I'm in a funny mood. Publishing my sketchbook isn't helping, actually, so the therapy might not be helping. Maybe I'm missing my sponsor. I should call her, she's off skiing somewhere, but judging by one of my last posts, I may have a bit of a resentment of people who are travelling. Probably because I'm not. And I could, I could find the money to get away, but I'm not really trying to do it. It's much easier to sit and be ticked off. Hm. There's the nub of it really, I just want to sit and hate everyone. Ah. There. I've said it. It's much easier to sit in the kitchen, drink coffee, and hate the world than to do what I've got in front of me begging to be done. Go out and arrange for the food for my choir get-together on Saturday. Start painting the big canvas that is lurking in my studio and scaring the bejeezus out of me. That's much harder. Ok, so I guess there's not much to do but do it. After lunch. First, I want to make a nice vegetable soup for lunches this week. A good thing for a snowy day.
There it is again, food as comfort. It's cold, it's grey, and I want to hide. So, I'll make soup. I guess there are worse things to do: like get a bucket of chicken and eat it. Or a box of chocolates. Why am I not still 300 pounds? Because getting a bunch of food and eating it just isn't an option any more. I know where that leads. But I need to do some emotional work in order to keep myself from getting so desperate that bingeing becomes an option again. And that can happen in the blink of an eye. I have to reach out to others, but who, I don't know... Hm. Maybe another friend from the programme. Gotta chop. And get my phone out too.
It's 3/4 of an hour later, and I've got the giant stock pot on the stove (the one that doubles as an outdoor lobster pot on the propane cooker in the summer and has the flame marks on the side to prove it) and 2 trays of chopped vegetables roasting on the oven. All my anger and fear is chopped up with the turnip, leeks, garlic, celery, parsnips, carrots, onions and mushrooms, roasting with a good coating of oil and italian tomato paste. And the house smells wonderful. This is where I still go with food. I'm making something nourishing and tasty, and that is where I get my food jollies these days.
The food has been really good lately. I seem to have a surfeit of willingness. Funny sentence that first one, speaking of "the food" in the third person, as if it has a personality... Food with a capital F. Well, I guess that for a compulsive overeater, it does have a personality. A very intimidating personality, usually. It's a very polarized relationship and it can be extremely dysfunctional: I love Food and I hate it for what it has done to me in the past. I guess I'm trying to work on my relationship with Food here. And I have to, because I need Food to survive. It's not a substance like alcohol, that I can abstain from. Anorexics try to abstain from eating Food, it's their enemy, and it can have fatal results. My challenge is to put Food in a place where it doesn't rule my life. And I have more or less success on a daily basis.
Chefs, gourmands and the like often like to say they live to eat. Well, that doesn't seem to work for me. In my case, I was dying to eat. Because when I approach food in that manner, I can't stop. So I have had to pray for breaks to be put into my faulty operating system, and I have to change things, to build the breaks in. Write. Share. Reach out. Look in. Honour myself. In my case it is often the challenge to reverse the old Biblical admonition to love myself as I do others, because I think that one of the big triggers for overeating is making myself a doormat. And I do it so automatically.
26.2.08
25.2.08
A Rant about Damn Boring Snowbirds
I like winter. Honest, I do. Mostly. Some days suck, those grey dreary ones, but I like snow. I like shovelling it, in moderation, and I like to snowshoe and ski. If I didn't, I wouldn't be living in Canada. I like that for once, we're having a real winter, with enough snow you can have fun in it. Yesterday Fuzz and I were snowshoeing on a bay on very frozen part of Lake Ontario. It was sunny enough we had to take off our windbreakers and tie them around our waists. The sun was warm and bright enough for sunglasses. Thursday night while running, I enjoyed behaving like a nine-year-old and tromping on those little ledges of ice at the edges of snowbanks that crunch when you walk on them. Almost as much fun as trying to splash my running coach in spring by running straight through the middle of puddles!
What I don't like about winter is the boring people who vacation down south and then return to go on and on about how wonderful the weather is there and how this place is so depressing in the winter. They're the same type of boob who talks about how botox or a Harley Davidson has transformed their life. I've seen that those events are often a harbinger of an impending marriage breakup. They're bad enough to listen to when they and their leathery tans plunk themselves in my path, but an hour ago I actually had a call from one of them in Mexico who was "reaching out" to someone from home, and proceeded to go on and on about how nice their place in Mexico was and how next winter they are going to spend the whole winter there instead of spending time in boring old Florida too.
What did I learn from this experience? Well, first, some people, no matter how much recovery work they've done can still be insane. Two, I can cut short calls with boring people by saying absolutely nothing. And three, I gotta get better at screening my calls. BF calls it "Call Suspect" for a reason!
22.2.08
Something Old and Something New...
Obviously the graphic below is a little too small for most people to read. I'll make the next one more legible. In the meantime, just click on the cartoon to view a very enlarged version.
A little background: Almost 3 years ago, I experimented with doing my daily journal in my sketchbook, and this was the result. Although I only did a few, I still think they're important in my examination of how I got to this point. I lost the sketchbook after we moved, and just found it recently while preparing for those life drawing workshops I facilitated. The other day, I scanned the pages into my laptop, and I'm using Corel Painter to digitally clean up & update them.
The seem a little dated to me; for instance, I'm not spending nearly as much time in bed as I was just in comparison to a year ago, so some things are different. I'll try to catch up the story once I finish with the initial drawings. To be continued...
A little background: Almost 3 years ago, I experimented with doing my daily journal in my sketchbook, and this was the result. Although I only did a few, I still think they're important in my examination of how I got to this point. I lost the sketchbook after we moved, and just found it recently while preparing for those life drawing workshops I facilitated. The other day, I scanned the pages into my laptop, and I'm using Corel Painter to digitally clean up & update them.
The seem a little dated to me; for instance, I'm not spending nearly as much time in bed as I was just in comparison to a year ago, so some things are different. I'll try to catch up the story once I finish with the initial drawings. To be continued...
Allowing Myself to Waffle
Waffle, so I don't EAT waffles!
I went to my group therapy session this morning, and I was thinking that this would be the day I withdrew from the group. Well, I'm not so sure any more. And, even more difficult, I'm going to try to NOT beat myself up over not making a decision immediately. I'm going to give that decision more time, because this morning went well, and I didn't resent the two hours I spent there. And I realize that I work in an isolating field (studio artist) and have a tendency to isolate beyond that. So, I'll give it some more time before making a decision. I waste much more than two hours daily watching TV. This morning I was reminded that I do learn things about myself through other's sharing so it's still worthwhile.
This afternoon I was trying to decide whether to go to the gym or do this. And I settled on this. I ran with my group last night and I was sore enough going to bed that I took a muscle relaxant and ibuprofen so I would be able to sleep, so taking a day off from the exercise is actually more healthy than doing it. I take at least a day off each week, so it can be today. Then I'll hit the gym tomorrow afternoon. It's usually less busy then, anyway. But it's funny how I feel rather guilty about not going today. Or maybe it's that I enjoy the feeling after a workout, kind of a cleansed feeling. Guess it's the endorphins.
I guess working through other stuff just doesn't give one the endorphin rush. But I need some balance here, so best spend some more time on what I need to do. Back soon, hopefully with a more "graphic" post. You'll see...
I went to my group therapy session this morning, and I was thinking that this would be the day I withdrew from the group. Well, I'm not so sure any more. And, even more difficult, I'm going to try to NOT beat myself up over not making a decision immediately. I'm going to give that decision more time, because this morning went well, and I didn't resent the two hours I spent there. And I realize that I work in an isolating field (studio artist) and have a tendency to isolate beyond that. So, I'll give it some more time before making a decision. I waste much more than two hours daily watching TV. This morning I was reminded that I do learn things about myself through other's sharing so it's still worthwhile.
