I had a dust up with a bunch of cookies Fuzz's mom cooked last night. I had a couple too many, and in retrospect I should have come up with a number which Fuzz and I agreed was good --- him being my biggest support and fan --- and stuck to it. But I only ate 2 more than I think I should have. Not a big issue. The bigger problem was the damn gumdrop cake she insisted on sending home with us. It sits glowering in the freezer. It would be under the bird feeder feeding the squirrels right now if Fuzz didn't like it so much. My plan is to let it sit there for 2 weeks and then send it to work with him.
I just dodged a bullet an hour ago: I had tentatively planned to join BF for lunch but then I found out it was a buffet. And it wasn't going to be just us, some of BF's family were coming and it just sounded like a recipe for overeating. Amazingly I was able to say, no, sorry, I have a hard time with buffets. So now I'm off the hook, which feels better. But boy, it's hard to just stop and say no when confronted with hard food situations.
Part of it is the difficulty in remembering that I am someone who has problems with food, who is constantly compelled to eat too much. That's where the steps come in, constantly reminding me that I'm powerless over the food, one of those "Duh, oh yeah, compulsive overeater, forgot that!" moments.
And I've told my mother in law this, and still she offers me food. Well, I guess if I forget, then she can too. We don't want to remember this, it means I'm different, and food becomes a dangerous substance. Who wouldn't want to forget that?
Oops, gotta go for my group therapy session. Not a barrel of laughs although some days it is.
Day 51 since a binge.
21.12.07
20.12.07
Ironic Christmas
Last night my choir had our annual open sing, inviting the community to come and share a rehearsal with us, doing Christmas and other seasonal music. It was a really well attended (I'm sure the room had more people than the fire code allowed) and lots of people pitched in putting out extra chairs, passing out songbooks, and collecting donations for the local food bank in lieu of an admission charge. It was a great evening, one of those ones where you really think, "This is how Christmas should be!" It even gave a nice glow to the snow falling softly outside.
Now, sitting on my kitchen floor are 6 big boxes of non-perishables and just over 250 dollars in cash and cheques that I volunteered to drop off at the food bank before lunch time. We had to lug the boxes into the house because I didn't think it would help the cans and jars to freeze in the van overnight. The sight of all that food on my kitchen floor struck me as rather ironic; I am a compulsive overeater, after all, and there are six boxes containing many of my drugs of choice, waiting to make someone else's holiday nicer or at least survivable.
But is it really ironic? Besides the fact I have a van, probably one of the reasons I volunteered to take the food to the food bank was I am so comfortable around food. It is almost like a virtual friend to me, indeed, I've used food as a friend substitute many a time. I used to work in a restaurant, I volunteered for a soup kitchen, I know food. I talk foodie. I'm familiar with how to handle it safely, I know the conventions, I'm one of those people friends ask "How do I cook x, y or z?" I can pronounce quinoa, I can make a very authentic tasting southern pulled pork, I've had a cookbook just for tofu, and one on the history of russian cuisine. I've eaten chicken feet and sea blubber in Hong Kong, and actually know that the latter is a type of jellyfish. I'm much more comfortable working with food than with people. I have a couple of phone calls I've been sitting on because I'm so uncomfortable talking on the phone with people I don't know very well. Food doesn't talk back, unless you count the times I've gotten food poisoning!
But last night went well. After we got the hall cleaned and closed up a few of us headed off to the local watering hole to have a drink. In my case, the drink was diet coke. Didn't partake of the chips and peanuts going around (fortuitously, none of them actually got passed under my nose this time) and just enjoyed being able to sit and chat with people. I drove home fairly hungry, aware that my social anxiety might have been making my stomach feel very very empty, but then realized it had been 5 hours since dinner, so hunger was not an unusual response. I had my usual snack of almonds and yogurt and went to bed. It had been a good day and I was aware of how content I felt and how grateful I was for that contentment.
Ok, so now the grateful compulsive overeater is off to the food bank with her loot, and it's been 50 days since a binge!!! If it's not ironic, it's at least funny!
Now, sitting on my kitchen floor are 6 big boxes of non-perishables and just over 250 dollars in cash and cheques that I volunteered to drop off at the food bank before lunch time. We had to lug the boxes into the house because I didn't think it would help the cans and jars to freeze in the van overnight. The sight of all that food on my kitchen floor struck me as rather ironic; I am a compulsive overeater, after all, and there are six boxes containing many of my drugs of choice, waiting to make someone else's holiday nicer or at least survivable.
But is it really ironic? Besides the fact I have a van, probably one of the reasons I volunteered to take the food to the food bank was I am so comfortable around food. It is almost like a virtual friend to me, indeed, I've used food as a friend substitute many a time. I used to work in a restaurant, I volunteered for a soup kitchen, I know food. I talk foodie. I'm familiar with how to handle it safely, I know the conventions, I'm one of those people friends ask "How do I cook x, y or z?" I can pronounce quinoa, I can make a very authentic tasting southern pulled pork, I've had a cookbook just for tofu, and one on the history of russian cuisine. I've eaten chicken feet and sea blubber in Hong Kong, and actually know that the latter is a type of jellyfish. I'm much more comfortable working with food than with people. I have a couple of phone calls I've been sitting on because I'm so uncomfortable talking on the phone with people I don't know very well. Food doesn't talk back, unless you count the times I've gotten food poisoning!
But last night went well. After we got the hall cleaned and closed up a few of us headed off to the local watering hole to have a drink. In my case, the drink was diet coke. Didn't partake of the chips and peanuts going around (fortuitously, none of them actually got passed under my nose this time) and just enjoyed being able to sit and chat with people. I drove home fairly hungry, aware that my social anxiety might have been making my stomach feel very very empty, but then realized it had been 5 hours since dinner, so hunger was not an unusual response. I had my usual snack of almonds and yogurt and went to bed. It had been a good day and I was aware of how content I felt and how grateful I was for that contentment.
Ok, so now the grateful compulsive overeater is off to the food bank with her loot, and it's been 50 days since a binge!!! If it's not ironic, it's at least funny!
19.12.07
Battling the Grey
No, this isn't one of those essays about hair color, it's about One of Those Mornings. Winter grey, the sky heading for leaden, I think we've got some snow coming. I actually like that leaden sky you see on some winter afternoons, you know, the one that looks like it is made of something more substantial than vapour: velour, or some other weighty fabric. If I'm out trudging around (what else can you do wearing all that heavy clothing and coping with the uncertain footing?) It reminds me of Bruegel or those other northern European artists who did those paintings of life in winter. Imagine what life was like then: certainly much harder as survival to spring was not assured, and for some reason I think of how much smellier it must have been. But this morning is one of those ones where it's hard to get going. I just want to hibernate. Did our ancestors have that luxury? I felt so heavy, I switched on my daylight therapy box even before I got out of bed.
