the nineties and food plan again

It’s been a little while since I’ve written, but it’s not because I’m hiding.  I’m actually…well, living–abundantly.  I wrote that last sentence twice just now, deleting and re-typing and deleting and re-typing and tweaking and fretting.  Yeah, there was a little bit of fret there, just the tiniest bit of “well, let’s not sound too happy…this is a blog about disease…can’t make it too cheery…yep, I’m a bit ashamed of this joy I’m feeling…”  Uh, what?  This isn’t a blog about disease or eating disorders or sickness or suffering.  This is a blog about recovery.  About Experience, Strength, and Hope.  RECOVERY.  I’m recovering now!  It’s amazing!  Can you believe it?!

I reached 90 days of abstinence from bingeing this past weekend (imperfectly, of course, there were a couple frightening slips and some periods of unquestionable messiness–my sponsor says that’s how you have to start, that IS progress, these things take time, the Big Book says “relax and take it easy,” I say “how can I beat myself up about this some more??”  And that’s my dis-ease.) and.  And.  AND!

Day 89 was so hard.  So hard.  The urge to abandon ship was monstrous.  I was craving self-sabotage in any way, shape, or form.  I said, “That’s it.  It’s home with a pint of ice cream for me,” when none of my friends could hang out.  A Friday night alone.  But then I went home, did some work, and went to bed.  A miracle.

Day 90 was cool.  Went to a meeting.  Got a (green!) 90-day chip and a hug from a fellow.  Worked with my Sponsor in the Big Book.  Had a performance.  An impromptu dinner date.  Saw a movie with a friend.  I relaxed and took it easy.

And so it goes.  Yesterday, Day 93, was especially tough.  I was going to this event, a friend’s work event, and things got a little messy.  There was a cocktail hour with hors d’oeuvres and desserts.  I didn’t know there was going to be food there.  I had eaten my dinner–a small one, but still.  And dessert–not so small.  I ended up having some more food–a bit of salad, 3 tiny amuse bouches and some more sugar.  It wasn’t a perfect night.  But it didn’t end up with me alone on my couch eating even more.  It ended up with me, this morning, in a chair in a meeting.  And my sponsor says that’s abstinence.

***

I’m still, still, still trying to nail down a food plan that works for me.  But I’m realizing that maybe nailing it down isn’t the right way to go about it.  Planning out everything and following it to a T isn’t a healing food plan for me, it’s just not.  It’s what I did when I was restricting in my disease.  So that’s out.  But this morning, I was thinking about the word plan.  Food “plan.”  Planning doesn’t have to be so Upper-East-Side, so Type A, so anorectic.  Right?  Planning is part of any day.  And how often do I make my plans and see them turn out exactly the way I expect them to?  Actually, almost never.

I heard a friend in a meeting recently say, “Life is a beautiful combination of God’s plans for us and our own choices.”  It’s God’s plan, not ours.  But we make choices.

And obviously I choose what I eat and how I eat.  This is the food plan.  More like food guidelines, food choice.  Food structure.  And I have a general structure.  It keeps me from eating all my food for the day before 11 AM.  I have until 9 for breakfast, between 10 and 11 for a morning snack if I’m hungry or if I want it (can’t say I’m abstinent from compulsive eating, people.  I’m abstinent from bingeing, though, honest-to-goodnessly), between 11 and 3 for lunch, between 2 and 5 for an afternoon snack–yes, these times overlap.  But every day is different and this is what (I think) works for me–and anytime after 5 for dinner.  I eat sugar.  I eat flour.  For now, I am unwilling to risk the relapse I’ve seen happen to me after I put those things down.  I aim for about as much food as will fit in two pairs of cupped hands, which is something I learned from my Ayurvedic teacher.  When I buy desserts, I only buy as much as I am comfortable eating all at once.  I rarely eat chemicals but I try not to freak out if I do.  If I feel myself freaking out, I don’t omit it, because I know my disease is telling me to restrict.  I breathe and tell myself it will be okay.  I eat with self care in mind.  Actual self care.  Not bag-of-chips-in-front-of-the-TV kind of self care.  I try to pause before and after eating.  I don’t start washing my dishes if I’m still chewing.  I try to sit down to eat.  I try.  Trying is my food plan, and loving myself no matter what.  Not beating myself up afterward, no matter what.

Not beating myself up afterward, no matter what.

 

money

And when you put down the food,

And look past your relationships,

you have your money.