This afternoon I was trying to decide whether to go to the gym or do this. And I settled on this. I ran with my group last night and I was sore enough going to bed that I took a muscle relaxant and ibuprofen so I would be able to sleep, so taking a day off from the exercise is actually more healthy than doing it. I take at least a day off each week, so it can be today. Then I'll hit the gym tomorrow afternoon. It's usually less busy then, anyway. But it's funny how I feel rather guilty about not going today. Or maybe it's that I enjoy the feeling after a workout, kind of a cleansed feeling. Guess it's the endorphins.
I guess working through other stuff just doesn't give one the endorphin rush. But I need some balance here, so best spend some more time on what I need to do. Back soon, hopefully with a more "graphic" post. You'll see...
20.2.08
Managing my Day
Ok, here I am trying to plan out my day, and food is not the huge part of it it once was, so I have to figure out what else I am going to do rather than obsess about food. Welcome to life post-food. Warning: What follows is rather stream of consciousness... expect repetitiveness and circular thoughts...
I'm not sure how to do it. I've got a studio project on hold because a piece of equipment I'm going to use isn't available until the weekend. That leaves time to work on other art projects. What to do, what to do? I could scan some sketches into the computer, the old cartoons I found, and prep them to post here. I have a very long choir session tonight, but I might not stay for the whole thing. On the other hand, what else do I really have to run home to do, watch TV? Face it. Good point. I want to get some exercise today, I guess at the gym. Ok, that'll take a couple of hours. That leaves me a couple to do something artistic. I suppose I could go to the studio and lay out some paints and work on that old painting copy that I thought I was finished with. But honestly, I'm not sure I am. On the other hand, I could do another hour or so of composition on the new project.
Ok, what I'm seeing here are I could do an hour or so on a number of small projects. That seems pretty good. I wonder if I could spend an hour on some housework too? Maybe less, like sweeping the kitchen floor or putting away some things. I am trying to break life down into smaller, more mentally manageable chunks, because if I don't it just seems too much. And I want to eat. The food has been good since Sunday night. I think I just had to scare myself and reconnect with my committment to changing my eating. Since I've been practicing the Overeaters Anonymous life for the last almost five years, I have slowly been gaining an awareness of my default assumptions and habitual behaviours around food.
Recently, I've been looking at my fear of NOT eating at night. It's been a real security blanket for me. I have supper often late and then a snack, and until recently it was always a little nibble of something, or another snack... I think I was afraid of not having something to eat after dinner. I think unconsciously I thought I would die if I didn't have something to eat after dinner. Well, the first thing to go was the extra nibbles. And now, in order to lose that five or so pounds I've been whining about for the last few months, I'm considering whether my evening snack --- a small bar of very dark chocolate, has to go too. I think my meals are good, healthy and balanced. So, the snack is a perk, a treat, an extra. I don't think I even have to eliminate it entirely. I could choose to reduce the frequency of it, have it every second day. Or, I could have a half bar daily. There is also a mid afternoon snack of a small bag of almonds that I have most days when I've been exercising. But to be honest here, I'm not sure I need it either.
Like most compulsive eaters (over or under-eaters), I am not sure when I am hungry. My default switch was always stuck at hungry, no matter how much food I had eaten, or how long ago I had eaten it. Last night, for example, like most of my Tuesdays lately, I don't have supper until after my running group and an OA meeting, so it's often 830 or later. But I realized during the meeting that I wasn't sure if I was hungry. I heard the odd growl from my abdomen, but honestly, I couldn't actually feel any hunger. There seems to be a total disconnect.
At the same time, I am one of those eaters who compulsively must be doing something else while I have my meal. Not doing other tasks as such, but most often it's watching tv with dinner or reading the paper while I eat breakfast or lunch. Fuzz does that with me too. And I need to ask him again about how he feels about doing that. I think for me, it is some sort of comforting mechanism, an attempt to blot out the world with food and something visual that takes my mind away from my worries. Am I actually tasting the food? I think I am, I seem to take a lot of pleasure out of it, but I seem to have the fear that the food alone won't be enough. I need extra distraction. As I said at the meeting last night, I'm not sure I want to do anything about this right now, that I have the willingness. Or is it even broke? Does it need fixing? Am I being perfectionistic about my eating. I don't know, I just have the sneaking suspicion that confronting this kind of automatic eating/comforting behaviour may help me with compulsively eating, helping me be more in touch about my eating. It's something to examine, not necessarily change yet, or ever.
Day 112.
I'm not sure how to do it. I've got a studio project on hold because a piece of equipment I'm going to use isn't available until the weekend. That leaves time to work on other art projects. What to do, what to do? I could scan some sketches into the computer, the old cartoons I found, and prep them to post here. I have a very long choir session tonight, but I might not stay for the whole thing. On the other hand, what else do I really have to run home to do, watch TV? Face it. Good point. I want to get some exercise today, I guess at the gym. Ok, that'll take a couple of hours. That leaves me a couple to do something artistic. I suppose I could go to the studio and lay out some paints and work on that old painting copy that I thought I was finished with. But honestly, I'm not sure I am. On the other hand, I could do another hour or so of composition on the new project.
Ok, what I'm seeing here are I could do an hour or so on a number of small projects. That seems pretty good. I wonder if I could spend an hour on some housework too? Maybe less, like sweeping the kitchen floor or putting away some things. I am trying to break life down into smaller, more mentally manageable chunks, because if I don't it just seems too much. And I want to eat. The food has been good since Sunday night. I think I just had to scare myself and reconnect with my committment to changing my eating. Since I've been practicing the Overeaters Anonymous life for the last almost five years, I have slowly been gaining an awareness of my default assumptions and habitual behaviours around food.
Recently, I've been looking at my fear of NOT eating at night. It's been a real security blanket for me. I have supper often late and then a snack, and until recently it was always a little nibble of something, or another snack... I think I was afraid of not having something to eat after dinner. I think unconsciously I thought I would die if I didn't have something to eat after dinner. Well, the first thing to go was the extra nibbles. And now, in order to lose that five or so pounds I've been whining about for the last few months, I'm considering whether my evening snack --- a small bar of very dark chocolate, has to go too. I think my meals are good, healthy and balanced. So, the snack is a perk, a treat, an extra. I don't think I even have to eliminate it entirely. I could choose to reduce the frequency of it, have it every second day. Or, I could have a half bar daily. There is also a mid afternoon snack of a small bag of almonds that I have most days when I've been exercising. But to be honest here, I'm not sure I need it either.
Like most compulsive eaters (over or under-eaters), I am not sure when I am hungry. My default switch was always stuck at hungry, no matter how much food I had eaten, or how long ago I had eaten it. Last night, for example, like most of my Tuesdays lately, I don't have supper until after my running group and an OA meeting, so it's often 830 or later. But I realized during the meeting that I wasn't sure if I was hungry. I heard the odd growl from my abdomen, but honestly, I couldn't actually feel any hunger. There seems to be a total disconnect.
At the same time, I am one of those eaters who compulsively must be doing something else while I have my meal. Not doing other tasks as such, but most often it's watching tv with dinner or reading the paper while I eat breakfast or lunch. Fuzz does that with me too. And I need to ask him again about how he feels about doing that. I think for me, it is some sort of comforting mechanism, an attempt to blot out the world with food and something visual that takes my mind away from my worries. Am I actually tasting the food? I think I am, I seem to take a lot of pleasure out of it, but I seem to have the fear that the food alone won't be enough. I need extra distraction. As I said at the meeting last night, I'm not sure I want to do anything about this right now, that I have the willingness. Or is it even broke? Does it need fixing? Am I being perfectionistic about my eating. I don't know, I just have the sneaking suspicion that confronting this kind of automatic eating/comforting behaviour may help me with compulsively eating, helping me be more in touch about my eating. It's something to examine, not necessarily change yet, or ever.
Day 112.
19.2.08
A Lesson Learned... er, RElearned...
I knew I was going through one of those "pink cloud" stages with the food. Two weeks ago I had changed my definition of abstinence to include no food outside of scheduled snacks in the evening. Then, Sunday night, I almost lost it. I got complacent, and I had not stayed in touch with my feelings. I had spent Sunday evening watching television, continually. Not a good thing. My mood was bad enough that the food could not be far behind. I was re-watching "Pride and Prejudice" for the nth time. Why? I think it reaches back to that princess/rescue syndrome so many women have...phooey. What a lousy place to be in.
