Coming to terms with a food addiction
Really, I'm not sure I'm ready to write this, because I'm not sure I have fully come to terms with my addiction. But I'm working on it.
My lowest moment is not as low as it could have been, fortunately. I have heard stories from addicts. Stories of lives out of control, stories of despair, of the bottom. And my story is not like that.
Because of this, there is some small (sometimes loud) voice inside me that wants to know: is this ACTUALLY an addiction? Are my habits actually beyond my control?
To admit that I might be out of control is terrifying. But that's what this whole thing is about, isn't it? It's about recognizing that my ADDICTION is taking control of my life. I do not have the control. My sickness does.
There is a part of me that feels like admitting (succumbing?) to my addiction is perhaps a cop-out. I mean, it's much more likely that I just don't want to do the very hard work of creating will power. If I say that I am an addict, then having will power doesn't matter, now does it? So I might as well not even try, right?
But yet I see the truth in it. There are many foods that I have no control over. Pizza, chocolate, bread, dairy, pasta, cookies, cake.... There are just some things that I will literally eat until I hurt.
They say that people like me (still questioning that I'm one of the people, but let's just go with it..) react differently to food than other people. For 'normal' people, food is a source of enjoyment and fuel, but 'normal' people can eat until they are full and then choose to stop (or to over indulge).
Sometimes when I'm full, the only thing that stops me is the shame of knowing that someone else knows how much I'm eating. It definitely isn't my stomach walls protesting. I mean, they do protest, but I don't stop.
Food has always been comfort to me. I remember clearly a moment of feeling out of control, scared, and finding great solace (but not really) by hiding on the dark back staircase, hidden and methodically unwrapping and eating chocolate continuously. not like one every few minutes, but literally non-stop motion. hand to bowl, hand to mouth, hand to bowl, hand to mouth... I was only 4 or 5. but food calmed me.
And it's no wonder.... my best food memories are greatly linked with the times I felt safest.
Sitting with my mother in our favorite diner eating butterscotch pie, a time when I was free from bullying, away from my father and safe with my loving mother.
Once a week family meals when we would all pretend that we were the great happy family everyone else seemed to think we were.
My father actually taking care of us usually meant he was finally feeding us, that he hadn't forgotten, that we were still on his radar. He would give us potato salad on hoagie buns or white rice with ketchup.
So it makes sense that as a child who craved love, I could very easily find it in food.
And that brings me to today.
The things that I have noticed:
-When someone around me is upset I ask them if they want cookies. or cake. I don't ask if I can help by listening or if they need a hug, I resort to offering my own personal solace: food.
-After a long day of emotional overload I just want to eat cake and ice cream. To the point that it is entirely possible that even during a period of great healthy eating I will have a particularly rough day and have stopped at the gas station, bought and ingested a bag of cookies, a large coke, two donuts and a few cigarets. I can usually stop myself after one cigaret. I cannot ever stop myself after one donut.
-When I am home alone with nothing to do, I will often find myself standing in front of an open fridge before I've realized I've gotten off the couch.
-when no one is looking, I grab at least 3 times as many cookies as I would if someone were there.
-I count how many servings everyone else has so that they never see me have more than they have had. I'll eat the rest in the kitchen, but not when you're watching.
When you lay it all out like that, it sure sounds like an addiction.
One day at a time, right?
My lowest moment is not as low as it could have been, fortunately. I have heard stories from addicts. Stories of lives out of control, stories of despair, of the bottom. And my story is not like that.
Because of this, there is some small (sometimes loud) voice inside me that wants to know: is this ACTUALLY an addiction? Are my habits actually beyond my control?
To admit that I might be out of control is terrifying. But that's what this whole thing is about, isn't it? It's about recognizing that my ADDICTION is taking control of my life. I do not have the control. My sickness does.
There is a part of me that feels like admitting (succumbing?) to my addiction is perhaps a cop-out. I mean, it's much more likely that I just don't want to do the very hard work of creating will power. If I say that I am an addict, then having will power doesn't matter, now does it? So I might as well not even try, right?
But yet I see the truth in it. There are many foods that I have no control over. Pizza, chocolate, bread, dairy, pasta, cookies, cake.... There are just some things that I will literally eat until I hurt.
They say that people like me (still questioning that I'm one of the people, but let's just go with it..) react differently to food than other people. For 'normal' people, food is a source of enjoyment and fuel, but 'normal' people can eat until they are full and then choose to stop (or to over indulge).
Sometimes when I'm full, the only thing that stops me is the shame of knowing that someone else knows how much I'm eating. It definitely isn't my stomach walls protesting. I mean, they do protest, but I don't stop.
Food has always been comfort to me. I remember clearly a moment of feeling out of control, scared, and finding great solace (but not really) by hiding on the dark back staircase, hidden and methodically unwrapping and eating chocolate continuously. not like one every few minutes, but literally non-stop motion. hand to bowl, hand to mouth, hand to bowl, hand to mouth... I was only 4 or 5. but food calmed me.
And it's no wonder.... my best food memories are greatly linked with the times I felt safest.
Sitting with my mother in our favorite diner eating butterscotch pie, a time when I was free from bullying, away from my father and safe with my loving mother.
Once a week family meals when we would all pretend that we were the great happy family everyone else seemed to think we were.
My father actually taking care of us usually meant he was finally feeding us, that he hadn't forgotten, that we were still on his radar. He would give us potato salad on hoagie buns or white rice with ketchup.
So it makes sense that as a child who craved love, I could very easily find it in food.
And that brings me to today.
The things that I have noticed:
-When someone around me is upset I ask them if they want cookies. or cake. I don't ask if I can help by listening or if they need a hug, I resort to offering my own personal solace: food.
-After a long day of emotional overload I just want to eat cake and ice cream. To the point that it is entirely possible that even during a period of great healthy eating I will have a particularly rough day and have stopped at the gas station, bought and ingested a bag of cookies, a large coke, two donuts and a few cigarets. I can usually stop myself after one cigaret. I cannot ever stop myself after one donut.
-When I am home alone with nothing to do, I will often find myself standing in front of an open fridge before I've realized I've gotten off the couch.
-when no one is looking, I grab at least 3 times as many cookies as I would if someone were there.
-I count how many servings everyone else has so that they never see me have more than they have had. I'll eat the rest in the kitchen, but not when you're watching.
When you lay it all out like that, it sure sounds like an addiction.
One day at a time, right?
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