Or lack thereof.  And money is harrrrd to talk about, too.  Everything!  Is so hard to talk about!  Food used to be so hard to talk about.  Now food is getting easier but my dis-ease is displacing itself, leaking into other areas of my life. (I used to hear that in shares all the time.  Now it’s my life!  What. The.  Hell.)

deepbreath. While I used to “have control” over my finances, I’ve recently acquired just a little bit of credit card debt (The Shame!!!).  And we can be as dramatic as we like about it and use as many exclamation points as we want, but in all seriousness I am really very fearful about this.  Looking back, I never would have let this happen in any stage of my life where I recognize myself as me.  So–what.  Does that mean I’m not “me” anymore?  That recovery me is someone totally different?

Yes.  Recovery me is someone totally different who doesn’t recognize herself and who suddenly has no boundaries, or at least has exceedingly unfamiliar ones when it comes to finances and sex (another post or maybe not).  Oh.  And there’s still that pesky body dysmorphia lurking, so the boundaries of my physique are still in outer space somewhere, too.  The only thing that seems to have improved since entering program is that 1) I do have boundaries with what and how much I eat and 2) I no longer exist within a spiritually self-immolating black hole.

Oh, and…I like people now.  And I feel like I have a personality on most days.  And I don’t feel entombed by a numb bulk or wake up drenched in guilt after a binge.

Hm.  That feels better.  You know what?  There’s money in the world.  I’ll work (I’m at work now, shhhhh, don’t tell my boss), and I’ll get some, and I’ll pay off my debt.  Because–for today–it’s manageable.

women

And then there are women.

It is so much harder to talk about women.  But I am definitely attracted to them, too [I mean, some of them.  I feel like if you say you’re bisexual people generally think you’re some kind of zombie that will eat any piece of flesh that walks past.  Or they think you are in denial about being gay: just buzz your head, then, and get it over with, why don’t you?  But just as I am not attracted to every man, I’m not attracted to every woman.]  So.  That’s said.

My sibling, who is a really awesome transgendered person, says everybody’s queer.  The question is simply how queer.  And then there’s how queer you allow yourself to be, which is a pretty huge factor.

But I won’t let this be about queer theory.  The point is, I get crushes on girls.  And I find that, being attracted to certain people of both genders, it’s hard not to flirt with. every. single. person I am attracted to or feel a connection with.  And flirting, while fun, feels disingenuous and self-seeking.  In a meeting I recently heard that one person found peace in this program by quieting the “ulterior motive” behind her interactions with others.  Whether that was the possibility of attention or a kiss or a cup of coffee or sex, she needed to learn how to simply be nice to people without laying her sexuality out like an Oriental rug for every single man she encountered (add women into the equation–it becomes completely exhausting!) to walk on.  It’s just that every interaction doesn’t have to be about sex.

I think that’s partly what my sponsor meant when she started talking about boundaries the other day.  I don’t have to tell every single person I meet that I have an eating disorder and I’m in a program of recovery.  I don’t have to talk about my body with people; I can actually tell them, straightforwardly, that my body is something I don’t feel comfortable discussing.  I can also leave the possibility of sex–that ulterior motive–at the door in all of my interactions with others, male and female.  And if I am actually interested in someone, I’ll probably be able to see them more clearly without all that sexual energy clouding the air.

That said, I can still be friends with people and show them I love and support them.  I mean, I’d better do that, even if re-learning how to interact with people turns out to be a major challenge.  Because if I take it to the opposite extreme–avoiding people–isolating–I’m back in my dis-ease.  Bingeing and restricting.

God, show me how to interact with others according to your will, not mine.  Let me show love without feeling entitled to anything in return.  I place my trust in you; my will and my life are in your hands.  Amen.

men

I am beginning to realize how messed up my views of sex and relationships are.  I am mean and manipulative when it comes to dating; I get off on being seductive and sexy and at first, guys do tend to think I am sweet.  I love the rush of thinking that I am falling in love with someone, of using it as escape, a door into an alternate universe; it is fantasy; I mean, a relationship with someone is life-changing.  And my addict self wants a life change.

Dating in the city is a lot of fun.  If nothing else, it makes a good story.  (Ever hear of Sex SSex and the City?)  And I am a good storyteller.  I cling to that.  I cling to what I know others have told me I am good at because I am afraid the rest of me (possibly even me, the true, real, essence of me) is hopelessly mediocre.

And I am a performer.  An entertainer.  I like being the funny one, the juggling elephant, the center of attention.  So I use men not only for their attention but because I know I’ll then have an opportunity to be the leaker of juicy details when I see my friends.  Who, deep down, I am convinced don’t–can’t–really love me for me.

