A Story of Recovery:

I was killing myself with a spoon

Growing up, I learned that there were certain “rules” in my family.  The rules were: you should know the right thing to do in every circumstance.  You should do the right thing in every circumstance.  If you had to ask how or what to do, you lost.  No pressure there!

My father was a minister.  He often told me I had to be an example to the church and to the whole community of what a well-behaved child should be, and he enforced that policy with a razor strap.

As early as 9, I remember the high school football player and store clerk, who caught me stealing sweet stuff in the grocery store.  I was terrified that he’d tell my parents if he saw me with them, so I insisted on staying in our car in 100 degree weather in Texas while they went in to shop. In middle school, I was the kid who sold frozen sweet treats in the lunchroom.  I stole nickels to buy some, and stole one treat a day besides.  Talk about the fox guarding the hen house!

Sugar was my drug of choice. I ate in secret. I knew exactly, at all times, where and how well-supplied my sugar stash was, and I knew if I needed to stop at the Brach’s isle to replenish it.

I yo-yo dieted from age 13 to 56. I lost 40 pounds ten times and 70 pounds three times.  That’s 680 pounds lost and gained.

Over the years, there were two serious suicide attempts because of my despair and depression about this problem.  But most of the time, I was just killing myself with a spoon. I paid a therapist to help me understand why I ate, but the therapist was unable to ’cure’ the addiction, so I continued to use food to cope with my fear, anger, anxiety and confusion.

When I was diagnosed with diabetes, I gave up.  I lied to myself, saying that taking the medications prescribed for it would “take care” of my diabetes. Every time I saw my doctor, she would warn me about diet and exercise.  I always recited back the “right foods” list my mother had taught me:  “lean meats, green and yellow vegetables and fresh fruit.” I knew what to eat, but no one ever told me how.  When I tried to get help, all anyone could offer was “just do it,” “white knuckle it,” and “grit your teeth.”  That was all they had. The doctor said that a normal blood sugar level was 80-120; mine was 160-400. A normal A1C level was 6.5; mine was 9.1.

My doctor left the examining room and a stranger entered, handed me a letter of introduction, and explained she was a registered nurse and the new “care coordinator.” She said she would like to make an appointment with me to talk about my diabetes and care.

I was face to face with the possibility of living only twenty more years, of losing my sight, and of possibly losing a foot or a leg. That’s if my diabetes didn’t kill me first with a heart attack or kidney failure. It was not a future I wanted, but I still felt powerless to make any changes.

I wrote her back that if she had something new to say, I would commit to six months of following her suggestions. I followed what I believed to be God’s direction, in writing my letter to her and being willing to follow her suggestions, even though I had little hope of a good outcome.

I went to the appointment and after a lengthy dialogue, the nurse handed me an FA brochure and asked if I would go to a meeting on Tuesday night at the hospital.  I heard her acknowledge that my food addiction was real, and she described a program that could offer a realistic solution to what had been running me to the ground for 55 years. Why wouldn’t I try it? So I went to the Tuesday night meeting.

I asked for, and got, a temporary sponsor that night, and started calling her the next morning. That was my first day in the FA program.

For me, the last 6 months have flown by, and I love the FA program. I love my abstinence. For the first time in my life, I am taking care of myself, and it feels so good. I love that there is a written food plan.  My crazed, addictive mind can’t drag me off the road and into the ditch to think in endless circles of “what if’s” and “maybe’s.” Being clean and sober from sugar means I’m truly awake and able to experience life.  I think clearly.  I don’t feel “wonkie” and “jangly.” I recognize the lies in my mind about food and the other issues in my life.

I run to God anytime I feel my abstinence is threatened.  I talk; He listens. He talks; I listen. I repeat that I am powerless over food and need God to restore my sanity.

I’m grateful for the wonderful tools in this program. I eagerly participate in an AWOL (A Way of Life), an in-depth study of the twelve steps, and I’m grateful for the chance to do it. I’m grateful for the phone calls to and from my fellows and the support and shared experience that provides. I’m grateful for the opportunity to be of service to newcomers.  Someone was there for me when I started, and I want to “pay it forward.”

FA saved my life.