Thank God for Fuzz, he brought me a cup of coffee.
I'm finding that I really have to keep up with my physical activity right now in order to not go completely comatose. I'm going to have to wrap up this right smartly in order to squeeze a gym visit in between driving here and there on errands and the studio before an early supper and off to choir practice. My head goes "oooh can't we just go back to sleep for a little while?" and I punch another 30 minutes into the light box timer...
I am definitely not a morning person. Right now, my body is sagging to the left, as if every molecule of my torso is feeling gravity very, very, strongly. My eyes want to shut. Agh...losing power...
That was close. But a dustup with my smartphone (aka "stoopid phone!") woke me up. One good aspect of malfunctioning technology is I had to figure out what was wrong and swear at it. Ok, that's it, I'm outta here. Hopefully, a round on the elliptical machine and some weight training will wake me up enough that I'm not dragging my butt through the day. If not, at least I can have a lunchtime nap with a clear conscience!
Day 49.
Thank God for Fuzz, he brought me a cup of coffee.
I'm finding that I really have to keep up with my physical activity right now in order to not go completely comatose. I'm going to have to wrap up this right smartly in order to squeeze a gym visit in between driving here and there on errands and the studio before an early supper and off to choir practice. My head goes "oooh can't we just go back to sleep for a little while?" and I punch another 30 minutes into the light box timer...
I am definitely not a morning person. Right now, my body is sagging to the left, as if every molecule of my torso is feeling gravity very, very, strongly. My eyes want to shut. Agh...losing power...
That was close. But a dustup with my smartphone (aka "stoopid phone!") woke me up. One good aspect of malfunctioning technology is I had to figure out what was wrong and swear at it. Ok, that's it, I'm outta here. Hopefully, a round on the elliptical machine and some weight training will wake me up enough that I'm not dragging my butt through the day. If not, at least I can have a lunchtime nap with a clear conscience!
Day 49.
18.12.07
Ya Gotta Fall in Love
My best friend is so in love with her daughter. You know how parents look at their newborns and just fall in love? You look in the kid and think how funny looking newborns are, but they are hopelessly smitten. Well, my friend is still smitten, after 9 years and a difficult nine it has been at times. The poor mite has had all sorts of trouble with serious food allergies and asthma, and it's been a struggle to just get her to eat enough to grow well. And she's got some learning issues which have made homework time often times of tears (young un) and gnashing of teeth (mom). Just last night however, BF turned to me and said of daughter, "Isn't she just wonderful? She's getting to be such fun!" She's said something similar to me only, oh, a million times. Clearly this is a woman in love.
I've already written about my breakthrough in getting back into the studio. I had an epiphany and realized that I was so consumed by the fear of what others would think of my painting, that what I was suffering from was an extreme form of people-pleasing. That attitude was strangling my art, and filled my hours in the studio with anxiety. Something clicked, and since then I've been able to regularly work there.
And nearly every day I've had at least one --- albeit brief --- moment every time where I take a close look at the strokes on the canvas and I fall in love. "Look at those beautiful colors!" I think, even if the overall design isn't yet to my liking, I still can find bits of the work that give me a thrill. I love the mark of the brush, the way distinct colors unite to make a greater whole but up close can dissolve into bits of lovely color. I think that love is what keeps me coming back.
I think that works with the struggle with food too. The last few days have been a little rough. I've had lots of cravings for junk food, strange salt cravings that have made me have odd snacks like raw turnip and carrots sprinkled with kosher salt, or a nighttime beverage of hot chicken stock. I've groaned about it when Fuzz and I stopped in to the late night market to pick up some yogurt and I walked past the aisle display of 23 million different flavors of potato chip. But I don't do it "just once" because I know that down that path lies oblivion, that, to paraphrase a friend in AA, the first bite is the easiest one to turn down. Each subsequent one is harder to say "enough" to.
I'm a compulsive overeater. More and more I see that spontaneous eating is dangerous for me. That I have to have some sort of plan in place to keep me safe. There are times when rigidity is necessary. Not buying junk food is a fairly iron clad rule. I might have a little at a party, or where I can have a small discrete amount. Occasionally Fuzz and I might split a small bag of chips, but boy, is that ever not satisfying. I think I build it up in my head and make it into CHIPS!!!!! But it's just chips, not the fountain of youth. There is some part of me that expects it to be the holy grail, and I'm disappointed it's not. But instead of saying, hm, that was no fun, what my inner voice roars is "MOOOOOORRRRE!!!!" That's pretty nuts, expecting that the holy grail will be revealed after another couple of bags.
What keeps me just two steps ahead of that insanity is my love of what I've got now: good health, loved ones and friends, and fun. The more I give into the compulsion, the less I get of those other things. I don't want to give that up, that's what makes me buy lots of veggies and make sure I've got a good dinner waiting when I return from running and my OA meeting tonight. I'm vain. I like how I look in my jeans right now. But the basic thing has to be love. Love of how my life is right now, love of how the mystery just seems to keep flowering and showing blooms where before there was none. I know I'm getting a little new-agey-misty-tinkly-woo-woo here, but that's how it feels. Whatever works.
I've already written about my breakthrough in getting back into the studio. I had an epiphany and realized that I was so consumed by the fear of what others would think of my painting, that what I was suffering from was an extreme form of people-pleasing. That attitude was strangling my art, and filled my hours in the studio with anxiety. Something clicked, and since then I've been able to regularly work there.
And nearly every day I've had at least one --- albeit brief --- moment every time where I take a close look at the strokes on the canvas and I fall in love. "Look at those beautiful colors!" I think, even if the overall design isn't yet to my liking, I still can find bits of the work that give me a thrill. I love the mark of the brush, the way distinct colors unite to make a greater whole but up close can dissolve into bits of lovely color. I think that love is what keeps me coming back.
I think that works with the struggle with food too. The last few days have been a little rough. I've had lots of cravings for junk food, strange salt cravings that have made me have odd snacks like raw turnip and carrots sprinkled with kosher salt, or a nighttime beverage of hot chicken stock. I've groaned about it when Fuzz and I stopped in to the late night market to pick up some yogurt and I walked past the aisle display of 23 million different flavors of potato chip. But I don't do it "just once" because I know that down that path lies oblivion, that, to paraphrase a friend in AA, the first bite is the easiest one to turn down. Each subsequent one is harder to say "enough" to.