Having stayed up too late, Fuzz already gone to bed, I decided I should make the morning's oatmeal at 1230. Ding ding ding!!!! That's what should have been going off in my brain. But no, it was like I had pressed some sort of override switch. And I just about lost my abstinence. I knew going in to the kitchen that I wanted to nibble on the almonds that I put in the oatmeal, but I ignored the warning signs. I had almost gotten through measuring out the ingredients, made it through the almonds, when, not thinking (I think!), I put some of the dried cranberries in my mouth. It seemed totally involuntary. I didn't spit them out, but I chewed them in shock. What was I doing?
Was it a break in abstinence I wonder? Maybe, but I'm going to give myself a pass on that one. It was, after all, only a few dried cranberries. (hmmm almost typed cramberries...Freudian, wot?) And I really didn't realize I had done it until I did it. But, I realized, I was in a very, very dangerous place. Crocodiles, oh those are just little harmless logs floating there, aren't they?...
The voice in me, fuelled by some deep longing I didn't want to recognize, howled "Mooore! Moooore!" and I realized that was my inner demon waking up, and I was in a very vulnerable spot. Just then it seemed like the most logical thing in the world to open the fridge and start digging for something... anything. I tossed the oatmeal together and threw it in the microwave. Then I hightailed it to Mr. Darcy in the living room, only coming back out to that very dangerous place to stir and then put the lid on when it was done. Then I fled to bed.
Lessons learned:
Having stayed up too late, Fuzz already gone to bed, I decided I should make the morning's oatmeal at 1230. Ding ding ding!!!! That's what should have been going off in my brain. But no, it was like I had pressed some sort of override switch. And I just about lost my abstinence. I knew going in to the kitchen that I wanted to nibble on the almonds that I put in the oatmeal, but I ignored the warning signs. I had almost gotten through measuring out the ingredients, made it through the almonds, when, not thinking (I think!), I put some of the dried cranberries in my mouth. It seemed totally involuntary. I didn't spit them out, but I chewed them in shock. What was I doing?
Was it a break in abstinence I wonder? Maybe, but I'm going to give myself a pass on that one. It was, after all, only a few dried cranberries. (hmmm almost typed cramberries...Freudian, wot?) And I really didn't realize I had done it until I did it. But, I realized, I was in a very, very dangerous place. Crocodiles, oh those are just little harmless logs floating there, aren't they?...
The voice in me, fuelled by some deep longing I didn't want to recognize, howled "Mooore! Moooore!" and I realized that was my inner demon waking up, and I was in a very vulnerable spot. Just then it seemed like the most logical thing in the world to open the fridge and start digging for something... anything. I tossed the oatmeal together and threw it in the microwave. Then I hightailed it to Mr. Darcy in the living room, only coming back out to that very dangerous place to stir and then put the lid on when it was done. Then I fled to bed.
Lessons learned:
- It only takes me two weeks to get complacent.
- I WILL get complacent, and that's when it's dangerous.
- Not writing is trouble, and a sign of complacancy.
- Staying up late is trouble.
- Too much TV is trouble.
- I will stay up late and watch tv and then wonder why I'm having trouble.
- Being in the kitchen when Fuzz is asleep is dangerous.
- Being in the kitchen when Fuzz is asleep, I've watched too much tv, and it's late is practically suicidal.
- I've gotta call my sponsor.
15.2.08
Maybe I'm Just Getting Better?
I skipped out on my group therapy session again today. For the second week in a row I got as far as the parking garage, and instead of heading west into the hospital for the meeting, I headed east to the Starbucks. Actually, this time I was prepared: I had my laptop and a manual for the Painter program I'm yet again trying to learn, this time with more success, probably because I'm trying to do something specific with it, and this time it's more trial, less error. Or at least it was today. Tomorrow it could be the opposite... Rather than two hours listening to people's issues, I spent the time sketching on my pen tablet, exploring grains and scratchboard rakes and (digital) electronic pens. And drinking cinnamon scented coffee.
Anyway, I didn't feel a big urge to go to the meeting. And, I'm wondering if I really want to go anymore, period. The main reason I didn't want to go this morning was I already had a meeting with my sponsee scheduled for the afternoon, and I felt like I wanted to get some of my work done first. I get to two Overeaters Anonymous meetings a week, I see or talk to my sponsor, I have a sponsee and I have a weekly therapist appointment. So, really, I'm working my programme. And I write on a daily basis, here, and privately.
Since I did some work this morning, I was able to make a lunch date with BF, after which I phoned Fuzz and arranged a rendezvous to go snowshoeing before dinner. This has been a great winter, we have so much snow that reminds me of my childhood in New Brunswick. Today was one of the first really sunny days in a while, and it was getting cold but not too windy, lots of fresh powder, and very few people at the park.
It was a wonderful day. I'll have to call someone from the group and tell them I don't think I'm coming back, but I don't think it's such a bad thing. Unlike a couple of years ago, I don't think I'm running away from something, I think it's just there are other things I would rather run toward.
Anyway, I didn't feel a big urge to go to the meeting. And, I'm wondering if I really want to go anymore, period. The main reason I didn't want to go this morning was I already had a meeting with my sponsee scheduled for the afternoon, and I felt like I wanted to get some of my work done first. I get to two Overeaters Anonymous meetings a week, I see or talk to my sponsor, I have a sponsee and I have a weekly therapist appointment. So, really, I'm working my programme. And I write on a daily basis, here, and privately.
Since I did some work this morning, I was able to make a lunch date with BF, after which I phoned Fuzz and arranged a rendezvous to go snowshoeing before dinner. This has been a great winter, we have so much snow that reminds me of my childhood in New Brunswick. Today was one of the first really sunny days in a while, and it was getting cold but not too windy, lots of fresh powder, and very few people at the park.
It was a wonderful day. I'll have to call someone from the group and tell them I don't think I'm coming back, but I don't think it's such a bad thing. Unlike a couple of years ago, I don't think I'm running away from something, I think it's just there are other things I would rather run toward.
14.2.08
Just Type, Dammit!
This morning has been a classic case of Internet Time-Wasting Syndrome. There's something very Rube Goldberg-esque about my path through the internet; 1) read favorite comic strips, 2) check New York Times and Kingston Whig Standard headlines, read a couple of stories, oops look at review of new 2nd Ave Deli location... mmm chopped liver...look up proper pronunciation of kreplach vs. rugelach. Read and write posts on Chowhound about the smoked duck I bought @ Costco, including artistic license (aka little white lie) about resorting to scotch when trying to figure out what to do with duck whom I christened Murray, even though I don't drink any more... Look up the time of the improv show we're going to tonight--- nothin says romance like LMAO... answer e-mail, oh great another choir task to do... look up lyrics to Lydia the Tattooed Lady and look at sheet music possibly for choir or at least for our in-house coffee house in a couple of weeks, checked out the YouTube Muppet Show version with Kermit and a porcine exotic dancer... look up recipe for duck confit...but maybe I should look up rilettes...
And in the midst of all that, BF popped in for a chat, had coffee, made duck stock, and made lunch. Then called shrink. And I wonder why I don't get started at work until almost 3 pm! I've obviously been busy! The internet can be a real time waster, it's like living in your head, and because nobody reads this stuff, you just get a bigger brain to live in!
And in the midst of all that, BF popped in for a chat, had coffee, made duck stock, and made lunch. Then called shrink. And I wonder why I don't get started at work until almost 3 pm! I've obviously been busy! The internet can be a real time waster, it's like living in your head, and because nobody reads this stuff, you just get a bigger brain to live in!
11.2.08
Sometimes Life is Just Blah
This is something I have just recently learned happens to almost everyone. You get an attack of the blahs. I battled with depression for so many years, I began to think that every day that felt a little off was a return of the black dogs, but now I'm thinking that maybe that's not so. It only took about 6 years of therapy for that big revelation!