And recently some of my friends have been growing up a bit.  And they’ve actually said, “I feel sorry for this guy.”  And I’ve felt…nothing.  I’ve felt nothing.  How the guy fares in my crusade for love attention distraction what have you is completely irrelevant to me.  It’s about what I want when I want it.

Wow.  I am realizing all of this right now, as I write.  (What you learn about yourself when you don’t eat over it!)  It’s amazing how everything I went through with the food and my body I am now going through in my relationships.  Like all these defects manifest themselves in identical ways all over the place in my life–tiny little mirrors lined up throughout my entire make-up.

Ok.  So.  Also.  Mom and Dad.  I never thought about how their relationship might cause any disfunction in me, since now they seem to be happily married and just celebrated an up-there anniversary.  But when I think back on the example I got when I was a kid, particularly as a teenager in my first relationship, things start to make a little more sense.  Back then my mom would really ride on my dad a lot (that sounds horrible, but bear with me–to be honest it’s a pretty accurate figure of speech, since my mom definitely wears the pants in the relationship).  She would say things like, “He’s so oblivious” and roll her eyes a lot and even make this scoffy noise.  She did it because she was insecure.  She is a fearful woman–and that’s okay.  We all have that.  I can say all that definitively now, but then I had no idea.

I don’t have any more time to write today, but this is huge for me.  A real cathartic breakthrough.  I’ll update again soon.

the icepick

I have to say it.  I have been sliding this week.  Slippery slope slipping.  It’s a hard week, you know?  Thanksgiving and all.  And that date, which didn’t go as planned (yes, I like to control people.  Go figure).  And money issues and too few meetings and just in general not speaking up in meetings.  You know?  I forgot that everyone’s in the same 24-hour boat when it comes to abstinence.  I was getting up into the 70s in days and ever since I started this program I’ve wanted 90 days, because that’s the point at which you can be The Speaker at most meetings I attend regularly.  Basically, I want to sit up front and be admired.  And share my experience, strength, and hope.  Well, I want to actually have experience, strength, and hope to share.  That would be a good start.  I guess I see speakers at meetings and they all seem to be in a good place.  So, naturally, I want to get there.  It has nothing to do with altruism or a desire to do service–it’s pure selfishness.  My sponsor says that’s okay.  She says that’s why this program works.

So, I was slipping.  Not sure if it was technically a break in abstinence.  I guess we’ll see how well I get back on top of my program.  I have this image in my head of relapse wherein I am clinging to the side of an icy peak by the meat behind my fingernails, and over time–meals, days, a week, I gradually inch down the face of the cliff, leaving ten desperate jagged finger-streaks in the snow and ice.  As I fall, I have at least three options, each of which, over the course of last week, I contemplated in turn.  One: fuck it.  I can continue to slip till I crash.  Simply let go and slide over cold hard ice to a cold hard rock bottom (guaranteed to be worse than the last r.b. I remember; it’s a progressive disease, after all).  Two.  Use my ice pick.  It’s tough going to the top white-knuckle style but it’s possible I’ll get there eventually.  Most likely, though, I’ll keep slipping.  Got to keep that in mind.  Three (and it took awhile for this one to occur to me).  Let God take me there.  I mean, while we’re at it, this whole imagining thing, we may as well give God as much power as will help us beat this thing, right?  If we have the ability to conceptualize a God that works for us and that can restore us to sanity, why not have Him/Her/It pull out all the stops?  Or at least get us there as efficiently as possible?  Again, I’m selfish.  I am putting my God to work for me.

But how do you tap into that–how do you get God to give you a lift back to program, back to treadable ground?  Actually, I don’t really know.  I was having a hard time with that question.  I kept remembering, vaguely, to pray, but mumbling the Serenity prayer didn’t seem to be working.  I’d say it, then eat more than I intended to.  Or end up in some food store salivating/obsessing, or just not leave the apartment when I knew there was a meeting I could get to.

But then, I did leave the apartment.  At the last possible moment.  And I was 15 minutes late to a meeting.  But I walked in just in time to hear, “your HP can do whatever it takes.”  Whatever it takes.  Meaning, my HP can inhabit my crazy metaphorical fantasy worlds and take care of me there.  My HP can hold up a hand and I can fall freely into its soft protective padding, giving my frostbitten fingernail meats an effing break, for crying out loud; I can relax.  surrender.  go down to go up.  skydive.  let go.