I'm a compulsive overeater. More and more I see that spontaneous eating is dangerous for me. That I have to have some sort of plan in place to keep me safe. There are times when rigidity is necessary. Not buying junk food is a fairly iron clad rule. I might have a little at a party, or where I can have a small discrete amount. Occasionally Fuzz and I might split a small bag of chips, but boy, is that ever not satisfying. I think I build it up in my head and make it into CHIPS!!!!! But it's just chips, not the fountain of youth. There is some part of me that expects it to be the holy grail, and I'm disappointed it's not. But instead of saying, hm, that was no fun, what my inner voice roars is "MOOOOOORRRRE!!!!" That's pretty nuts, expecting that the holy grail will be revealed after another couple of bags.
What keeps me just two steps ahead of that insanity is my love of what I've got now: good health, loved ones and friends, and fun. The more I give into the compulsion, the less I get of those other things. I don't want to give that up, that's what makes me buy lots of veggies and make sure I've got a good dinner waiting when I return from running and my OA meeting tonight. I'm vain. I like how I look in my jeans right now. But the basic thing has to be love. Love of how my life is right now, love of how the mystery just seems to keep flowering and showing blooms where before there was none. I know I'm getting a little new-agey-misty-tinkly-woo-woo here, but that's how it feels. Whatever works.
17.12.07
Midwinter Groaning
In the deep midwinter... so goes the old Christmas carol. I've been doing a lot of carol singing the last few days, a small group of us braved the storm of the year yesterday to stand in the shelter of the porch of a local health food store and sing for an hour to a few brave shoppers before going to soak our feet in vats of hot coffee, and then last night I actually took the car out to go downtown (the drive was more like tobogganing as I prayed I would get through the drifted intersections) for another session of traditional British pub carolling. That's where we sing archaic songs about boars heads, yule logs, wassail and all that stuff. Too bad it's not winter yet. Officially. That doesn't start until Saturday. The 30 cm of snow (about a foot) that fell yesterday didn't count, I guess.
Yesterday was active and kind of fun. Lots of shovelling and the social stuff around the singing, and we actually got the house a little tidied up because otherwise we sure weren't going anywhere. This morning, I woke up with an "ugh". Not sure why, the sun is actually out, and I look forward to an afternoon in the studio. I think it's just because it's Monday, and I've got a list of irritating little things I have to do.
I made a decision to not to make a decision a couple of days ago: I'm going to sit on my application to go into treatment. The winter is actually going well, and the past two winters I was recovering from surgeries, so I think I'm going to see how it goes without hospitalization or recuperation.
I'm still nervous about my food and the holidays. I guess I'll have to do some planning around that. I need to keep up my contacts and routines, so it's time to fire up the Treo and start scheduling how I will do that. I'll be missing at least a couple of my regular meetings, so I guess it's time to finally try some phone meetings. They've got a fairly comprehensive list of them on the Overeaters Anonymous website.
Something that's just surfaced in my consciousness now is that I may not do as much traveling as previously scheduled. My guts are telling me that I may be tired enough that the New Year's get together at a friends chalet about 3 hours away may be too much when the time comes so I'm going to let her know that I may not make it. I need to be good to myself. Feeling tired and grumpy is no good.
Yesterday was active and kind of fun. Lots of shovelling and the social stuff around the singing, and we actually got the house a little tidied up because otherwise we sure weren't going anywhere. This morning, I woke up with an "ugh". Not sure why, the sun is actually out, and I look forward to an afternoon in the studio. I think it's just because it's Monday, and I've got a list of irritating little things I have to do.
I made a decision to not to make a decision a couple of days ago: I'm going to sit on my application to go into treatment. The winter is actually going well, and the past two winters I was recovering from surgeries, so I think I'm going to see how it goes without hospitalization or recuperation.
I'm still nervous about my food and the holidays. I guess I'll have to do some planning around that. I need to keep up my contacts and routines, so it's time to fire up the Treo and start scheduling how I will do that. I'll be missing at least a couple of my regular meetings, so I guess it's time to finally try some phone meetings. They've got a fairly comprehensive list of them on the Overeaters Anonymous website.
Something that's just surfaced in my consciousness now is that I may not do as much traveling as previously scheduled. My guts are telling me that I may be tired enough that the New Year's get together at a friends chalet about 3 hours away may be too much when the time comes so I'm going to let her know that I may not make it. I need to be good to myself. Feeling tired and grumpy is no good.
14.12.07
Food Bribery
I've used food for many things that aren't really healthy: as a substitute for friends or misplaced self-comfort. But I think I just realized that I use it regularly as bribery. Love my food, love me, goes the crazy logic in my head. It's a pretty common tactic in our culture, and hey, it works, to an extent. Witness the business lunch, or the breakfast meeting: food makes it more palatable. Look at all those holiday ads with yummy mummies and adoring children baking together. The Norman Rockwell-esque family gathered around Granny, and even more importantly, that giant turkey!
I think the reason I have an entire bookcase full of cookbooks is because I have this semi-permanent fantasy loop about making wonderful dishes for my family and friends. The reality is we rarely have people over except our oldest and least critical friends because the house is in a permanent state of semi-reno.
A couple of days ago, I heard a radio feature about a woman who makes her living by baking wonderful pies. As American as apple pie, they say, it's such an iconic image for us. I had such a craving to be that woman, although I knew it was a very unrealistic fantasy. I've worked in food service, and for a while I indulged in the fantasy that I would be chef to all, universally adored.
Oh boy, it's such a seductive trap for me. Through hard lessons with food, however, I've discovered that it's more dangerous than helpful. I end up eating too much of the "special" food myself, and I usually get so wrapped up in the food that I don't fully experience being with others. And this morning I realized the fragility of my ego, that feels if I don't offer food, people won't be attracted to me. As if I have to stuff some warm muffins down my bra to increase my attractiveness! There's the food addiction: where I don't feel right without the food. It's the compulsive overater's equivalent to an alcoholic needing a drink to lubricate their daily work, take the edge off.
I think the reason I have an entire bookcase full of cookbooks is because I have this semi-permanent fantasy loop about making wonderful dishes for my family and friends. The reality is we rarely have people over except our oldest and least critical friends because the house is in a permanent state of semi-reno.
A couple of days ago, I heard a radio feature about a woman who makes her living by baking wonderful pies. As American as apple pie, they say, it's such an iconic image for us. I had such a craving to be that woman, although I knew it was a very unrealistic fantasy. I've worked in food service, and for a while I indulged in the fantasy that I would be chef to all, universally adored.