Today, I'm a little blah. I've still got a touch of that virus or flu that's going around, yesterday morning I felt sore and achy, and hot. Hot was bad. I never get hot in the winter, particularly on a day when the outdoor temperature was plummeting. So I took some muscle relaxants and lay on the couch for a while. In the afternoon, I felt better, so Fuzz and I did some shopping, and then I fixed a kick-ass chicken curry for supper (with help from Patak's vindaloo curry paste), and actually went to the studio for a couple of hours in the evening to work on my composition issues for my latest painting. Then home for some chai and dark chocolate.
Amazing, but it's been a week now since I vowed to not eat anything after supper but my evening snack (that would be the 33g bar of Lindt 85% dark chocolate), and those crazy evening cravings have been lifted. Why did it work? I think I was really ready, and I also committed, to my sponsor and food buddy, my almost 100 days of abstinence to this goal. In other words, evening nibbling = losing my abstinence from compulsive eating. At present, I am not concerned if I nibble or lick a spoon during the day, because it doesn't seem to be a problem then. It was the night where it was threatening to take me off the deep end into a no-holds-barred binge.
A theme that came up at my Saturday OA meeting was that we forget we have a problem with food at our peril. In fact, many of us would go as far as calling our problem a disease. Many disagree with that concept, but what has happened for me is it keeps me aware of possible pitfalls. It would be nice if I could have a little nibble of this or that in the evening, for a long time I thought I could, but then again, after a couple of bites last week, I felt what was akin to a giant sucking black hole in my stomach wanting me to consume MOOORE! Each extra bite didn't satisfy, it just seemed to strengthen the craving, the scanning of what to eat next. So, I've lost my right to eat like "normal" people. Because I can't, it seems. So I have to come up with alternate strategies.
I was thinking about those strategies this morning considering the experience BF had while visiting Disney World with her family a couple of weeks ago. Saturday night she moaned that she thought her clothes were tighter than before she left for the trip. I wasn't surprised. She had some sort of inclusive meal plan that came with dessert. Hmmm.... seasoned food fighter that I am, I could have seen that one coming. Travelling is hard. The portions of food are usually larger and higher in fat than home prepared meals. I have to plan in advance as to how I'm going to handle it. These days I look for hotel rooms with refrigerators and microwaves so I can fix my own healthy breakfast, and often will brown-bag lunches if possible. In our trip to Las Vegas in December, Fuzz and I actually ended up splitting entrees and salads at more than one meal because there was just too much food.
The irony is, BF's young daughter has multiple food allergies, so she does a lot of advance planning for the girl's food. Unfortunately, she doesn't prepare the same way for her own eating challenges.
Today, I'm a little blah. I've still got a touch of that virus or flu that's going around, yesterday morning I felt sore and achy, and hot. Hot was bad. I never get hot in the winter, particularly on a day when the outdoor temperature was plummeting. So I took some muscle relaxants and lay on the couch for a while. In the afternoon, I felt better, so Fuzz and I did some shopping, and then I fixed a kick-ass chicken curry for supper (with help from Patak's vindaloo curry paste), and actually went to the studio for a couple of hours in the evening to work on my composition issues for my latest painting. Then home for some chai and dark chocolate.
Amazing, but it's been a week now since I vowed to not eat anything after supper but my evening snack (that would be the 33g bar of Lindt 85% dark chocolate), and those crazy evening cravings have been lifted. Why did it work? I think I was really ready, and I also committed, to my sponsor and food buddy, my almost 100 days of abstinence to this goal. In other words, evening nibbling = losing my abstinence from compulsive eating. At present, I am not concerned if I nibble or lick a spoon during the day, because it doesn't seem to be a problem then. It was the night where it was threatening to take me off the deep end into a no-holds-barred binge.
A theme that came up at my Saturday OA meeting was that we forget we have a problem with food at our peril. In fact, many of us would go as far as calling our problem a disease. Many disagree with that concept, but what has happened for me is it keeps me aware of possible pitfalls. It would be nice if I could have a little nibble of this or that in the evening, for a long time I thought I could, but then again, after a couple of bites last week, I felt what was akin to a giant sucking black hole in my stomach wanting me to consume MOOORE! Each extra bite didn't satisfy, it just seemed to strengthen the craving, the scanning of what to eat next. So, I've lost my right to eat like "normal" people. Because I can't, it seems. So I have to come up with alternate strategies.
I was thinking about those strategies this morning considering the experience BF had while visiting Disney World with her family a couple of weeks ago. Saturday night she moaned that she thought her clothes were tighter than before she left for the trip. I wasn't surprised. She had some sort of inclusive meal plan that came with dessert. Hmmm.... seasoned food fighter that I am, I could have seen that one coming. Travelling is hard. The portions of food are usually larger and higher in fat than home prepared meals. I have to plan in advance as to how I'm going to handle it. These days I look for hotel rooms with refrigerators and microwaves so I can fix my own healthy breakfast, and often will brown-bag lunches if possible. In our trip to Las Vegas in December, Fuzz and I actually ended up splitting entrees and salads at more than one meal because there was just too much food.
The irony is, BF's young daughter has multiple food allergies, so she does a lot of advance planning for the girl's food. Unfortunately, she doesn't prepare the same way for her own eating challenges.
10.2.08
Two Potato
Without meaning to, Fuzz has dropped almost 30 pounds since I came to OA. I hate people who lose weight unintentionally, but I'm married to him so I can't beat him up too much. I guess. I never thought of him as fat, but as I see in old photos, he was looking a tad pudgy. Except next to me, he didn't look so bad. When you're morbidly obese, and even now that I'm a "normal" weight, anyone with less than 50 pounds to lose doesn't quite register on my radar, or fatdar as it were. I guess it's kind of fatgrrl snobbery: Don't complain to me how hard it is unless you've got at least a hundred to go!
Of course, I would never actually say that to anyone, and I'm exaggerating a bit here, but it is hard for me to really understand those who battle with smaller amounts of weight. Not to mention anorexics and bulimics. I get that they have a similar disease, unhealthy compulsions with food, but I don't think I really come close to truly understanding them. I'm just glad that my disease doesn't come out in those ways, because they can be pretty brutal too.
Anyway, I was talking about potatoes. I don't know when I loosened my grip on potatoes. Somewhere in the process of accepting that my own best efforts had availed me nothing, my eating habits changed. First the quantity, but somewhere potatoes mostly left the scene. They were never on my binge list, which actually only contains a couple of items, and a couple of situational items. It was probably when I started reading about high glycemic index foods, those foods that can really throw your blood sugar for a loop, and since I'm a type 2 diabetic, I started cutting back on those foods, or modifying them: stuff like eating more whole grain breads and pastas, and substituting sweet potatoes because they had some good extra nutrients. I'm not rigorous about it, I just started changing things up more. I used to do the meat, potato and veg meal thing commonly. And pasta and rice seem more versatile, when you can whip up a healthy stir fry or pasta with a little meat, some vegetables, and lots of garlic. Potatoes just started taking a back seat. And now, we'll maybe have them maybe 4 times a month. Often in a soup, like salmon chowder, and I do like vichyssoise.
It's not a big deal. But it's interesting seeing how things can change without it being a big deal. The non-food aspects of my behaviour changed, and then I think the food fit in with that change.
Of course, I would never actually say that to anyone, and I'm exaggerating a bit here, but it is hard for me to really understand those who battle with smaller amounts of weight. Not to mention anorexics and bulimics. I get that they have a similar disease, unhealthy compulsions with food, but I don't think I really come close to truly understanding them. I'm just glad that my disease doesn't come out in those ways, because they can be pretty brutal too.
