Lucid Madness

I felt a bit ‘freer’ after that last post.  The day turned out much better than the morning started.  I never got hungry today.  I never craved anything or wanted to eat.  I remember reading something in one of my books…that I have to learn to feel my feelings again.  After keeping them stuffed away and buried under fat and food, I have to be willing to feel them.  How true that feels today.

I found a group in town - it’s not OA, it’s a 12-step CodA group.  Codependents Anonymous - for codependents and adult children of alcoholics.  I think having somewhere to go, somewhere to share, will help.  It’s not OA - but it IS a 12-step group.  I’m considering it.  What could it hurt?  Right?  I’ve also considered going to AA groups - just to go somewhere - be with others that understand.  I think the CodA group would be a better fit for me than AA but who knows.  I figure it’s worth a try.  It’s the same group my mother attended as she started to get healthy.

I also ordered some books today from the OA site (thanks Dodi).  I ordered Overeaters Anonymous and also the OA workbook.  So I’ll patiently await those… 

So many things are running through my head this morning.  As I wolfed down a McDonald’s breakfast bagel sandwich, I thought about why I went and got it and why I didn’t just say no to it.  I realized that I was now using OA as an excuse.  They define my problem as a disease.  I’m sick.  I can’t help it.  It’s not my fault.  It’s the disease.

How did this happen?  How did I turn things around like this?  I am so messed up.  I’m truly insane when it comes to food.  I hide it, I make excuses.  God please help me. 

I’m so tired of feeling like crap.  I’m tired of being the ‘fat girl’.  I’m tired of buying bigger and bigger clothes.  I don’t know what it’s going to take.  Probably something really scary if we look to the past to predict my future behavior.  I didn’t stop smoking until I got cancer - until I faced death.  Will I not stop eating until I have a heart attack?  Until my weight nearly kills me?

I’m so scared.  I know in my heart that I need to stop.  It’s just so easy not to.  When I have a good day and eat well, I feel different.  Not really physically, but emotionally.  Maybe I start to see things more clearly?  It almost hurts to stop stuffing myself.  It certainly isn’t a comfortable place to be.  And I tuck my tail and run back to my old ways.  There is comfort there.  Where I am now isn’t necessarily comfortable, but it is familar.  It feels safe.

I am disgusted with myself right now.  I am dissappointed in myself.  I’m not used to failing.  I used to say that fear of failure was why I never tried to quit smoking.  I’m a perfectionist of sorts - obsessive might be a better description.  My work has to be perfect.  I despise making mistakes.  I feel like a complete failure when I do so.  I hate being late - I feel like a failure if I can’t simply get to where I’m going on-time.  The dishwasher has to be loaded a certain way - so no one can do it but me.  I feel like they do it wrong and aren’t efficient enough - they won’t do it as well as I would.  Shirts have to be on the hanger a certain way and towels can’t just be folded, they must be folded seams in.  I look for patterns in everything…at work they used to call me ‘rain-man’ because I could see patterns that others couldn’t and I could remember extension numbers and phone numbers like no one else.  All of this is quite useful in my work as a data analyst, but in real life it’s simply a nuissance.

The one area where I’m not a ‘perfectionist’ is with my body and my health.  Why is that?  Why can’t I love myself enough?  No one else loved me enough to teach me differently.  Why should I love myself.  I quite apparently wasn’t worth the time or effort to my parents.  Why should I deserve any better?  There is no question to me that my mother loved me very much - but she didn’t teach me about feeling and emotions.  Hell - she didn’t even know herself.  I remember when she finally realized and started attending CoDA meetings.  She changed a lot.  She grew up.  By then I was in my 20s and already had things imprinted in my psyche, on my soul.  We never talked about feelings.  The only time my parents said that they loved me was when I was in trouble - when I really screwed up.  In other words when they felt like the had to.  They never let me know how special I was.  I don’t remember much from my childhood that involves my parents or their love for me.  That’s not to say that they didn’t love me…but I rarely felt it. 

