I am back in England visiting my father, sitting in the bedroom of the house he moved into about 20 years ago. Little has changed in the house, and the views all look the same; the morning fog rising off Romney Marsh, dotted with its sheep, and the River Rother, lined with fishing boats snaking through it. The seagulls squawk and clatter about on the clay-tiled roof, and the distant cooing of wood pigeons is as comforting as ever. What is completely different is how I feel. I grew up in England with my father and left angry at both at the age of 23. England and my father were the root of my troubles, and I was headed for California, land of the free. I have come back to visit every year or so for the last 23 years. Initially my visits were long and drawn out, at least... Continue Reading
I have a special affection for using the tool of writing on a daily basis. Writing works to get me back on track when I am feeling off center. It always brings me into contented abstinence and serenity. It quells the drive to become frantic when my thinking becomes muddled and confused. In my disease days, I would quell my frantic energy with a “snack” that would turn into a binge. I almost always chose sugar and flour items to numb my thinking and my feelings. I would then end up in front of the TV with a cheesy talk show and pretend I was watching, while I was really planning the trail back to the kitchen for my next food item to consume. This behavior led to a weight gain of 40 pounds more than I am now, asthma, bulimia, anorexia, and obsessive-compulsive thinking. I was not free to... Continue Reading
One year and 140 pounds ago, at age 36, I entered the rooms of FA. For 24 years, I had racked my brain for every conceivable “plan” to lose weight. Generally, plans were hashed out during what I swore would be my final binge. In the beginning of recovery, and out of the food fog, I realized that all my prior plans were “output” focused—based on how much time, money, and effort I would give to be a normal-size person. It never occurred to me that “input” was the solution. For years, I budgeted $11 a week for a well-known diet program, but failed to realize that the additional $10 for the fast food run after each meeting was undermining my efforts. I diligently scheduled an hour of exercising, only to come home and choose four hours of snacking and television instead. I bought a $100 treadmill that quickly became... Continue Reading
Twelve years ago, when I came into Food Addicts in Recovery Anonymous, I lived only for food binges. Food was all that I could think of: how to get it, how to be alone with it, and how to eat as much as I wanted without paying any of the consequences. And the consequences were many. I felt isolated from all of the good things that life had to offer. I was physically and psychologically addicted to flour, sugar, fat, and huge quantities of food. I ate until I was so full that it was difficult for my lungs to expand, and it hurt to breathe. For me, those foods substances and the enormous quantities that I consumed were mood-altering drugs, and they fueled suicidal depression. I felt drugged up and sluggish after overeating and had to sleep it off. Many times after a binge, when my stomach was aching,... Continue Reading
My mother died a few days before her ninety-second birthday, when I was less than six months in FA. Even though my mom had pneumonia for many days and had been immobilized by a fractured pelvis for months, the grief that I felt when I got the phone call was overwhelming and profound. I did my first things first and called my children, and then proceeded to get my plane reservations and start to pack. It was about 11 p.m. While I was on the phone talking to the airline, a feeling of intense hunger crept up my body and started to take hold. I had the urge to go to the cupboards and tear open boxes of food and stuff my mouth with whatever I could find. Then I remembered, “Don’t eat, don’t eat, whatever you do, don’t eat.” I said it over and over again. For added insurance... Continue Reading