Anyway, I was talking about potatoes. I don't know when I loosened my grip on potatoes. Somewhere in the process of accepting that my own best efforts had availed me nothing, my eating habits changed. First the quantity, but somewhere potatoes mostly left the scene. They were never on my binge list, which actually only contains a couple of items, and a couple of situational items. It was probably when I started reading about high glycemic index foods, those foods that can really throw your blood sugar for a loop, and since I'm a type 2 diabetic, I started cutting back on those foods, or modifying them: stuff like eating more whole grain breads and pastas, and substituting sweet potatoes because they had some good extra nutrients. I'm not rigorous about it, I just started changing things up more. I used to do the meat, potato and veg meal thing commonly. And pasta and rice seem more versatile, when you can whip up a healthy stir fry or pasta with a little meat, some vegetables, and lots of garlic. Potatoes just started taking a back seat. And now, we'll maybe have them maybe 4 times a month. Often in a soup, like salmon chowder, and I do like vichyssoise.
It's not a big deal. But it's interesting seeing how things can change without it being a big deal. The non-food aspects of my behaviour changed, and then I think the food fit in with that change.
9.2.08
One Potato
Someone was talking about funny things we've done with food over the years. Or more accurately, the absurd things our obsession/compulsion has made us do over the years. It was prompted by a couple of paragraphs in the OA 12 Steps and 12 Traditions (the "12 & 12") book where they do a quick summary of all the things we might have done for food: eating spoiled food, eating frozen food, stolen food, etc. etc. We reminisced about doing drive-throughs pretending you're ordering for several different (imaginary) people, having that unique experience of eating food simultaneously too hot and frozen because you can't wait for the microwave to thaw it properly, buying food for guests, making sure there was "enough" so you could have much more (eaten alone) than they would ever get, or want, and that idea that seems to have originated with Louie Anderson, having to buy the extra "almost home cookies" ---those are the ones that you polish off before you get home!
We were laughing our guts off. I used to go through the donut shop drive-through and I would even order donuts I wasn't as fond of, because it would look too suspicious to order a dozen of the one I really liked. Besides, after eating 4 of one kind, it's nice to mix it up a bit before you go on to the rest! Eventually, what floated to mind was potatoes.
Yes, potatoes. I'm half Irish and the rest mostly Scots, so the potato is practically a birthright. It was so important in my family, it should be on the family crest. My father would complain if we didn't have potatoes at least six meals per week, and I seem to remember having them for lunch and supper when I was pre-adolescent.
When I married Fuzz and started cooking regularly, the potatoes came too. I would buy at least the five pound bag, but often a bigger one, particularly if they were on sale. Now, two people shouldn't be eating all that many potatoes, but I had a thing for potatoes. I was always worried that there wasn't enough. I think it was because the potato was my hunger buffer, the way it was in Irish families. Not enough meat, veg looks a little weak? Plop on those fluffy potatoes with extra butter!
And if I was cooking potatoes, two potatoes did not a pot fill. Too much water, too much room, they'd get too watery, it was wasteful... so I'd peel three more. Just to fill up the pot, don't cha know. And if the Canadian Armed Forces dropped in unexpectedly, well, we'd be good! I'd plop extra potatoes on Fuzz's plate. "I don't want that many potatoes!" he'd whine. So I would grudgingly scoop them back into the pot. Truth was, I wanted that many potatoes, and so I needed an eating buddy...
Oops, I have to be at a meeting in 15 minutes... gotta go! I'll finish this later.
We were laughing our guts off. I used to go through the donut shop drive-through and I would even order donuts I wasn't as fond of, because it would look too suspicious to order a dozen of the one I really liked. Besides, after eating 4 of one kind, it's nice to mix it up a bit before you go on to the rest! Eventually, what floated to mind was potatoes.
Yes, potatoes. I'm half Irish and the rest mostly Scots, so the potato is practically a birthright. It was so important in my family, it should be on the family crest. My father would complain if we didn't have potatoes at least six meals per week, and I seem to remember having them for lunch and supper when I was pre-adolescent.
When I married Fuzz and started cooking regularly, the potatoes came too. I would buy at least the five pound bag, but often a bigger one, particularly if they were on sale. Now, two people shouldn't be eating all that many potatoes, but I had a thing for potatoes. I was always worried that there wasn't enough. I think it was because the potato was my hunger buffer, the way it was in Irish families. Not enough meat, veg looks a little weak? Plop on those fluffy potatoes with extra butter!
And if I was cooking potatoes, two potatoes did not a pot fill. Too much water, too much room, they'd get too watery, it was wasteful... so I'd peel three more. Just to fill up the pot, don't cha know. And if the Canadian Armed Forces dropped in unexpectedly, well, we'd be good! I'd plop extra potatoes on Fuzz's plate. "I don't want that many potatoes!" he'd whine. So I would grudgingly scoop them back into the pot. Truth was, I wanted that many potatoes, and so I needed an eating buddy...
Oops, I have to be at a meeting in 15 minutes... gotta go! I'll finish this later.
8.2.08
Surviving the Evening
Interesting that my prompter shows me that I have started three other posts with variations on the word "Survive". Sometimes that's how it feels with the food. Like I'm in a life and death struggle with it. I guess I am. I know there are lots of people whose health suffers because of compulsive eating, and I have been one of them. Luckily, I found a way to stop the march of my hypertension and diabetes, and eventually even roll back their progress to where, at present, they aren't there any more.
But I need to keep in the front of my consciousness that these things could come back if I start to slip into those old, very seductive habits. Make no mistake, my disease of compulsive eating has the ability to, apologies to Hobbes (the philosopher, not the cartoon tiger) make my life "nasty, brutish, and short". I'm only a few bites away from tumbling down that slope of despair. Sure, it would take a number of bites to get me back over 300, but the trend can start much earlier, and once it reaches a certain momentum, there is no telling how possible it is to turn it back. So I really want to keep myself from getting there. I think of BF's father who has struggled with alcohol for over fifty years and is about ten years sober. He says, "the easiest drink to turn down is ALWAYS the first one".
I've only got about 15 minutes to type before I head off for a group therapy session, an unmoderated group started by the addictions specialist that used to practice in our town. It's an interesting group, people have many different or multiple issues, some suffer from, like me, those pesky DSM not otherwise specified eating disorders. It's another thing that ticks me off about how compulsive eating behaviours are treated by the medical establishment and most of society as a moral failing unless we're too skinny then it's a specified disorder. And yet binge eaters (still lumped under the non-specified disorder catch-all) and others who have unhealthy behaviours around food have been found to have a much, much, higher concurrent incidence compared to anorexia and bulimia among people who are being treated for other psychological issues.
And there are bulimics there too and for a while we had someone who was exhibiting all the signs of anorexia. Plus people who have problems with alcohol, drugs, relationships, and money. It's interesting having a multi-faceted group, but sometimes I find it hard to share about my drawing lines around my food when there are bulimics and anorexics in the room, where doing that very thing may be something they have to avoid.
Akkk, gotta go!
Anyway, where I was going when I started this post was: Since I drew the firm line in the sand at eating after my evening snack on Sunday, announced to myself and my sponsor that I was doing this, the food in the evening has been fine. The obsession seems to largely have been lifted. To be safe, I'm even limiting going into the kitchen after supper. Fuzz brings me my snack, makes tea, and feeds the cats. I stay anchored to the couch and watch tv or play on the computer. Often a cat helps me out by deciding that the best place to warm up is by sitting on my --oof-- chest. My food buddy said it seemed like a situation of asking for willingness and the willingness came. Go figure.
Woohoo! 100 days since a binge!
But I need to keep in the front of my consciousness that these things could come back if I start to slip into those old, very seductive habits. Make no mistake, my disease of compulsive eating has the ability to, apologies to Hobbes (the philosopher, not the cartoon tiger) make my life "nasty, brutish, and short". I'm only a few bites away from tumbling down that slope of despair. Sure, it would take a number of bites to get me back over 300, but the trend can start much earlier, and once it reaches a certain momentum, there is no telling how possible it is to turn it back. So I really want to keep myself from getting there. I think of BF's father who has struggled with alcohol for over fifty years and is about ten years sober. He says, "the easiest drink to turn down is ALWAYS the first one".
