A Story of Recovery:
Seeing Through Recovery
I was a premature twin at birth, which resulted in my having sight in only one eye. In elementary school, I was picked on for being different. I never felt like I fit in or was accepted. I was chunky, which made me even more awkward than the other kids, and this, combined with my crossed eyes and extreme near-sightedness, made me feel like I could never measure up.
At 12, my parents separated because of my dad’s excessive drinking. I was able to start over again in school when Mom moved me and my siblings to the Panama Canal Zone to work as a registered nurse. In Panama, I grew up and “found” myself. I was exposed to another culture and I learned some Spanish, played a little guitar and matured overall. The kids there didn’t make fun of me because most of them were from military families and moved around a lot, so they also had difficulty making new friends, and I fit right in despite my limited vision.
I was more physically active then than at any other time in my life. I rode my bike and swam every day. I had friends and a great tan. I was happy with who I was becoming, and I generally loved life. While I was still living at home, any signs of food addiction lay dormant because my mom kept meals portioned and balanced.
When I went away to college and began to make my own food choices, I started to gain weight. The moderate partying I started in high school continued, and my awakening disease of food addiction gave me permission to let my weight become unmanageable.
After college, the pressure to find a job and move out on my own became so overwhelming that I turned to food more and more. That’s when the disease took over. I ate mass quantities of cheap, high-carb food so I could get filled up and numb out. I didn’t want to face my life.
Over the next 10 years, I faced the possibility of losing my sight several times due to a detached retina, glaucoma, and a cataract, all in my “good” eye. I managed to hold down a customer service job where I commuted two hours each way on the New York City subway. I got married, but I lived with extreme fear that I could lose my sight at any time. I became sedentary and fed my fears with food. For 10 years, my life amounted to going to work, coming home, eating huge quantities, watching TV, and going to sleep.
Then my worst nightmare came true. Unexpectedly and suddenly, my sight started to fade, and in a year it had completely vanished. I was blind. In the same year, my husband died from cancer. By the time I turned 40, I was blind and a widow.
For the next 13 years, my disease grabbed hold of me even more tightly. Even though I couldn’t see, I was able to walk to the store to buy groceries multiple times a week, and sometimes even daily. I had the store ads read over the phone and typed the items I wanted on my computer. Then I printed the list I brought with me, and a store employee helped me shop.
When I reached 350 pounds, I began to have chest pains and was unable to walk my guide dog. I got scared and knew it was time to do something, but what? I checked into lap band surgery, and I decided to cash in my life insurance policy to pay for it, thinking it would be a quick fix.
Over the course of the three years after having the surgery, I lost over 100 pounds, but my disease took hold of me again, and before I knew it, this hard-core food addict had gained back 60 pounds. I reached a point of desperation. I didn’t know how to stop or what would happen to me until a friend invited me to an FA meeting.
In the FA rooms I learned I have an allergy to flour and sugar and quantities and this addiction could be arrested, one day at a time, with abstinence. Finally, I had found a solution!
How does a totally blind person work this program? I use a talking digital body scale for my weight and a talking food scale to weigh my meals. In the beginning, I made outreach calls asking fellows to read the Twenty Four Hours a Day book to me, and I recorded the entire year’s worth of readings. I have a computer with special software that tells me what’s on the screen as I read and type, which allows me to keep my email and phone contacts current, and I use a portable device that lets me read the AA Big Book, which is in a special audio format for the blind.
Just because I can’t see doesn’t mean I can’t work a strong program. I attend two FA meetings and an AWOL. I sponsor and I am being sponsored. I trust God to see me through each day abstinently as I get on my knees, morning and night. I take quiet time. I make calls and get calls. I listen to my readings each day.
I hope everyone who reads my story will get to experience the hope I have today through this program. I have lost nearly 100 pounds, yet the weight was but a symptom of my fear, doubt, and insecurity. Today, I am not alone. I have a program that offers peace and friendships. I now live a happy, useful life.