Oh boy, it's such a seductive trap for me. Through hard lessons with food, however, I've discovered that it's more dangerous than helpful. I end up eating too much of the "special" food myself, and I usually get so wrapped up in the food that I don't fully experience being with others. And this morning I realized the fragility of my ego, that feels if I don't offer food, people won't be attracted to me. As if I have to stuff some warm muffins down my bra to increase my attractiveness! There's the food addiction: where I don't feel right without the food. It's the compulsive overater's equivalent to an alcoholic needing a drink to lubricate their daily work, take the edge off.
13.12.07
Crave Routine, Stop the Craving
I know what I want for Christmas: good old boring routine. No Christmas meals, no special desserts, no big parties, just my routine. Now, I know that isn't possible, because for one thing, there is going to be travel a couple of times around the holidays, and I'm going to have to stay on top of my food during that. Part of it will be relatively easy, because it's going to be New Years at a ski chalet in Quebec with some dear friends from OA. But other days, well, I don't know.
I'm worried, so I need to do some prep work to make sure I don't fall into dangerous territory. I just realized that my last slip was after I returned from Nashville and all the fatty starchy food there. I told myself it was ok, I was on vacation, but I really hit the skids when I got home because my disease didn't want the deep fried catfish & biscuits party to stop. And I had a binge. A smallish one as they go, but it was enough for me to declare a break in abstinence. So, what can I do differently?
Well, one thing I can do is keep up with meetings. I'll be missing my regular meetings, so I need to either find meetings where I'm going or by phone/online.
The other thing is bring my food with me. Breakfast is easy, because I take my oatmeal. I think I need to make an effort about lunches and make them abstinent. Which will be tricky.
I need to take regular time each morning to write. I may not be able to get online.
Keeping in regular touch with my sponsor, sponsee and food buddy no matter where we may be. Make firm appointments when to call.
Praying like a bastard!
On a related matter, the saga of the chicken bones has gone into hiatus. They've sat in the cupboard two whole days and I haven't touched them. Life has been fairly calm, so I'm wondering if that is my answer right there: life is better without the candy. Have a couple and life gets .... wierd! My whole thinking seems to skew. For my peace of mind, I think they may be leaving soon.
Day 43.
I'm worried, so I need to do some prep work to make sure I don't fall into dangerous territory. I just realized that my last slip was after I returned from Nashville and all the fatty starchy food there. I told myself it was ok, I was on vacation, but I really hit the skids when I got home because my disease didn't want the deep fried catfish & biscuits party to stop. And I had a binge. A smallish one as they go, but it was enough for me to declare a break in abstinence. So, what can I do differently?
Well, one thing I can do is keep up with meetings. I'll be missing my regular meetings, so I need to either find meetings where I'm going or by phone/online.
The other thing is bring my food with me. Breakfast is easy, because I take my oatmeal. I think I need to make an effort about lunches and make them abstinent. Which will be tricky.
I need to take regular time each morning to write. I may not be able to get online.
Keeping in regular touch with my sponsor, sponsee and food buddy no matter where we may be. Make firm appointments when to call.
Praying like a bastard!
On a related matter, the saga of the chicken bones has gone into hiatus. They've sat in the cupboard two whole days and I haven't touched them. Life has been fairly calm, so I'm wondering if that is my answer right there: life is better without the candy. Have a couple and life gets .... wierd! My whole thinking seems to skew. For my peace of mind, I think they may be leaving soon.
Day 43.
12.12.07
Scheduling Sanity
I just did a little browsing at my posts, few and far between that they may be, from this time last year. I am definitely in a different mental place then I was then, and I'm not sure exactly why that is. I've settled down into a regular meeting pattern, two a week, and I did give away all my Overeaters Anonymous service positions with the exception of my pig-headed sponsee who just likes me too damn much, and me her. Yet I have taken on the role of treasurer of a small meeting. It feels manageable, except I realized last night I had forgotten to pay the church the November rent, whoopsie...
My life is just generally more regular right now. I wonder if that is the simple difference between this year and last. My sponsor and I have started meeting weekly, and after a few nasty slips this fall, I decided I had to write regularly for my own sanity, and that's what happening here. I'm in the studio more days in a week than not. I'm not recovering from any surgeries or athletic injuries right now, so my exercise routine is just that, routine. My generous running coach pushes us gently. I do weekly group therapy. I phone my therapist.
Am I in danger of being bored? That's a good question, because I think that I can be an excitement junkie. So far, however, routine feels ok. Excitement is provided by the studio, my choir, social stuff with some of the women I attend OA with, and some travel. And my darling scooter, Bella, unfortunately now put away from the ice and snow. Mental note: buy a big work light so I can get down in the basement and tinker with her. I'm still toying with the idea of painting her a nice faux leopard skin...
Last year life just felt out of whack, spinning out of control. Now I feel like a planetary body back in a regular orbit. Still spinning, of course, but safely.
I have to get going. Stop at Staples and the art supply store, and get to the gym before lunch. I don't think I'll have much time to practice before choir, but some things are just going to have to slide for now.
My life is just generally more regular right now. I wonder if that is the simple difference between this year and last. My sponsor and I have started meeting weekly, and after a few nasty slips this fall, I decided I had to write regularly for my own sanity, and that's what happening here. I'm in the studio more days in a week than not. I'm not recovering from any surgeries or athletic injuries right now, so my exercise routine is just that, routine. My generous running coach pushes us gently. I do weekly group therapy. I phone my therapist.
Am I in danger of being bored? That's a good question, because I think that I can be an excitement junkie. So far, however, routine feels ok. Excitement is provided by the studio, my choir, social stuff with some of the women I attend OA with, and some travel. And my darling scooter, Bella, unfortunately now put away from the ice and snow. Mental note: buy a big work light so I can get down in the basement and tinker with her. I'm still toying with the idea of painting her a nice faux leopard skin...
Last year life just felt out of whack, spinning out of control. Now I feel like a planetary body back in a regular orbit. Still spinning, of course, but safely.
I have to get going. Stop at Staples and the art supply store, and get to the gym before lunch. I don't think I'll have much time to practice before choir, but some things are just going to have to slide for now.
11.12.07
Revenge of the Chicken Bones
Rats. Now the other stuff I ordered from that candy company is causing problems. It may have to get sent out the door with Fuzz just like the chocolates did yesterday. (They sit in his office lying in "weight" for the co-workers at his next meeting...evil laughter ensues) But I'm grumpy about this. But they are a problem. I had two after lunch yesterday. Then two after dinner. Then two before bed... and all the broken ones I could find. (They don't count, right?) And today I can feel the radioactive glow from them where they sit hidden in the pots cupboard. Grr, spit... I forgot. I assumed I was a normal eater. This happened last year with the christmas cake I made, supposedly for gifts, and it was really appreciated, but I kept too much for us. Here's the twisted logic I followed: Christmas cake is nice, but it's not chocolate, or cheesecake, one of my favorite desserts, so I would be safe, right? Nope. I kept shaving off slices, just the way I used to shave spoonfulls off the top of the ice cream. It's never just one. Or, it might be one the first day. Not the second.
