Might As Well Face It...

I just finished reading my last blog entry. Wow! Was I ever fired up? I was so pissed that I had fallen off the wagon, and I was going to be the Points Nazi and was going to workout so often and with such efficiency that I would be a role model to fat chicks everywhere. Grrrr!



Oh, how the mighty have fallen!

Notice how long it's been since I've posted a blog entry since my last manifesto? Yeah, that's because I've been off the wagon since then. Way off the wagon. Like the wagon's gone and there's no hope of returning off the wagon.

I'm a stress eater. Always have been. When the going gets tough, this girl gets tacos. And cakes. And anything else edible within arms reach. Anyway, times have been really tough for me and my family lately. A lot of financial woes, some sickness, and so on. And I did as I usually do when I start stressing, and I ate my feelings.

It has been within the past week or so that I came to the realization that I'm addicted to food. Go ahead everybody and get the laughs out now, because I'm serious. I'm an addict. There's no other way to describe the way that I abuse food and the way that abuse makes me feel.

Take for instance this situation which happened at my home a few nights ago. I was really starting to feel the strain from the money woes coming about at paycheck time. I felt like crap, and I was so anxious that there wasn't enough Xanax in the world to make me feel better. I got a sudden intense craving for cookie dough ice cream. Of course there's none in the house, because it's such a red flag food of mine. Cookie dough ice cream does not last long in my house, and I am much like a drug sniffing dog when it comes to that frozen, half-baked goodness--if it's in the home, I will catch it's scent, track it down, and devour it at once. Anyway, all I could think about was that cookie dough ice cream. The hubs and I were watching a really funny movie, and still, all I could think about was the sweet stuff. So what did I do? I got up and left my home, drove to the grocery store, bought a half-gallon of cookie dough ice cream, drove back home, and sat down in front of the television with the carton and a spoon.

Before Weight Watchers, this was not a rare occurrence. On the contrary, I knew which grocery stores had the good brands of ice cream on sale buy one get one free. Not only that, but I would go and buy four half gallons--two for me, and two for my husband. That's right, I would have a whole gallon of ice cream in the fridge that was solely for me. And I ate every single delectable bite of it too.

But during this last bout of frozen food madness, I realized something. I was physically and mentally craving that ice cream. My body ached for it, and my brain wouldn't let any other thoughts enter and take up precious space that it was using to convince me that I needed the ice cream. So I went and bought it, and came home with it. When that first bite entered my mouth and I chewed up that first little ball of cookie dough, I swear to you, it was orgasmic. Such a rush ran through my body that all I could think was, "More, more! Give me more!" So I did. I gave my body more until I physically started to hurt, which was after I'd eaten half of the container.

If that isn't addiction, I don't know what is.

Let's take your garden variety heroin addict for example. The addict gets it into their head that they need that heroin. Their body craves it, and their brain demands it. They feel like they'll either die or go crazy if they don't get that little bump. So they go out in search of the heroin, get the goods, and go home to shoot up. The drug enters their bloodstream and it's an instant euphoria. Eyes roll back in the head, and they melt into the warm pool of their high. And even in that moment, all they can think is "I need more."

Ladies and gentleman, that is the exact way I was with that cookie dough ice cream.

Now my addiction is really not that specific. It's not as though I feel like I need a fix and only the dough will do. It's a matter of what I'm craving. Sometimes it's pizza. Sometimes it's tacos. Sometimes it's one of the fine concoctions dreamed up by that harlot Little Debbie. But always, it's food. The craving is undeniable and it won't go away with my pleas that I'm trying to lose my weight and I need to be good. The beast is calling for food, and the beast must be satiated.

This is the first time since I started Weight Watchers almost 15 months ago that I've really had this huge food addiction relapse. Sure, there have been times when I've been a little less than mindful of what I've eaten. There have also been times when I've splurged, but still had the good sense to know that it was a special occasion and that I needed to get back on track. But in 15 months, I have never gone on a food bender to the extent that I've been on.

So if this is confession, I need to speak aloud my sins, right? *Sigh* Here goes...

I ate a whole large, thin crust pizza in one sitting. Straight out of the box.

I ate a half gallon of cookie dough ice cream in two sittings. Twice.

I ate twelve tacos in one sitting.

The last three weeks of school, I ate a bag of Quaker Snack Mix Baked Cheddar during the span of my class. I did this two nights a week, for a total of six nights.

The last two weeks of school, I stopped on my way to class and picked up three junk food staples and ate them in the car on the way to school. The repeat offenders were peanut butter M&Ms, Fudge Rounds, and Zebra Cakes. Damn you, Little Debbie!

I ate things in the hospital cafeteria that defied logic and the laws of physics. Like chicken tenders, a mammoth amount of fries and about five scoops of that God forsaken cookie dough ice cream.

I haven't counted a point in a long, long time.

The most exercise I've gotten during that time was working up a sweat worrying about there being enough junk food to pull me through the craving of the moment.

I'm sure there are many others that I'm forgetting, but these are definitely the bigger sins, and the highlight of the hell bound eating behaviors I've engaged in.

So what do I do from here? I mean, it's easy to get all fired up and make a plan and swear that as God is my witness I'll never binge again. But I did that in my last blog posting. And we see how far that got me.

I guess the best course of action would be to take it one day at a time, like the Alcoholics do. I'm going to set myself up with a "sponsor" who can give me a swift kick in my fat ass and tell me to put down the damn ice cream if I want to watch my children grow up to be adults. I'm even considering going to Overeaters Anonymous meetings. Seriously. I mean, if alcoholics have AA, and drug addicts have NA, shouldn't OA work for food addicts? It only makes sense.

Regardless, I refuse to use my new found knowledge as a crutch. There's not going to be any of this stuffing my face and binging like there's no tomorrow, then saying, "I'm an addict. I can't help it. It's a disease. Pass me the pizza. Extra cheese please." No. That shit doesn't fly. Just like any addict who wants to rid themselves of their drug of choice, I have to want to get beyond where I am now. I have to have that desire to feel and look better. Not only that, but I have to be committed to the lifestyle choices that will get me there. That lifestyle does not include eating a meal meant for half a dozen people all by myself. I have to practice control. Which is sometimes easier said than done.

But I refuse to give up. I view the sins of these past few weeks as a relapse, but it's not going to pull me off the path to recovery. No way I'm going to allow that to happen. So I'm recommitting, here in front of all you witnesses. And if I fall off the wagon, I'll jump right back on, without taking a week or three to drown my sorrows in sugar and fat.

Because the only person I hurt with this behavior is myself. And I've had enough pain!