My Nana is not a fan of the Internet. Facebook, especially; she doesn’t see the purpose of sharing private and personal information where anyone and everyone can see it. Sometimes I see her point, but I am also a child of technology. It shaped my worldview: I found friends and solace in it, and even met my husband through the world wide web.
As such, I feel differently about sharing my life with strangers. I know that through sharing a part of me, others can reach out and offer solutions, and perhaps even I will help someone else along the way.
So. Fess up time.
I have an addiction. It is serious, and something I don’t talk about, but it keeps me up at night and is the reason for my self-loathing, and yet that very self-loathing leads me to use again and again instead of finding positive alternatives.
I’m talking about food.
Before you sigh with relief -- “Phew, Bri! You had me worried there!” -- don’t. Don’t roll your eyes or laugh and nod or say, “Oh we all do.”
No. no you don’t.
What separates me (and others like me) from you is that you don’t think about food all day. You do not think about where you will get your next fix, and what it will feel like, and what it will taste like, and who you’ll enjoy it with, and on and on and on. I eat and look forward to eating again. I love food, I need it, I crave it, and am unhappy without it. I think about it when I should be sleeping, or when I should be working. I need it to enjoy a television show. If we get in the car to go anywhere, I expect food to be involved, and am disappointed when it is not.
It is destroying me.
I am 5’10. I am 320 pounds. I noticed when writing that I didn’t say, “I weigh 320 pounds.” No, I AM this. I look in the mirror and see misshapen, deformed body parts, stretch marks like scars along my engorged belly and flabby arms, and nothing, nothing there is beautiful. My breasts hang like meat from racks and hold zero appeal to me. This object in the mirror is not a woman, but a thing, a sack of fat and organs.
And it’s because of my addiction.
This isn’t healthy thinking. I’m fully aware. But I’m also fully aware that I cannot embrace “body positive” agendas when I see what I see in the mirror.
I could walk every day - I’d feel better, healthier. I’d improve the quality of my life, and even my voice, which is my pride.
I have made other changes - I’m getting a different drink at Starbucks filled with much less sugar and calories, and I enjoy it. I adore veggies and make sure to add as many as possible to my dishes.
But I still crave more and more. The act of eating. The taste, the smell, the feel, it borders on obscene. And I have no idea how to stop it.
It’s not my only problem, of course. Exercise won’t automatically come just because I stop eating. I won’t get an amazing ‘beach body’ just because I suddenly hate food.
But this addiction is consuming, and when I even think about changing my eating habits and putting exercise into my daily routine, I instantly think of what foods I will have to leave behind.
I have PCOS. My doctor has plainly stated that I need to give up starches like potatoes and sugar. The sugar isn’t even as big a problem - I have found ways to shrink my sweet tooth. But potatoes, man. There is NOTHING that tastes like a potato. And burgers aren’t the same without fries. Every major holiday involves mashed potatoes. I live in freaking Idaho.
I’m getting off topic. Rather, I’m unsure where to go from here. I’ve admitted my problem, and that’s the first step right? That’s what they tell you. But they never tell you the second step. how do I FIX IT?
Where do I buy willpower? Where can I craft armor with +infinity WP?
In the USA, it is nearly impossible to eat well when you’re poor. Hubs and I ate our best when we were on food stamps/gov assistance. We could suddenly afford to spend 2 extra bucks on higher quality bread with no sugar or HFCS. I could experiment with whole grains and vegetables to replace my dear love of potatoes.
But without that assistance we grow lazy. Double cheeseburger for $1? Okay. Let’s get 2, or 3. Let’s get 4, and we’ll have food for later, and we spent less than $5 (Oh, that’s per person). Because the combination of sauces and pickles and meat and cheese is wonderful right now. Let’s forget about one hour later, when we’re bloated and greasy, and the bad cholesterol collecting in my arteries.
See? This is what an addiction is. A quick fix for a quick high, ignoring the consequences, damn the results.
I’m sure you’ve seen the photos of drug users, the mugshots. How they look the first time versus a few years later. The sores, the missing teeth, the bagging skin.
My before and after addiction photos have striking differences too. Maybe the health issues aren’t readily noticeable, but they should be. The morality, the right or wrong of my choices may not be as harshly debated, but I definitely am in the wrong, here. I could use the excuse of health problems - part of my ballooning weight began with the PCOS, I’m sure. But I was the one who went back for more plates of food. I craved more, and so I got more.
No accountability. I did this to me.
How do I fix it? How do I keep at it, when I grab a healthier snack option, or ride a bike for a few miles?
--
I've been working on this blog post off and on since the end of March. My weight has gotten worse, my impulses have gone unchecked, and I'm feeling pretty dang low about it all. This post was supposed to encourage me and others, and yet I kept it hidden from all (including myself) and as such it's done nothing but take up space on my Google Drive. I wanted to revise it properly, fix strange leaps of thought and make proper segues.
But no, this is going in raw.
Because I found an image of myself tonight, from last year. Last year when I was smaller and yet still huge. True to the blog, I look "pretty in the face" -- if you ignore the strange lumps like tumors popping up here and there. Yes yes, everyone has wrinkles and rolls because no one is a walking Photoshop ad. But this isn't the same. And even with my poorgal's Photoshop (aka: MSPaint), I've 'slimmed' my image just a little, and boy oh boy does it look better.Enough is enough. I must do something. Soon isn't soon enough. Tomorrow is too far away, even though I've got a random donut calling my name. Even though we'll be going to Seattle in a couple weeks. I wanna see 30, 40, 90, and it ain't gonna happen like this.