The funny thing is, these treats causing me the agro right now are called Chicken Bones, of all things. They sound yukky but they are these pink hard cinnamon candies filled with bittersweet chocolate. They are pinched off at both ends so they look a little like bones, I guess. If you're from Mars!
So. I have a choice. Either I schedule them in to my daily snacks, replacing something else like my nighttime dark chocolate with them, and bag them up into finite amounts with no extras, or I send them off with Fuzz. The latter would likely be the saner choice, but I'm not sure I'm willing to do that yet. On the other hand, do I like them enough to replace my 85 % chocolate with them? In addition, I really do think that the sugar in them makes me crazy. After my chocolate bar is finished I am a little disappointed, but oh well, it was nice. After chicken bones, like those chocolates, I was craving more, more more! And they were sooo sweet...
Well, for today: I'll bag up an ounce of dem bones and try them tonight.
The funny thing is, these treats causing me the agro right now are called Chicken Bones, of all things. They sound yukky but they are these pink hard cinnamon candies filled with bittersweet chocolate. They are pinched off at both ends so they look a little like bones, I guess. If you're from Mars!
So. I have a choice. Either I schedule them in to my daily snacks, replacing something else like my nighttime dark chocolate with them, and bag them up into finite amounts with no extras, or I send them off with Fuzz. The latter would likely be the saner choice, but I'm not sure I'm willing to do that yet. On the other hand, do I like them enough to replace my 85 % chocolate with them? In addition, I really do think that the sugar in them makes me crazy. After my chocolate bar is finished I am a little disappointed, but oh well, it was nice. After chicken bones, like those chocolates, I was craving more, more more! And they were sooo sweet...
Well, for today: I'll bag up an ounce of dem bones and try them tonight.
10.12.07
Work Hazard (or The Post in Which our Author Goes All Scrooge on Feasting)
If you work with the spouse of someone in Overeaters Anonymous, it may be hazardous to your health, or at least add some calories to your days. I did the bad-food sendoff with Fuzz again this morning, after a night of musing for too long on a box of chocolates. When will I learn? Food + sentiment/nostalgia = big trouble. I saw this piece on tv about this small chocolate company down east where my great grandfather used to work, and I found out they had a website and ordered some treats from there: one type is a fairly easy one for me to eat in small doses, but the other was chocolates. My old favorite binge food. I could eat a half a pound at one sitting, no sweat as part of a larger binge, where I would alternate sweet and salty, crunchy and gooey items. I had an inkling these would be trouble, but I didn't listen to that small voice and ordered them.
So they came yesterday, and last evening Fuzz and I each had three. Then I put the box away in a cupboard I don't open often, but for the next couple of hours they loomed large in my mind. I finally went to bed but I was already thinking about tonight when I could have three more. A big question floated in my brain: would I be able to make it to the end of the box parceling out a few at a time, or would the number grow until I finally threw caution to the wind and polished off the rest? I felt like I had dynamite in the cupboard.
Early this morning I was doing my regular phone call (3 times a week) with my food buddy, the OA fellow sufferer I talk over food challenges with. And I told her about the dynamite, even calling it that. "Should you get rid of it?" she wondered. I groaned.
"But they were so expensive!" I whined. "I'm too cheap to just give them up like that."
"Expensive enough to sabotage your eating and your peace of mine?"
She had me there. Compared to the cost of an hour of therapy, this was a cheap lesson. I started to see in my mind a vision of the box floating out the door with Fuzz as he took it to work. And the picture came with a sense of relief. By the end of the phone call I was convinced, possessed even, by the prospect of sending the demon in the beribboned box out the door. I scrambled down the stairs to catch Fuzz before he left. I did take the step of putting 4 chocolates in a baggie for my evening treat tonight. Notice it was 4. I rationalized that two of them were small ones. See how slippery it is?
Fuzz, bless his heart, did offer to just keep the box in his car and bring it out again tonight, but honestly, I was relieved that it was leaving. There is something about chocolates that aren't really really dark (85 percent cocoa solids minimum) that just set off my cravings. I have a growing suspicion that it's more the sugar than the chocolate itself that sets me off. So it will be a relief when they are gone. I wonder if I might even give Fuzz those chocolates I set aside this morning and be more content if I just had my usual dark chocolate with my cup of decaf?
The holidays are such a minefield for emotional eaters. Last year didn't go so well. This year, I haven't done any baking, no christmas cake. Because the family has conflicting travel plans, I don't think we'll even get together for a turkey dinner. Thank God I don't work in an office like Fuzz's. There's all sorts of crap floating around there and I feel a little guilty about contributing to that. But I am being reminded that the more I try to eliminate "exceptional" eating from my diet, the better I feel.
Which leads me to a larger question: In our excessive society, we can feast any time we want. But the concept of the feast originated in a time when, where there was feast, there was usually famine following somewhere. We don't have to gorge on the fatted calf in order to survive the rest of winter. Just as we work to make famines a thing of the past, I think feasts are also becoming obsolete. And what is a binge but a distorted feast response to distress?
Oh yeah, day 40 since my last binge.
So they came yesterday, and last evening Fuzz and I each had three. Then I put the box away in a cupboard I don't open often, but for the next couple of hours they loomed large in my mind. I finally went to bed but I was already thinking about tonight when I could have three more. A big question floated in my brain: would I be able to make it to the end of the box parceling out a few at a time, or would the number grow until I finally threw caution to the wind and polished off the rest? I felt like I had dynamite in the cupboard.
Early this morning I was doing my regular phone call (3 times a week) with my food buddy, the OA fellow sufferer I talk over food challenges with. And I told her about the dynamite, even calling it that. "Should you get rid of it?" she wondered. I groaned.
"But they were so expensive!" I whined. "I'm too cheap to just give them up like that."
"Expensive enough to sabotage your eating and your peace of mine?"
She had me there. Compared to the cost of an hour of therapy, this was a cheap lesson. I started to see in my mind a vision of the box floating out the door with Fuzz as he took it to work. And the picture came with a sense of relief. By the end of the phone call I was convinced, possessed even, by the prospect of sending the demon in the beribboned box out the door. I scrambled down the stairs to catch Fuzz before he left. I did take the step of putting 4 chocolates in a baggie for my evening treat tonight. Notice it was 4. I rationalized that two of them were small ones. See how slippery it is?