They never taught me how much I was worth.  I had to define my worth with other people.  Men usually.  I craved being accepted and loved, and strived to make people notice me.  That’s probably why I was an over-acheiver in school.  When I went above and beyond, I was praised by my teachers - by the counselors.  I was a lot of times the ‘teachers pet’.  When in jr. high and high school, I realized that just the opposite would get my parent’s attention.  It wasn’t good attention - I was in trouble - but at least they were talking to me.

While I wanted people to notice my great grades and my punctual, studious attitude at school, I hated being in the ‘lime-light’.  I wanted the love and recognition, but wanted it quietly, almost secretly.  I didn’t want everyone looking at me.  Maybe I never was comfortable in my own skin - even in grade school…?

My email is going crazy…I guess I should get to work and provide some of that stellar service that I’m so used to providing…

…I need to continue this later…but it’s amazing to me to see what come out when my emotions are raw, when my tears flow and I just write without thinking…write from my soul…

Thank you God.  Thank you for this day and for my tears this morning…

I need something.  I need some writing prompts.  I need some questions to spur my thoughts.  To help me dig into my psyche.  Into my memories.  To uncover the issues that are planted deep within my heart and mind.

So I’m off on a search…if you know of a book, a workbook, a website…point me to it.  I need it.  I know from much experience that until I love myself and determine my triggers and work through those issues that I will continue to fail to make progress.  Healthy progress.  Lasting progress.

My sister told me today about a guy at her work who had gone away for the weekend - before he left he had hidden his stash of cash - $1,000 under a trashcan.  As he walked down the hallway this morning he noticed 1/2 of a hundred dollar bill on the floor.  Panic-stricken he made his way to the trashcan to find it knocked over and $250 on the floor.  The DOG had EATEN $750!!

He called the vet and of course there was nothing they could do - just watch the ‘output’ and if he happens to find a piece with a serial number on it he can submit it and be reimbursed.  I didn’t know that was possible!

…poor guy…left with just $250 and 1/2 of a $100 bill!
…poor dog…people going through his shit!

I did well while I was alone.  When Cap came home with Arby’s I took a bite of his stuff…does that mean I failed?  He worked late and stopped at Arby’s on the way home.  He offered to bring me somehting and I declined but when he got home - it all smelled so good - and I had 1 curly fry and 1 bite of a cheese stick and one bit of his roast beef sandwich.

 I did well - I ate only when I was hungry all day today (until Cap came home).  Calorie-wise I thing I was within a good range.  I suppose it was good that I only had a bite instead of a whole cheese stick and 1 fry instead of  15.  It’s a start.  I’m proud of the progress I made today.  I will talk to Cap and as for his support.  Ask him to eat that stuff away from me.  That reminds me - as I read Compulsive Overeater, Cap offered me a chocolate chip cookie - and then he caught his mistake - he realized what I was reading and apologized for the offer (which I refused by the way).

I’ll try again tomorrow - and just for tomorrow I will eat only when hungry and I will do my best not to eat compulsively.  I forgive myself for my slips this evening.

I still struggle to decide on a food plan.  I continue to read and try to figure out and understand abstinence and food plans and their significance to me and in my Program.  I read several chapters in Compulsive Overeater by Bill B. last night and today I feel much more at peace than I have in the last several days.  I really noticed the insanity around me and of course in my eating the last few days.  Those days when I stopped thinking, stopped reading, stopped working the Program.  I wasn’t perfect in the days before the really insane days - but when looking at my daily food lists, I can really see a difference in the last few days.

That’s me though - in every aspect of my life.  I start feeling better, start making progress and I do a complete 180.  I don’t know why… 

Self sabotage? 
Fear of change?
Self hatred? 
Do I like being fat? 
Do I like worrying about my health? 
Fear of being out of my comfort zone?
Fear of letting go, losing control

The answer is all of the above.  So see…I know exactly why.  These are some of the things I hope to change, but I can only do that by working the steps.  God can do for me that which I cannot do myself.  But, I must let Him.  I must be willing to give it all to Him.  I must be willing to relinquish control (such as it is).

