A Story of Recovery:

Recklessness Abandoned

I grew up in a pretty strict household, where food was accounted for. I learned early on to sneak food. My father had a strong work ethic and instilled it in me. By 15, I had a part-time job to pay for my school supplies, clothes, and many other expenses. I was very active in my church and high school sports. I became a Boy Scout Eagle Scout, and had a full-time girlfriend.

By 18, my father and stepmother asked me to leave my home, and I set out to find my way in the world with not a penny in my pocket or any idea how to manage my life. I was bitter and pissed and felt that God and my family had abandoned me. But I told myself I was going to make it in spite of it all.

Nearly a decade prior to coming into Program, I took the opportunity to live with my mother in Northern California and enroll in college. I was a college-level water polo player and swimmer. I practiced and worked out for hours a day. I had a college-athlete appetite as well, and I ate with reckless abandon. My weight would fluctuate, based on what season it was or how hard I was training, but it always seemed to come off. I was fit and full of myself. I was a womanizer and the farthest thing from a gentleman in those days.

After college, I picked up partying. I was a DJ for parties all over the Bay Area. The drug scene called to me. I was living with friends, partying nearly every night, and staying up until the crack of dawn. I was managing my weight (drugs kept the weight off) while destroying my body and darkening my soul.

I started dating a skinny, tattooed beautiful blonde, who I instantly knew would be my wife. Unbeknownst to her, I was using and dealing methamphetamine and other drugs to make a living. I remember being in my apartment and thinking about my future with this amazing woman, while holding a very large bag of methamphetamine. I looked in the mirror and said to God that I would rather be fat and ugly then be a drug addict. I gave up drugs and my weight started to creep up.

I was ambitious, and set out to create a new life with my soon-to-be wife. I got hired as an electrical apprentice. I vividly recall the first day of work, waking up before 5 a.m. for the first time (as a meth addict I would typically not go to bed until 6 a.m. or later). I was completely miserable. Caffeine helped a little, but for any addict, more is better, and so began my caffeine addiction. I had never smoked, but picked up smoking and chewing tobacco to help keep me awake and alert.

My days at work were long. I would come home exhausted around 5-6 p.m., and eat a massive dinner, which put me into a food coma. I could barely find enough energy to take a shower and crawl into bed. The weekends were filled with restaurant hopping, as my wife and I considered dining a “hobby.” This routine went on for over two years.

I started to move up in my career. My weight started getting out of control, and stress began to dictate my life. My job involved sitting at work for eight hours a day. The stress was something I had never experienced before, which I massaged daily with food, nicotine, and alcohol.

In the meantime, I married my fiancé, and my first daughter was born with a severe cleft lip and palate. My wife and I spent nearly seven days in the hospital, learning how to feed her, as she was born without the roof of her mouth. I was devastated, and I completely checked out.

My wife decided to stop working. How was I going to afford this? Like any clever addict, I came up with the solution. I would grow and sell medicinal marijuana. I started growing marijuana in a spare bedroom, and then I rented a house just to grow in. I am not proud of this, but it paid the bills many times over. The stress and worry that I felt with this sort of business, however, drove me further into the food, drink, and nicotine.

I was promoted again, bought my first house, and we had our second child. Through a series of close calls and scary events, I decided it was time get out of the weed business, and my wife started an in-home daycare. It was like trading one stress for another, but I made the wise decision to cash in my retirement funds to put my wife through school and to support us until her business got off the ground.

My days began at the crack of dawn. I would drink several high-caffeine drinks throughout the day, go through a full can of chewing tobacco, and eat whenever I could. The minute it was time to go home, I was off to the nearest liquor store. I would buy a fifth of alcohol and have it completely downed before I even left the store parking lot. I would then drive nearly 50 miles home, snacking on the flour or sugar items that I had bought. Once home, I would go straight for the fridge and start my evening consumption of food and drink. I never stopped; I couldn’t stop.  I can only imagine how hard this time was for my wife and my young children.

I was around 300 pounds. I knew something was wrong with me, and I recognized that I couldn’t stop eating or drinking. I tried every diet imaginable, with no success. I was an emotional wreck. I had a 54-inch waist, a constantly sore back, and aching feet. I was a chronic insomniac (thank you caffeine), and would rarely leave my home outside of going to work or to a restaurant. I had few friends at this point, and I wanted to die. I would fantasize about my death and how I could kill myself while making it look like an accident, so my wife could collect the life insurance. I would think how my kids would have a father they deserve and my loving wife would have a man who would truly be worthy of her love. I couldn’t stop asking myself, “Why”? Why can’t I be normal? Why can’t I just eat a little bit and stop? Why can’t I just do a diet? This went on for years.

I thought I would find the answer through therapy. I made huge payments per month to a therapist, who recommended a Twelve-Step program for food addiction, which I quickly dismissed. She couldn’t help me; no one could at that point.

It was miserable. I was over 310 pounds. My weight scale was dusty; I never stepped on it, because I never wanted to know. I would walk by windows at storefronts and turn my head the other way or look down. I didn’t want to see what I had done to myself.

I asked my doctor about weight-loss surgery, and he handed me three pamphlets, including one about FA. By some miracle, I decided to give FA a shot, what the heck. My mom (no stranger to Twelve steps), wanted to support me, so she ended up going to a local meeting with me. I sat with my arms crossed for the first couple of meetings, thinking the people were crazy, but by the third meeting, someone stood up and told my story. I took it as a sign from God. Perhaps it wasn’t in God’s cards for me to be fat and ugly after all.

I truly felt like either FA was going to work, or I was going to die. So I dove right in, struggling for the first few weeks to get my food right and grasp the true basics of the program. After a month I was abstinent, and over a year later, I’m still abstinent, one day at a time, thank you God.

I am 33 years old, weigh 177 pounds, and have a 33-inch waist. I enjoy surfing, playing water polo, and am very active with family. This miracle is all due to my higher power, which I choose to call “God.” Looking back on my life, I felt that I was so alone in my times of deep despair and darkness. Little did I know that God was there with me the whole time. Without my practiced reliance on his guidance through my sponsor, prayer, meditation, and knowledge of his will for me (that I thank him for daily) I would have long since left this program. I have stopped asking God “why” and have replaced it with “thank you.”