Fuzz, bless his heart, did offer to just keep the box in his car and bring it out again tonight, but honestly, I was relieved that it was leaving. There is something about chocolates that aren't really really dark (85 percent cocoa solids minimum) that just set off my cravings. I have a growing suspicion that it's more the sugar than the chocolate itself that sets me off. So it will be a relief when they are gone. I wonder if I might even give Fuzz those chocolates I set aside this morning and be more content if I just had my usual dark chocolate with my cup of decaf?
The holidays are such a minefield for emotional eaters. Last year didn't go so well. This year, I haven't done any baking, no christmas cake. Because the family has conflicting travel plans, I don't think we'll even get together for a turkey dinner. Thank God I don't work in an office like Fuzz's. There's all sorts of crap floating around there and I feel a little guilty about contributing to that. But I am being reminded that the more I try to eliminate "exceptional" eating from my diet, the better I feel.
Which leads me to a larger question: In our excessive society, we can feast any time we want. But the concept of the feast originated in a time when, where there was feast, there was usually famine following somewhere. We don't have to gorge on the fatted calf in order to survive the rest of winter. Just as we work to make famines a thing of the past, I think feasts are also becoming obsolete. And what is a binge but a distorted feast response to distress?
Oh yeah, day 40 since my last binge.
7.12.07
Trauma, Dissociation, and Compulsive Eating
So call me Trauma Girl this month, I'm all about the original trauma and it's relation to my eating disorder, as I contemplate going into residential treatment for the trauma. Lately I've been looking at my behaviour patterns, other than around the food that are part of the same package, my coping techniques and personal style that I developed as a response to early trauma
My friend and I were bitching about some people who drove us nuts, twelve step divas who go on and on and on about every little issue as part of their "healing" and you get so sick of listening to it that you want to leap over the table and shove your Big Book down their throat. We of course, fit into the other camp of the stoic watchers who learned early on not to bore others with our problems, but just shut up and take it.
The Divas go on and on about situations and people who "trigger" them, so much so that "trigger" is one of my less favorite words, but then I realize that they are triggering not me, (that would just be bad grammar) but a trauma response in me. I suffered at the hands of a rage filled narcissist. So narcissistic behaviour drives me to a level of distraction that is often stronger than warranted in the present. It figures. You know how evocative smells can be, summoning up instant images of things long past? I think that is what the rage and frustration summoned up by those people is like. It's visceral. I am starting to notice these things. I guess this is progress.
Now, how do I become my own twelve step diva? Where did I put that feather boa?
My friend and I were bitching about some people who drove us nuts, twelve step divas who go on and on and on about every little issue as part of their "healing" and you get so sick of listening to it that you want to leap over the table and shove your Big Book down their throat. We of course, fit into the other camp of the stoic watchers who learned early on not to bore others with our problems, but just shut up and take it.
The Divas go on and on about situations and people who "trigger" them, so much so that "trigger" is one of my less favorite words, but then I realize that they are triggering not me, (that would just be bad grammar) but a trauma response in me. I suffered at the hands of a rage filled narcissist. So narcissistic behaviour drives me to a level of distraction that is often stronger than warranted in the present. It figures. You know how evocative smells can be, summoning up instant images of things long past? I think that is what the rage and frustration summoned up by those people is like. It's visceral. I am starting to notice these things. I guess this is progress.
Now, how do I become my own twelve step diva? Where did I put that feather boa?
6.12.07
A Little Stunned
Yesterday I saw my doctor and went over the admission form for residential treatment at Homewood Health Care . I'm a bit stunned that I can actually go. A couple of days before that, Fuzz called our insurance company and they readily agreed that I was covered for a semi-private (what a euphemism for shared) room. I expected much more of a fight from them but they didn't bat an eye. Now, depending on how long a wait there is for treatment (I don't believe it is long), I can expect to leave sometime in the next few months for a 2 month stay.
Surprisingly, I'm not going for eating disorder treatment. I'm going to be treated for trauma. After some consideration and discussion with friends in OA and my addictions therapy group, my therapist and gp, I decided to try the trauma treatment. I never considered my life experiences particularly traumatic, but as someone in my therapy group said, growing up in an alcoholic family is traumatic enough.
Ironically, I'm feeling hungry right now. Actually, I've felt that way for the last couple of days. I have to go downtown and do some banking, and then I have to call my shrink. Oh joy, oh bliss. I've been out of my routine with the studio, I haven't been there since last Thursday for one reason or another. I wonder if that has something to do with the hunger? I feel guilty and restless. Irritable and discontent aren't far behind.
Alright alright. Gotta get my butt out of bed and the jammies and put one foot in front of the other. And then I get the reward of lunch, and after I finish with the shrink I get to go to the studio. Some days I have to use the food as a carrot. Going to the studio, I get my mid afternoon snack of almonds (single serving size package, it's safer) and a fruit. After we run tonight we get supper. I am still obsessed with food, but some days its a useful tool.
Day 35 since a binge.
Surprisingly, I'm not going for eating disorder treatment. I'm going to be treated for trauma. After some consideration and discussion with friends in OA and my addictions therapy group, my therapist and gp, I decided to try the trauma treatment. I never considered my life experiences particularly traumatic, but as someone in my therapy group said, growing up in an alcoholic family is traumatic enough.
Ironically, I'm feeling hungry right now. Actually, I've felt that way for the last couple of days. I have to go downtown and do some banking, and then I have to call my shrink. Oh joy, oh bliss. I've been out of my routine with the studio, I haven't been there since last Thursday for one reason or another. I wonder if that has something to do with the hunger? I feel guilty and restless. Irritable and discontent aren't far behind.
Alright alright. Gotta get my butt out of bed and the jammies and put one foot in front of the other. And then I get the reward of lunch, and after I finish with the shrink I get to go to the studio. Some days I have to use the food as a carrot. Going to the studio, I get my mid afternoon snack of almonds (single serving size package, it's safer) and a fruit. After we run tonight we get supper. I am still obsessed with food, but some days its a useful tool.
Day 35 since a binge.