Just for today, abstinence for me is to eat only when hungry.  To eat mindfully - not compulsively.  Just for today…

Wow.  I just made the last couple of entries on my food list for today.  I read it and - - wow.  I was all over the board today - and very compulsive.  I snacked a lot.  I wonder why?  Maybe because I’ve been busy with work and stressed out about everything that I have to finish this week?  Nothing else really is going on.   But I’ve been so consumed with work that I haven’t really taken care of myself for the last couple of days either.  No writing, no meetings, no reading.  Just work-work, mom-work, wife-work, house-work and sleep (and not much sleep either).

It’s apparent to me that I must make time for myself each day.  I must love myself enough to that.  I deserve that.

Let’s see - the last few weeks I’ve been fighting a cold and there’s nothing like soda when I’m sick.  When I can’t taste anything, the soda gives my tongue something…the carbonation.  I don’t usually drink a lot of soda.  It’s usually tea and water.

So…I’m just rambling.  Thinking.  I need to establish my food plan and I’m really struggling with it.  What should I do?  How should I do it?  Should I try to eliminate the things I’m ‘addicted’ to (sugar, flour)?  Or should I take the easy way out and do something a little greyer?  Something a little more forgiving?  Maybe it will come to me…somehow…someday.

I cried.  As I wrote that last post, I cried and in my heart I asked Mom for a sign that she was okay.  That it wasn’t my fault.  That I did enough.  I closed the laptop and took the dog out so I could head to bed.  As I stood on the back porch, against the starry, dark, night sky, a white bird flew over and disappeared into the night sky.

 Thank you God.

Thank you Mom.  I love you…

I continue to think about my relationship with food.  How did it become what it is now?  Most of my memories with Mom involve food.  I remember big Sunday breakfasts, big Sunday dinner, a snack waiting for us each day after school, Mom’s cinnamon rolls and her teaching me how to make them, making and baking 10 kinds of cookies and 5 kinds of candy each Christmas, learning how to make bread and realizing the therapeutic qualities of kneading the bread, beef roll ups, homemade noodles, warming our hands on the popcorn popper, etc…

Maybe that’s all mom and I did together?  Was I neglected unless she needed help or company in the kitchen?  I can’t remember doing a puzzle with her.  I can’t remember playing a game or her reading me books.  Why is that???  Am I doing the same thing to my daughter?  Miss T and I already have special traditions (rituals?) involving food.  We bake at Christmastime, I love to have her helping me in the kitchen, when it’s just us for dinner we have our favorite - tuna sandwiches on whole grain bread with buttered popcorn and a coke.

Maybe I’ve turned to food more since Mom’s death because it helps me to feel close to her? 

I can recall this post where I realized something about myself.  This was shortly after Mom’s death, after years of watching her waste away - eating less and less, choking more and more, after the insertion of her feeding tube, after weeks of caring for and cleaning the hole in her stomach, after ‘feeding’ her 6 times a day with a syringe.  The less she ate, the closer to death she crept, finally dying.  Of what - of starvation?  No - she died from ALS.  The disease starved her body of oxygen.

I feel so guilty about Mom’s death.  I didn’t do enough.  I should have fed her more.  I should have held her more.  I should have stuck up for her more.  I should have taken her to Disney Land!  I owed her so much more than I gave her.  How could I let her down like that?  After all the let downs in her life - how could I do it to her again?  I can hear her telling me that it wasn’t me.  It wasn’t my fault.  But I can’t believe it.  I’m so sorry Mom.  For everything.  So sorry…

…

So I’ve got a new friend who is helping me with my program.  And, I’ve been submitting a list of the things I eat each day.  I’ve been completly honest in my submissions, but everyday as I type the list I find myself fighting an urge to justify the things I’ve eaten.  Why am I so set on making excuses? What am I hiding and why am I trying to hide it?  Why is it so difficult to be honest about what I eat?

