or at least it started that way. So if I write, write, write, then maybe I’ll be able to figure some of this stuff out.

And if anybody has gotten this far in this blog, bless you. I decided I’d put it out there, in the hopes that I’ll garner a bit of support, and maybe even some others with a similar problem.

So, write to me and tell me it’s all going to be OK. Help me learn to love and trust myself.

~ birdinsun