4.12.07
Princess Either/Or
Hmmm, that header sounds suspiciously like "Princess Eeyore" and sometimes it feels like it too. I just read a short article about the links between perfectionism and compulsive behaviour and addictions in the NYTimes. As my dear therapist has so damn often pointed out, life doesn't always have to be either I'm great or I'm doomed. It can be many shades of grey in between. And oh, I hate it when she says that!!! I'm not sure what I hate more, the concept, or my very imperfect ability to grasp when I'm doing it! (Fill in weary guffaw here)
The article points out that being a perfectionist can be especially tricky for someone dealing with an addiction or an eating disorder. I can take that a little further and say that when your eating disorder seems to be well described by the addiction model, it can be really tricky. Because with food as my drug of choice, I can never be 100 percent "clean" because I have to eat, I can't and wouldn't want to live on a constant diet of Ensure, Slimfast, or Jenny Craig meals.
Is weighing and measuring every last morsel an answer? Or is it just trading compulsions? Perhaps it boils down to harm reduction. I know there are people who swear by completely weighed and measured food and if that is what it takes, then maybe that is what they have to do. I just know from my experience that I did that for years on Weight Watchers, alternating with blow out binge eating. But then again, I'm only a month and a bit past my last binge, so I cannot claim definitive success with my present plan of eating.
Today I'm weighing and measuring some things. I measure out the ingredients when I make a batch of oatmeal that lasts me and Fuzz for three days of breakfasts and we can cut in wedges to warm up in bowls in the microwave. If we're having rice or pasta with dinner, I measure out about a cup. I have to say "about" because if it's a particularly holey pasta, I'll add some more for the airspace volume. I'll usually measure out a couple of ounces of protein (cheese or meat) to have with my lunch. Sometimes single servings packages just make it easier to have a reasonable portion: a small bag of smokehouse almonds, a small bar of dark chocolate, a small container of yogurt.
Last night I nibbled before bed--- a couple of teaspoons I think of cream cheese. I kid you not. Strange, huh? I don't feel really "clean" about it, but I think that it's important to not be crazy perfectionistic about this... even if I do have that compulsion. I want, I want, I want a squeaky clean abstinence here! Ain't gonna happen. Unless I seal myself up in a bubble. I've told myself over and over that it isn't the two teaspoons of cream cheese (or the cracker at a party)that got me to 310, it was the binges.
How different is my compulsion to diet from that of a compulsive hand washer or the tv detective Adrian Monk, driving everyone around him nuts by his compulsion to organize everything? The fear feels similar. I am so afraid of going back out there but then a switch gets flipped and I'm not just nibbling, I'm shovelling it in. Perhaps the shovelling is a response to the fear, that it feels as if I need some sort of assurance that I know where I'm going. Bingeing is familiar, with a predictable, if unpleasant result, and the knowledge that if I do it for an hour or two, I will be drugged into sleep and that at least is certain, if miserable. And then the fairy tale of "tomorrow will be different " kicks in, right on cue. And there we have it, I'm back at fear.
I am always struck by this sentence in the AA Big Book when they are discussing fear:
This short word somehow touches about every aspect of our lives. It was an evil and corroding thread; the fabric of our lives was shot through with it. It set in motion trains of circumstances which brought us misfortune that we felt we did not deserve... Sometimes we think fear ought to be classed with stealing. It seems to cause more trouble.
I'm used to being a compulsive overeater. The crazy response to a crazy world feels very, very familiar. I've worn that corrupt fabric, shot with fear, like a shawl all my life. When I get too self-righteous about how I don't look fat any more, I remember what the fat is about --- that if I could see every little nano-particle of an inch of that fat draping a body, I would see sub-molecules of fear, trillions of them, and I am amazed at the sheer psychic, non-physical weight this person is battling. I am battling. This is not meant to be a depressive thought, it is actually awe inspiring and a reminder as to how serious a battle this is.
Day 34.
The article points out that being a perfectionist can be especially tricky for someone dealing with an addiction or an eating disorder. I can take that a little further and say that when your eating disorder seems to be well described by the addiction model, it can be really tricky. Because with food as my drug of choice, I can never be 100 percent "clean" because I have to eat, I can't and wouldn't want to live on a constant diet of Ensure, Slimfast, or Jenny Craig meals.
Is weighing and measuring every last morsel an answer? Or is it just trading compulsions? Perhaps it boils down to harm reduction. I know there are people who swear by completely weighed and measured food and if that is what it takes, then maybe that is what they have to do. I just know from my experience that I did that for years on Weight Watchers, alternating with blow out binge eating. But then again, I'm only a month and a bit past my last binge, so I cannot claim definitive success with my present plan of eating.
Today I'm weighing and measuring some things. I measure out the ingredients when I make a batch of oatmeal that lasts me and Fuzz for three days of breakfasts and we can cut in wedges to warm up in bowls in the microwave. If we're having rice or pasta with dinner, I measure out about a cup. I have to say "about" because if it's a particularly holey pasta, I'll add some more for the airspace volume. I'll usually measure out a couple of ounces of protein (cheese or meat) to have with my lunch. Sometimes single servings packages just make it easier to have a reasonable portion: a small bag of smokehouse almonds, a small bar of dark chocolate, a small container of yogurt.
Last night I nibbled before bed--- a couple of teaspoons I think of cream cheese. I kid you not. Strange, huh? I don't feel really "clean" about it, but I think that it's important to not be crazy perfectionistic about this... even if I do have that compulsion. I want, I want, I want a squeaky clean abstinence here! Ain't gonna happen. Unless I seal myself up in a bubble. I've told myself over and over that it isn't the two teaspoons of cream cheese (or the cracker at a party)that got me to 310, it was the binges.
How different is my compulsion to diet from that of a compulsive hand washer or the tv detective Adrian Monk, driving everyone around him nuts by his compulsion to organize everything? The fear feels similar. I am so afraid of going back out there but then a switch gets flipped and I'm not just nibbling, I'm shovelling it in. Perhaps the shovelling is a response to the fear, that it feels as if I need some sort of assurance that I know where I'm going. Bingeing is familiar, with a predictable, if unpleasant result, and the knowledge that if I do it for an hour or two, I will be drugged into sleep and that at least is certain, if miserable. And then the fairy tale of "tomorrow will be different " kicks in, right on cue. And there we have it, I'm back at fear.
I am always struck by this sentence in the AA Big Book when they are discussing fear:
This short word somehow touches about every aspect of our lives. It was an evil and corroding thread; the fabric of our lives was shot through with it. It set in motion trains of circumstances which brought us misfortune that we felt we did not deserve... Sometimes we think fear ought to be classed with stealing. It seems to cause more trouble.
I'm used to being a compulsive overeater. The crazy response to a crazy world feels very, very familiar. I've worn that corrupt fabric, shot with fear, like a shawl all my life. When I get too self-righteous about how I don't look fat any more, I remember what the fat is about --- that if I could see every little nano-particle of an inch of that fat draping a body, I would see sub-molecules of fear, trillions of them, and I am amazed at the sheer psychic, non-physical weight this person is battling. I am battling. This is not meant to be a depressive thought, it is actually awe inspiring and a reminder as to how serious a battle this is.