I've only got about 15 minutes to type before I head off for a group therapy session, an unmoderated group started by the addictions specialist that used to practice in our town. It's an interesting group, people have many different or multiple issues, some suffer from, like me, those pesky DSM not otherwise specified eating disorders. It's another thing that ticks me off about how compulsive eating behaviours are treated by the medical establishment and most of society as a moral failing unless we're too skinny then it's a specified disorder. And yet binge eaters (still lumped under the non-specified disorder catch-all) and others who have unhealthy behaviours around food have been found to have a much, much, higher concurrent incidence compared to anorexia and bulimia among people who are being treated for other psychological issues.
And there are bulimics there too and for a while we had someone who was exhibiting all the signs of anorexia. Plus people who have problems with alcohol, drugs, relationships, and money. It's interesting having a multi-faceted group, but sometimes I find it hard to share about my drawing lines around my food when there are bulimics and anorexics in the room, where doing that very thing may be something they have to avoid.
Akkk, gotta go!
Anyway, where I was going when I started this post was: Since I drew the firm line in the sand at eating after my evening snack on Sunday, announced to myself and my sponsor that I was doing this, the food in the evening has been fine. The obsession seems to largely have been lifted. To be safe, I'm even limiting going into the kitchen after supper. Fuzz brings me my snack, makes tea, and feeds the cats. I stay anchored to the couch and watch tv or play on the computer. Often a cat helps me out by deciding that the best place to warm up is by sitting on my --oof-- chest. My food buddy said it seemed like a situation of asking for willingness and the willingness came. Go figure.
Woohoo! 100 days since a binge!
7.2.08
Draggin' my Knuckles...
I figure I've spent at least 6 hours shovelling this week, and my arms feel both really long, and soooorre... All this snow is great, but I'm running out of places to put it. But otherwise, I like shovelling. Honest. It feels great to look back at what I've done. We've got over two feet of snow on the ground, so once you've moved some, you can really see it. Not instant gratification, but fairly instant. Feels much more rewarding than vacuuming. Worth the sore shoulders, wet feet and cold thighs. And then I get to be justified in coming in and collapsing in a chair and enjoying a nice long coffee. And oh boy, in ten minutes I have to get changed to go running in it! I must be nuts! What was your first clue? Even I think I'm nuts.
I'd slack off but I know there are going to be at least two other people at the meeting place, so I want to meet up with them. Misery in numbers, and all that crap. Ow... thank god I don't have to lift anything while I run...Well, the nice thing about being sore is you know you're alive. And when I get home I can plop down on the couch and be a potato for the rest of the evening.
I haven't been doing as much writing as I feel I should, but I did spend a lot of time playing with my paint programme today, and I think I'm close to the final design for my newest painting. I'm learning how to utilize the layers and getting some pretty exciting results. It feels like cheating, because I'm manipulating my photos, but at least they are my photos... people like Damien Loeb are regularly sued for appropriating other's photos for their paintings.
Ok, gotta go layer up... me, not the composition. Anyone seen my tights?
I'd slack off but I know there are going to be at least two other people at the meeting place, so I want to meet up with them. Misery in numbers, and all that crap. Ow... thank god I don't have to lift anything while I run...Well, the nice thing about being sore is you know you're alive. And when I get home I can plop down on the couch and be a potato for the rest of the evening.
I haven't been doing as much writing as I feel I should, but I did spend a lot of time playing with my paint programme today, and I think I'm close to the final design for my newest painting. I'm learning how to utilize the layers and getting some pretty exciting results. It feels like cheating, because I'm manipulating my photos, but at least they are my photos... people like Damien Loeb are regularly sued for appropriating other's photos for their paintings.
Ok, gotta go layer up... me, not the composition. Anyone seen my tights?
6.2.08
A Breath of Fresh Air...Michael Kors' Anorexic Look!
Golly gee whiz, Mr. Kors, It must be hard to find just the right girl that has that perfect je ne sais quoi of an anorexic adolescent without any discernible curves or even breasts. Next fashion week, save yourself the trouble and just have boa constrictors model your clothes... but best keep those pesky NYC rats away from them, one big meal and the lines will be ruined!
I don't know why I let this stuff get to me, but it just does! Every dress should come with an eating disorders tax...
5.2.08
Hooray, My Sponsor's Back!
My sponsor just returned from a trip to Mexico, and I'm so happy! She's a good friend too, and we've had many fun times together, but I have to be honest, I'm relieved my sponsor is back. Why? It feels as if she's become a touchstone for me. She's been in Overeaters Anonymous about twice as long as I (I've been going now, wow, it'll be five years the end of the month!), and she's in a place with her recovery that I want to be in. Counting days of abstinence (I'm currently somewhere over 90 days at this point, wait, I'll check myself on the AA Sobriety Counter...I'm at 97!), I'm not sure who is ahead, she's had some slips, but I really admire her spiritual fitness. And her physical fitness is pretty good too. She's in her sixties, but she's very active, interested in healthy aging, and wants to be skiing for another twenty years. She invited me to join her running group three years ago, and I'm still doing it, after two operations and my now-you-see-it, now-you-don't hernia.
I just knew that I needed to talk to her, particularly about the issues I've been having with the nighttime nibbles. And I think that the issues of the nibbles are much more than the food. Evening I look on as relaxing time, but when I relax with nothing particularly pressing to do, that is when the cravings come out to play. Last night went well. I had a skinny latte at Starbucks after doing some shopping, then my regular snack around 9, and a cup of chai before bed. I did feel some cravings, but I found that if I kept myself out of the kitchen for the most part after dinner (Fuzz prepared the snack and the chai, while I played around in the living room with a graphics program on my laptop, bless his furry little heart), I could close the door on more food for the night. Now that it's part of my abstinence, it does feel as solid as a closed door between me and it. Or at least it did last night. Today is a new day, and since this is a new habit, I have to be prepared to be firm about it until it feels as natural as the other changes I have made over the last few years.
I think I have some fears to address. Career and money seems to be what leaps to mind. That means doing some step-writing about it. My sponsor is very methodical, dare I say in my more cynical moments, dogmatic, about step writing. Admit I are powerless around the issue, give it over to your higher power, and do an inventory around the issue. What emotions are being dredged up (fear, definitely)? What scenarios are there lurking in my brain? Past events coloring how I deal with it in the present? Ugh. This stuff is hard. And despite my desire to splash my life over the blogosphere, I think I need to keep this stuff private. I'll give you the summary eventually.
On a related topic, while prepping for those art classes I taught, I found an old sketchbook that I had actually cartooned out a bit of my story in, just before I started this blog. I've been looking for that since I moved a year and a half ago, because I want to scan some bits of it to post here. Sounds like fun... None of this is making me any money, but I think it's part of a process that just might end up being profitable, but obviously in a way I can't predict. I guess it's not my job to predict where this path might lead, just walk it, and let it reveal itself to me. Trust in a higher power.
Oh, that again.... puke!
I just knew that I needed to talk to her, particularly about the issues I've been having with the nighttime nibbles. And I think that the issues of the nibbles are much more than the food. Evening I look on as relaxing time, but when I relax with nothing particularly pressing to do, that is when the cravings come out to play. Last night went well. I had a skinny latte at Starbucks after doing some shopping, then my regular snack around 9, and a cup of chai before bed. I did feel some cravings, but I found that if I kept myself out of the kitchen for the most part after dinner (Fuzz prepared the snack and the chai, while I played around in the living room with a graphics program on my laptop, bless his furry little heart), I could close the door on more food for the night. Now that it's part of my abstinence, it does feel as solid as a closed door between me and it. Or at least it did last night. Today is a new day, and since this is a new habit, I have to be prepared to be firm about it until it feels as natural as the other changes I have made over the last few years.
I think I have some fears to address. Career and money seems to be what leaps to mind. That means doing some step-writing about it. My sponsor is very methodical, dare I say in my more cynical moments, dogmatic, about step writing. Admit I are powerless around the issue, give it over to your higher power, and do an inventory around the issue. What emotions are being dredged up (fear, definitely)? What scenarios are there lurking in my brain? Past events coloring how I deal with it in the present? Ugh. This stuff is hard. And despite my desire to splash my life over the blogosphere, I think I need to keep this stuff private. I'll give you the summary eventually.