So that’s one thing.  I also found it necessary to be honest about where I  was with my food and my abstinence.  I hadn’t been committing food to my sponsor (although it’s something I’m trying to get back on track with), so I needed to verbalize the fact that I was slipping in a supportive space.  The fact is, my dishonesty, my ego’s need to keep those 75+ days of abstinence no matter what (even if it meant lying about them), was keeping me chained to the wall.  To turn it over, to simply say it out loud, to dispel the ugly struggle-y stuff from my body, freed my fingernail meats and my self.  The compulsion lifted–temporarily, at least.

And then, the final component: last night at dinner I texted all my food to my sponsor.  Knowing that emails never seemed to get composed, much less sent, until too late.

Her response, 🙂

Me, I really didn’t want to.

Her, good for you for doing it anyway!

Good for us for doing it anyway.  And on that note, I’m ready to start my day.

♥ recoverydiscovery

post thanksgiving

Hi.  I’m sorry I haven’t written.  There was so much to discuss, too: how to prepare for the inevitable feasting, how to reach out to fellows, how to make phone calls or find a meeting or write or escape from crazy family members or go to your old bedroom to scream into your moth-eaten pillow for a second. Not that I really know about any of that stuff, anyway.  But I could have at least addressed it.

For the ex-suburban in recovery, Thanksgiving is a day to get through.  To say the least.

And on the icy road to sanity, I have been

slipping

slightly.

I say that I’m abstinent (75 days!).  With what I mostly believe to be honesty.  But it’s such an imperfect abstinence that I’m afraid it’s become immeasurable.  I am trying not to compare myself to others in recovery (She’s not eating sugar, so my abstinence doesn’t really count.   Wrong.)

It’s just that I don’t have a very solid food plan, which my sponsor says would give me something to fall back on in times of, well, in times of self-doubt and impending craziness.  Like right now.

Okay, but I really don’t want to restrict.  So my plan is 3 meals a day and two snacks, optionally.  And I try my best to avoid chemicals and limit sugar to twice a day (seeking the willingness to have it only once or nonce a day), but sometimes these things just don’t happen.  Sometimes I “break” my food plan and then the only two conditions holding up my abstinence (fairly measly ones, I know) are A) did I binge? and B) did I obsess?  It’s really quite subjective, though, people.  This is what I mean by immeasurable.

That said, I am So Much Better than I was pre-program.  I was waiting for a friend today in the subway station and I had a flashback of a time when I completely ditched a friend who was buying his fare because I was able to convince myself that he would actually forget that I had been with him.  Because, in the first place, I deemed myself forgettable/invisible, and secondly, I really needed to be alone.  So I could eat.  C-R-A-Z-Y times.

These days, I can be present.  I can interact with people healthfully and positively.  I pray; I’m training myself not to forget about prayer and it’s actually working.  I want to help people.  I want to pursue my art, and I don’t get as scared to do it.

But the past couple of weeks have been rough.  Even with 75 days of IMPERFECT IMPERFECT IMPERFECT abstinence.  What is making me so crazy now?  Okay, so it started with a guy.  Maybe it satarted before this guy.  It could have been my work situation–I’m basically “between jobs” right now and that’s making me anxious as all hell.  In fact, I am considering money-making opportunies that society frowns upon, but that’s a whole ‘nother blog (don’t worry about me.  I’ll learn my lesson.  God will teach it to me).

Anyway, I had a date a few days ago and ever since the guy has been silent for the most part, and there was supposed to be kissing involved (long story, but it was confirmed by both parties), and there was none, and I think he doesn’t like me.  And this sounds really bratty, but that doesn’t happen very much with guys.  Because in the past I’ve been able to morph into whatever the dude wanted/demanded/expected, and my relationships and the people I dated were my self-image, the end.  Am I still doing it, and this guy can tell?  Or am I finally being myself and he’s not impressed?  I actually can’t differentiate because my tendencies are subtle and I’m so close to myself, I can’t get a good look.  And of course memory is a liar–I’ve been going over and over the whole date in my head and it’s just basically mind-fucking me, and

I need to relax, take it easy, and give it to God.  That’s Program’s way.  So be it.

UGH!  I’ve written enough.  Happy Thanksgiving.  (That just makes all the normal shit that much harder, doesn’t it?  Plus it’s getting cold.  Bah.)

And a text from my mom said, “Happy Thanksgiving, Sweet Pea.  Don’t eat TOO much :)” and I may be reading TOO much into it but that made me MAD.

Okay, done.  My name is L. and I am a compulsive overeater and restrictor and this is my blog.  Read up.