I’m ashamed.  I’ve known that for a while.  I hide what I eat from my family.  Aside from simply not mentioning it, I lie about it.  If I eat too much at dinner I will tell them that I didn’t eat lunch.  If I’m alone I will eat 2 breakfast sandwiches from McDonald’s instead of just one (which is bad enough!).  It’s bad that I lie to my family but what is even worse is that I’ve lied to myself.  Why can’t I be honest with myself?

I’m hopeful that the exercise of writing it all down and sharing it with someone will help me.  Knowing that I will not be judged or criticized or doubted is key.  Sharing that list with someone who knows, works and understands the program is key.  I guess it’s all about being accountable - and that is the purpose.  Learning to be honest with myself is the purpose of that exercise - I think.

Now I’m afraid.  I’m afraid of the honesty.  I’m afraid of the my truth.  I’m afraid of what will be revealed.  I know that I’m an emotional eater.  I eat when I’m mad.  I eat when I’m happy.  I eat to celebrate.  I eat when I’m sad.  I eat when I’m bored.  I eat when I’m not hungry.  In fact, I was down with the flu just after Christmas and I remember actually feeling hunger pangs.  I wasn’t eating a lot because I didn’t feel well and I actually got hungry at lunch time and again at dinner time.  I remember taking special notice of it because it was unusual.  I usually never feel hunger pangs because I keep myself full.  Back to my truth.  What will I find?  I suppose only time will tell…

I do remember when I first began to struggle with my weight.  It was in junior high.  I grew up in a small town where there was just one school - K-12 all on one campus.  I spent kindergarten through 5th grade with the same people, the same friends.  My father got a promotion and we moved to a larger city.  One with many grade schools, a couple of junior highs and one high school.  Moving is always difficult on friendships, but this was a particularly bad time for me.  I was 12.  My new 6th grade classes were filled with kids who had been together for years.  They all knew each other so well.  And then there was me.  I made friends easily enough, but then we had to go to 7th grade at the junior high.  And suddenly we were all new again to each other.  Again I left behind friendships and had to forge new ones.  It was junior high though - we were all going through that - but it was more difficult for me than most - at least that was my perception.  So I think this is also when I had my first bout with depression too.  Missing all those long-term friendships, greiving the ones I had just made and lost.  That, added to all the stresses of entering my teen years…it was hard.

In the fall of ‘87 (2 years after the move) my uncle died.  He was the fun uncle - the youngest of my mother’s siblings.  He was the uncle that would hang us over the stairwell and threaten to drop us - the one that would chase us down on our birthdays and give us our spankings and never forgot the ‘pinch to grow and inch’.  He took us ‘tanking’ down the Arkansas River back when it still had water flowing freely from Colorado.  He was just a big kid.

His death was the first I’d ever experienced.  He’d had his troubles with drugs and he had gone to the state mental hospital for a 90-day treatment program.  We were young so they didn’t tell us a lot - but we overheard things.  I remember overhearing conversations about him seeing faces outside his bedroom window and hearing voices.  But he was back now, he was clean now and he was on the right track - or so I overheard.  He was hit by a train.  No one really knows what exactly happened.  Had his truck stalled out on the tracks?  Had he parked on the tracks?  Did he just not see or hear the train?  No one knew - or no one ever told me.  And it was probably the one thing I needed to be told.  What I needed to overhear.  I didn’t know, so I speculated - I wrote a story about him for a school publication.  I don’t know if what I wrote was fact or fiction.

So - that was when I began putting on weight.  In hindsight, I think the lack of communication - the secrecy bothered me.  I think they all were just trying to protect us.  They let us help with arrangements, we participated in meetings with the minister and the funeral director.  They used our input in the service.  We were allowed to view the body.  They included us in the mechanics, but they didn’t talk to us.  They didn’t ask us how we felt.  But - that was the way - no talking about the tough stuff.  Just be together and sit around Grandma’s kitchen table and eat all the food that well-wishers had brought.  Don’t talk.  Eat. 

I think I’ve stumbled on to something here:  Don’t talk.  Eat.  And I think I will close for tonight on that revelation…