On a related topic, while prepping for those art classes I taught, I found an old sketchbook that I had actually cartooned out a bit of my story in, just before I started this blog. I've been looking for that since I moved a year and a half ago, because I want to scan some bits of it to post here. Sounds like fun... None of this is making me any money, but I think it's part of a process that just might end up being profitable, but obviously in a way I can't predict. I guess it's not my job to predict where this path might lead, just walk it, and let it reveal itself to me. Trust in a higher power.
Oh, that again.... puke!
4.2.08
Upping the Ante?
I'm tired of a behaviour and I'm wondering if it is time to put a lid on it once and for all. Night-time nibbling. Actually, all nibbling, but after dinner nibbling is the part that worries me the most. I've always been a nibbler, and continued doing it all during the time I lost 150 pounds. But I've gained some weight, and I would like to lose 5 pounds, so I've been examining my eating. And I've seen that the eating behaviour that should be the easiest to eliminate is the nibbling. And I think the nibbling must add up, which could take care of those extra pounds.
But it's been damn stubborn to eliminate. It leaves for a day or two, and then it comes back. As it did last night. Fuzz had gone to bed very early because he has a cold, and so I was on my own, and there is that damn attractive leftover ham in the refrigerator. And I shaved off a little slice, and a little slice more, and THEN, I had a few spoonfulls of leftover corn. I finished with a couple of mushrooms. And I felt stupid. What was I thinking? What part of "I'm not going to do this" do I not understand?
Well, I know for one thing that there is a prehensile part of my brain that doesn't do logic. So, it doesn't help to beat myself up over it. If logic alone worked, I wouldn't have been forced to resort to Overeaters Anonymous, to admit that I was helpless in the face of this disease. As a good friend in the rooms once said, "I didn't want to be here when I first came; WHO DOES?!" None of us wanted to have to join this club. I was desperate when I first came. As I learned, the level of desperation was a good thing. It motivated me to give it my all. I weighed in the high 200's, and all indicators were pointing to me heading back up to, and probably beyond, my all time high of somewhere over 300 pounds. I couldn't go three days without a binge, I had hypertension, and was testing blood sugar indicating the appearance of type 2 diabetes.
Now that we're here, though, the alternative we've been given certainly beats the past experience. My life has improved in many, many ways, and I think it's because the food was only a symptom of my larger life being out of whack. I think my legacy from my screwed up family (see my previous posting) had driven me to a point where I couldn't see anything but a dead end. I was lucky. I chose to fight. Many don't, and sink into their addictions. The alcoholism of my father translated into my inability to cope with life without constantly eating. Honestly, though, the more I ate, the less I coped.
So, fast forward to today, and what seems like my relatively more benign problem with "the nibblies" (makes them sound like small gremlins). I read something the other day that reminded me to look back to how far I've come, not at how much further I had to climb. Doing that does make me feel good. Like yesterday. We had a foot of snow fall on Friday, and I'd done a lot of shovelling, so that my arms were quite sore. But I still hadn't shovelled a path back to the composter at the back of the garden. One of those times when I wish we did vermi-composting.
But I tried the technique, and it was satisfying, when I was half-way to the compost, about twenty-five or thirty feet down the yard, to look back at what I had already shovelled. And I could take a moment and enjoy the beauty of the late afternoon sky, and how the fresh snow makes everything look so wonderful. The last half seemed to go much faster.
Ok, so what does this have to do with me and the nibblies? Well, I've come a great distance. My life is pretty damn good. But it's not perfect. I think I've got a lot of underlying fear and anger still simmering below the surface. So, there's some areas I can do some step work processing on, writing about those issues. And if I am really bothered about the eating, and I certainly was last night, I perhaps need to make a commitment to change the behaviour. One alternative is to put nibbling into my definition of abstinence. This behaviour is causing me more grief than I want to live with, so it's something I'm leaning toward. The other option would be to move my evening snack to just being my dessert and then eliminating all eating after that point in the evening. That was suggested by my food buddy this morning. That part I'm resisting. I think the idea of the whole evening without any food is a little frightening. So... I need to think more about this, and it's also time to talk to my sponsor.
But it's been damn stubborn to eliminate. It leaves for a day or two, and then it comes back. As it did last night. Fuzz had gone to bed very early because he has a cold, and so I was on my own, and there is that damn attractive leftover ham in the refrigerator. And I shaved off a little slice, and a little slice more, and THEN, I had a few spoonfulls of leftover corn. I finished with a couple of mushrooms. And I felt stupid. What was I thinking? What part of "I'm not going to do this" do I not understand?
Well, I know for one thing that there is a prehensile part of my brain that doesn't do logic. So, it doesn't help to beat myself up over it. If logic alone worked, I wouldn't have been forced to resort to Overeaters Anonymous, to admit that I was helpless in the face of this disease. As a good friend in the rooms once said, "I didn't want to be here when I first came; WHO DOES?!" None of us wanted to have to join this club. I was desperate when I first came. As I learned, the level of desperation was a good thing. It motivated me to give it my all. I weighed in the high 200's, and all indicators were pointing to me heading back up to, and probably beyond, my all time high of somewhere over 300 pounds. I couldn't go three days without a binge, I had hypertension, and was testing blood sugar indicating the appearance of type 2 diabetes.
Now that we're here, though, the alternative we've been given certainly beats the past experience. My life has improved in many, many ways, and I think it's because the food was only a symptom of my larger life being out of whack. I think my legacy from my screwed up family (see my previous posting) had driven me to a point where I couldn't see anything but a dead end. I was lucky. I chose to fight. Many don't, and sink into their addictions. The alcoholism of my father translated into my inability to cope with life without constantly eating. Honestly, though, the more I ate, the less I coped.
So, fast forward to today, and what seems like my relatively more benign problem with "the nibblies" (makes them sound like small gremlins). I read something the other day that reminded me to look back to how far I've come, not at how much further I had to climb. Doing that does make me feel good. Like yesterday. We had a foot of snow fall on Friday, and I'd done a lot of shovelling, so that my arms were quite sore. But I still hadn't shovelled a path back to the composter at the back of the garden. One of those times when I wish we did vermi-composting.
But I tried the technique, and it was satisfying, when I was half-way to the compost, about twenty-five or thirty feet down the yard, to look back at what I had already shovelled. And I could take a moment and enjoy the beauty of the late afternoon sky, and how the fresh snow makes everything look so wonderful. The last half seemed to go much faster.
Ok, so what does this have to do with me and the nibblies? Well, I've come a great distance. My life is pretty damn good. But it's not perfect. I think I've got a lot of underlying fear and anger still simmering below the surface. So, there's some areas I can do some step work processing on, writing about those issues. And if I am really bothered about the eating, and I certainly was last night, I perhaps need to make a commitment to change the behaviour. One alternative is to put nibbling into my definition of abstinence. This behaviour is causing me more grief than I want to live with, so it's something I'm leaning toward. The other option would be to move my evening snack to just being my dessert and then eliminating all eating after that point in the evening. That was suggested by my food buddy this morning. That part I'm resisting. I think the idea of the whole evening without any food is a little frightening. So... I need to think more about this, and it's also time to talk to my sponsor.
1.2.08
A Whiff of Sulphur on a Cold Winter Day
My mental alarm bells went off when I first heard that sentence on the radio news, “The child was wearing a diaper and T-shirt.” What had simply been a tragic story of lost children in a bitter Saskatchewan winter night was suddenly tinged with that unbalanced, and yet too familiar feeling of something being terribly wrong. Where was the little girl’s snowsuit? What kind of parent would... shit. I caught a whiff of that old familiar sulfur. Of course. An unbalanced parent, likely with a substance addiction. Most commonly, a child is put in harm’s way by a drunk or otherwise addicted parent, which is how the sad saga on the Yellow Quill First Nation Reserve seems to be playing out. It’s a scenario that I, as the child of an alcoholic, am more familiar with than I would prefer.