Day 34.
3.12.07
Mmm, Succulent Rutabagas!
Ok, I like good old rutabagas a lot, raw, cut up in sticks, oven roast with a little oil and kosher salt, cooked in stews, and in the old standby mashes with potatoes, butternut squash and a touch of brown sugar and butter. But succulent? Just not what I'd call it.
Heavens knows, restaurant menus do that sort of hyperbole all the time, and research has shown that when people are given those type of over the top descriptors of vegetables, they will eat and enjoy it more. As much as I smirk, maybe I should try it on Fuzz. He's not so fond of rutabagas, but if I hide it in something, like a good stew, he doesn't object at all. I blame whoever called it rutabaga. Turnip (which much of us call them anyway, because it's simpler to say than "rooot-a-beggah", even if it is a misnomer) isn't much better. It just sounds ugly, doesn't it?
I made a conscious choice last night to have a veggie dinner because of my cheese hangover. Dinner at the BF's house the night before was takeout pizza from the joint around the corner, which is the most cheese laden one I've ever had. Luscious but as BF's partner calls it, a real "gut bomb" afterward. But still, I was compelled to steal pretzels from the kids afterward. What is it about a really rich meal that fills me up and yet makes me want to keep on eating afterward? Then brunch yesterday and I inadvertently ordered a meal that was mostly cheese again. By then I felt like I'd eaten an anvil. My tummy is so iffy I think I might have a bug and I think I pulled something around my scapula at the gym. So dinner needed to be something that felt really healthy. Spicy curried lentils with sweet potatoes and spinach on basmati really filled the bill. With a side order of robaxacet...
I discussed the gut bomb and other "gnawing" issues this morning with my OA food buddy. She had had one of those weekends with socializing that made her eat a little more food than she was comfortable with, and she felt a bit hung over on things like some extra wine and gossip that made her generally feel unwell. Socializing is such a minefield for us compulsive eaters. Why???
Well, I think my social anxiety is a big part of it, and that makes me eat more and be less aware of what and how much I'm eating. Eating in restaurants is usually where portion magnification happens, or when you eat at another's house or at a potluck, we bring and eat more food than we normally eat because we want to be generous and celebrate with a bounteous feast. Food and celebrations have been around forever, but I think we nibble or sip more than ever. Travel cups of coffee or bottles of water are ubiquitous: while we're driving, shopping, coffee time after the church service, the water bottle in the gym, everywhere! It's gotten to the point where we have to ask just when are we not putting something in our mouths?
I am particularly to blame about coffee. It's usually at least half decaf, but a coffee cup or travel mug is usually to hand, even while I'm working in the studio. I had a prof who used to yell at me for putting the handle of my paint brush in my mouth when I was thinking or needed to put it somewhere. Very Bad Habit, because it makes it more likely that I'll ingest small amounts of paint. Maybe I should consider the same thing about the coffee cup.
I guess it's good that we're more aware of our eating patterns. Now the question is, do I need to change anything about it?
Day 33 since a binge. I hate writing and the phone (my expression is like that of someone given some of that nasty Buckley's cough syrup) but that, in conjunction with regular meetings with my sponsor (not so nasty) are helping. I think. Damned if I know exactly what is, the feelings are that divorced from my actions, but that is all I can pin it down to. If you've read this stuff, you can see it's not exactly deep revelations, but whatever it is, it seems to be keeping me present on some level.
Heavens knows, restaurant menus do that sort of hyperbole all the time, and research has shown that when people are given those type of over the top descriptors of vegetables, they will eat and enjoy it more. As much as I smirk, maybe I should try it on Fuzz. He's not so fond of rutabagas, but if I hide it in something, like a good stew, he doesn't object at all. I blame whoever called it rutabaga. Turnip (which much of us call them anyway, because it's simpler to say than "rooot-a-beggah", even if it is a misnomer) isn't much better. It just sounds ugly, doesn't it?
I made a conscious choice last night to have a veggie dinner because of my cheese hangover. Dinner at the BF's house the night before was takeout pizza from the joint around the corner, which is the most cheese laden one I've ever had. Luscious but as BF's partner calls it, a real "gut bomb" afterward. But still, I was compelled to steal pretzels from the kids afterward. What is it about a really rich meal that fills me up and yet makes me want to keep on eating afterward? Then brunch yesterday and I inadvertently ordered a meal that was mostly cheese again. By then I felt like I'd eaten an anvil. My tummy is so iffy I think I might have a bug and I think I pulled something around my scapula at the gym. So dinner needed to be something that felt really healthy. Spicy curried lentils with sweet potatoes and spinach on basmati really filled the bill. With a side order of robaxacet...
I discussed the gut bomb and other "gnawing" issues this morning with my OA food buddy. She had had one of those weekends with socializing that made her eat a little more food than she was comfortable with, and she felt a bit hung over on things like some extra wine and gossip that made her generally feel unwell. Socializing is such a minefield for us compulsive eaters. Why???
Well, I think my social anxiety is a big part of it, and that makes me eat more and be less aware of what and how much I'm eating. Eating in restaurants is usually where portion magnification happens, or when you eat at another's house or at a potluck, we bring and eat more food than we normally eat because we want to be generous and celebrate with a bounteous feast. Food and celebrations have been around forever, but I think we nibble or sip more than ever. Travel cups of coffee or bottles of water are ubiquitous: while we're driving, shopping, coffee time after the church service, the water bottle in the gym, everywhere! It's gotten to the point where we have to ask just when are we not putting something in our mouths?
I am particularly to blame about coffee. It's usually at least half decaf, but a coffee cup or travel mug is usually to hand, even while I'm working in the studio. I had a prof who used to yell at me for putting the handle of my paint brush in my mouth when I was thinking or needed to put it somewhere. Very Bad Habit, because it makes it more likely that I'll ingest small amounts of paint. Maybe I should consider the same thing about the coffee cup.
I guess it's good that we're more aware of our eating patterns. Now the question is, do I need to change anything about it?
Day 33 since a binge. I hate writing and the phone (my expression is like that of someone given some of that nasty Buckley's cough syrup) but that, in conjunction with regular meetings with my sponsor (not so nasty) are helping. I think. Damned if I know exactly what is, the feelings are that divorced from my actions, but that is all I can pin it down to. If you've read this stuff, you can see it's not exactly deep revelations, but whatever it is, it seems to be keeping me present on some level.
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