A Story of Recovery:

Emerging from the Dark

I couldn’t stop. Mind you, I thought I could. I would get a few days, even weeks of abstinence—not surrendered abstinence, but I would get excited and hopeful, telling you how much better it was this time, how this was it. I was done with the food. I would have some revelation from the last binge that I was sure would break through my pattern. Now I was ready to stay abstinent, no matter what.

This conviction lasted until some feeling came up that I was convinced I could not live through, and perhaps more honestly, did not want to live through. Loneliness, fear, insecurity, doubt, any or all could feel overwhelming. I would rush to the store for my familiar binge foods.

I would chew and spit out the foods, not swallowing, but chewing and tasting, in denial that it was “so bad,” because my weight did not change dramatically. I had started the habit of chewing food and spitting it out, and after 16 years of vomiting, this seemed to be a step up! I thought I would eventually stop, maybe when I turned 40, then 45, then 50… Well, 12 years later, I was still doing it. This was what brought me to FA.

I had 10 pounds to lose, and once most of that was gone, I could maintain that weight-loss, despite breaks. I was still obsessed with food and my weight, and could not put down the food. Having sugar in my mouth was a brief release from feeling anything at all. The sugar would kick in, and I would get the mellow “ahhh,” only to be followed by shame, hopelessness, fear, and dark loneliness far greater than any feeling that had preceded the food.

Binges in FA became more and more miserable, even though the quantity was lessened. It took less food to experience hopelessness, and the loneliness was more and more unbearable. I would feel not just lonely for the fellowship of FA and the solidarity of being abstinent with FA members, but I experienced loneliness from my own true self, my hopeful, optimistic self. I was lonely for the safety I have when I am doing what I know is right. It would feel as though I was on a dead planet, with no life or warmth, and could barely see my “home,” which was your planet—alive, hopeful, full of light, freedom, and peace, under the protection and care of a loving Higher Power.

Being in that dark, lost, hopeless place was frightening, and I knew that I would not last alone. I became convinced, by my experience in the food, that I needed the FA program like I needed light, air, and people. I could not face life without a solution. That loneliness was the turning point for me. I just did not want to live with that feeling any more.

Today, no matter what feelings come along, I am willing to walk through them by using the tools of Program. I want a life in the sunshine, and I don’t want to be trapped on that lifeless planet again. I don’t have to return. If I do today what I did yesterday, I am safe.

I have had to change, which was something I was not willing to do for the three years of breaking. I can’t nurse visions of binge foods in my head, or visualize myself eating them, and expect not to end up in the food. I have to give up the mental binge before it has time to settle in. I use the phone for that; just to check in with someone else to see what they are dealing with today, to get out of my head.

I now react to both food thoughts and fear the way I would if the smoke detector went off in my home. I quickly take action. Food thoughts threaten my newfound peace of mind, and today I treasure that peace and security more than any food or mental binge. I have learned to trust my Higher Power and this program in a way that I was not willing to do before, because I want the life I get by staying abstinent.

God is showing me who I am and what supports my recovery. Thank you FA for the guidance you give me to change behaviors and take actions that open up my life and my heart to be filled with friends, fellowship, and hope.