I’m also a recovering alcoholic myself. It’s not something that I tell people outside my closest circle of friends, and truthfully, I was a fairly “high bottom” drunk: I stopped when I realized there were clear signals I was turning into my father. I haven't had a drink in almost three years. Unlike my father, I never drove drunk. I’ve been to enough AA and Al-Anon meetings to hear the stories of the other children whose parents regularly put their lives in physical and emotional jeopardy while in the throes of their addictions.
Thanks to the efforts of organizations such as MADD, we know the stories of people whose lives have been destroyed by intoxicated strangers. But it’s only been in the twelve step meetings where I’ve heard the tales of the kids who were regularly terrorized by their drunk parents, often by being helpless passengers in a car driven by that parent. Children of alcoholics often survive by being overly precocious, as will attest those who were forced to drive while still kids for a drunk parent.
Only a small percentage of alcoholics fit the stereotype of the street wino. My Dad was only typical in that he was the typical closet alcoholic: On the surface, one of the pillars of his company, his church, member of the hospital board, a hometown boy who made good. But by the time I turned twelve, my dad turned into a closet binge drinker, a kind of jekyl & hyde drunk: He’d seem fine and then when you would least expect it, he’d turn up so inebriated he could hardly stand up.
One crisp winter’s night when I was sixteen just won’t leave my brain: I had been at a high school hockey game with a girlfriend when my father showed up to drive us home. It wasn’t until we had gotten into the car and were leaving the arena parking lot that we realized that something was wrong. My father was so drunk he couldn’t put a coherent sentence together.
Luckily, he had been late picking us up, so the road wasn’t busy and he was driving slowly toward my friend’s house. Neither my friend or I knew how to drive, and we didn’t know what to do. I can still remember holding my breath as we drove across the bridge over the highway, praying that my father could hold the large 1976 Buick between the railings. After what seemed like a very long time, but wasn’t much more than a mile, we made it to my friend’s house where we coaxed my father in “for a cup of coffee.”
I was panicked, yet my first reaction was to shield my father from the fury of my mother when I phoned her to tell her what was happening. I think I was simply overloaded by the situation, and if my mother was angry, it felt like it would tip my world over the edge into the abyss. My friend’s parents ended up driving us the seven miles home. That was the only time I can recall that my father drove drunk while I was in the car, but it wasn’t the last time he would drive drunk. Years after I left home, he was mostly on the wagon, but had at least one brush with the law when he took out a stop sign. The code of silence was still in effect in those days in small town New Brunswick, so the story didn’t make it into the local paper, likely because it was his “first” offense... but really it was only the first time they had actually caught him.
The only other scary tale I experienced with my father, the booze, and the car was the day we were to deliver me and all my possessions to Ontario for my first year of university. My father announced he couldn’t drive because he was too nervous. What he really was, was very hung over, with a bad case of the shakes. Since my mother didn’t drive, I would have to do it if we were to arrive on campus in time for freshman orientation. I had had my license for all of one day, and the next day I was white knuckling us down a six lane highway for the first time, through Montreal en route to the 401.
The crazies that day just kept coming: On my way through the lobby of my residence, burdened down with luggage, I dropped a plastic shopping bag, breaking my father’s bottle of vodka. The smell of the alcohol seemed to completely fill the hall as the elderly ladies at the desk rushed to get the mop. I was humiliated and running on my last nerve when I finally met up with my boyfriend. Once I could ditch my parents, we had one hell of a freshman week. Likely I was in shock, but after the frenzy of the trip, I felt bulletproof and ready to have a rockin’ time to blot out the drive from hell. The first time I ever passed out was a Saturday night that month.
You’d think I would know better, wouldn’t you? Sadly, logic has nothing to do with it. If the craziness of an alcoholic family isn’t genetic, the loopy logic of surviving the latest bomb blast in an addicted household seems to make us vulnerable to those same demons that haunt our parents and bedeviled our childhoods. Dumb luck was the only reason I saw the signs before I drove through them.
I’m also a recovering alcoholic myself. It’s not something that I tell people outside my closest circle of friends, and truthfully, I was a fairly “high bottom” drunk: I stopped when I realized there were clear signals I was turning into my father. I haven't had a drink in almost three years. Unlike my father, I never drove drunk. I’ve been to enough AA and Al-Anon meetings to hear the stories of the other children whose parents regularly put their lives in physical and emotional jeopardy while in the throes of their addictions.
Thanks to the efforts of organizations such as MADD, we know the stories of people whose lives have been destroyed by intoxicated strangers. But it’s only been in the twelve step meetings where I’ve heard the tales of the kids who were regularly terrorized by their drunk parents, often by being helpless passengers in a car driven by that parent. Children of alcoholics often survive by being overly precocious, as will attest those who were forced to drive while still kids for a drunk parent.
Only a small percentage of alcoholics fit the stereotype of the street wino. My Dad was only typical in that he was the typical closet alcoholic: On the surface, one of the pillars of his company, his church, member of the hospital board, a hometown boy who made good. But by the time I turned twelve, my dad turned into a closet binge drinker, a kind of jekyl & hyde drunk: He’d seem fine and then when you would least expect it, he’d turn up so inebriated he could hardly stand up.
One crisp winter’s night when I was sixteen just won’t leave my brain: I had been at a high school hockey game with a girlfriend when my father showed up to drive us home. It wasn’t until we had gotten into the car and were leaving the arena parking lot that we realized that something was wrong. My father was so drunk he couldn’t put a coherent sentence together.
Luckily, he had been late picking us up, so the road wasn’t busy and he was driving slowly toward my friend’s house. Neither my friend or I knew how to drive, and we didn’t know what to do. I can still remember holding my breath as we drove across the bridge over the highway, praying that my father could hold the large 1976 Buick between the railings. After what seemed like a very long time, but wasn’t much more than a mile, we made it to my friend’s house where we coaxed my father in “for a cup of coffee.”
I was panicked, yet my first reaction was to shield my father from the fury of my mother when I phoned her to tell her what was happening. I think I was simply overloaded by the situation, and if my mother was angry, it felt like it would tip my world over the edge into the abyss. My friend’s parents ended up driving us the seven miles home. That was the only time I can recall that my father drove drunk while I was in the car, but it wasn’t the last time he would drive drunk. Years after I left home, he was mostly on the wagon, but had at least one brush with the law when he took out a stop sign. The code of silence was still in effect in those days in small town New Brunswick, so the story didn’t make it into the local paper, likely because it was his “first” offense... but really it was only the first time they had actually caught him.
The only other scary tale I experienced with my father, the booze, and the car was the day we were to deliver me and all my possessions to Ontario for my first year of university. My father announced he couldn’t drive because he was too nervous. What he really was, was very hung over, with a bad case of the shakes. Since my mother didn’t drive, I would have to do it if we were to arrive on campus in time for freshman orientation. I had had my license for all of one day, and the next day I was white knuckling us down a six lane highway for the first time, through Montreal en route to the 401.
The crazies that day just kept coming: On my way through the lobby of my residence, burdened down with luggage, I dropped a plastic shopping bag, breaking my father’s bottle of vodka. The smell of the alcohol seemed to completely fill the hall as the elderly ladies at the desk rushed to get the mop. I was humiliated and running on my last nerve when I finally met up with my boyfriend. Once I could ditch my parents, we had one hell of a freshman week. Likely I was in shock, but after the frenzy of the trip, I felt bulletproof and ready to have a rockin’ time to blot out the drive from hell. The first time I ever passed out was a Saturday night that month.
You’d think I would know better, wouldn’t you? Sadly, logic has nothing to do with it. If the craziness of an alcoholic family isn’t genetic, the loopy logic of surviving the latest bomb blast in an addicted household seems to make us vulnerable to those same demons that haunt our parents and bedeviled our childhoods. Dumb luck was the only reason I saw the signs before I drove through them.
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