 

new york city

I’m back!  India was amazing.  Amazing, amazing, amazing.

I’m back.

New York is good.  But–I haven’t been going to as many meetings as I was going to before I left.  Need to commit to more. By some miracle I am still gratefully abstinent, though–and daily getting better.  My daily reprieve.

Yesterday my eating-disordered office sent me out to get cookies.  And not just cookies, like cookies from the supermarket.  These were cookie cookies.  Probably a stick of butter and cup of sugar in each one.  Arguably they’re the best cookies in the city, and I can attest to that–at least for someone who likes a full-pound mound of barely-cooked, chocolatey walnuty chipity dough.  So.  I was sent, $20 in hand (these suckers are $4 apiece), to fetch cookies for the team.  I had no idea if I’d be able to stay abstinent.  I was pretty sure eating one would end my abstinence immediately.  Although I have an extremely inclusive food plan at the moment (I am in the process of healing from a restrictive disease), I’m pretty sure a consuming single one of these things would end my abstinence on the spot.

And not necessarily because of the cookie itself.  Crazy food items exist in the world, and normal people eat them occasionally.  I am not normal, and I recognize that, but let me make my point anyway: it’s not just about the dangerous, sexy food itself.  It’s about how I berate myself after I eat it.  It’s about telling myself that I’ll start trying to lose weight right after eating it.  It’s about passing a judgement on how my stomach looks instead of taking an internal inventory of how I feel.  It’s about the compulsion, the obsession, not the food.  There are no isolated experiences–every action informs some sort of ripple in the water of self-deprecation and disease.

So the cookies.  I was on my way, not sure if I’d be able to pass on one myself, and I happened to look at my phone (not so much of a coincidence in the year 2010) and I had a voicemail and normally I wouldn’t have listened to it right away but for some reason I did and it was a woman, such a kind, good-spirited woman, from program.  I returned her call, and Serenity prayer the rest of the way there and I was home free.  The predicament passed.  It always does.

I choose to believe that this is the hand of God.  I did not eat a cookie.  I did not want a cookie.  I would have tormented myself ceaselessy about it.  Or, maybe not.  But it wasn’t a risk I wanted to take.

Since being back, I’ve met with my sponsor.  I had dinner with a program friend last night (so amazing!  I feel such a strong connection to this person).  I’ve made some decisions about where I want to go professionally.  I had a birthday.  Other stuff.  Work.  Dance.  Art.  Keeping super busy.

I’ll update more about India as I go, but mostly I just wanted to come back to the blog, return to life as a Recovering Compulsive Overeater (did I, could I, ever really leave?  No.  but travel was a bit of a hiatus from working the program as far as meetings, etc. are concerned).  And yes.  Every day I am still a Recovering COMPULSIVE eater.  So God, I’m here.  Take care o’ me.

Hiatus

Hi,

I’m going out of the country today for three weeks!

See you in November.

Yours in recovery,

L.

relationships

I’ve begun going to this cool new meeting that focuses on relationships.  It’s amazing how inextricably linked the two are; food and intimacy.  And, logically enough, food disorders and relationship issues.  I listen to other people speak and I hear them describe in detail certain aspects of my own history and my own jagged inner landscape in ways I haven’t even thought about articulating them.  But it’s like my own experiences pour from other bodies, other mouths, and I keep coming back.

Yesterday the speaker said that he never knew how to be in relationships, and at first I found myself scoffing, thinking, I was all too good at them, having had so much practice (from the 8th grade through the summer–no, winter–after my senior year in college, I pretty much had some kind of boyfriend.  No, it wasn’t that I didn’t know how to be in a relationship, it was that I didn’t know how to be alone).  But–did I?  Know how to be in a relationship?  If I’m honest with myself, I think the answer must be no.

I mean, I thought I knew.  I had the eye contact down pat, that first smile, the way you let it linger when you’re interested.  I knew just when to touch the other person’s arm, when to laugh, how to accept the offer of a first date so they think you really like them, how to make conversation that way too.

What I heard last night that I’d been too arrogant to admit was that I liked people because they liked me.  That was often the most attractive trait in a person.  That and persistence on their part pretty much guaranteed that we’d be together.  I was unselective; I “settled” for people I wasn’t super-attracted to or to whom I couldn’t connect on various levels.  People who had issues that ran far too deep for me to do anything about.  Did I want to help?  Or was I perversely fascinated by their suffering?  (As an over-privileged, under-a-rock-with-naïvete kind of teenage girl, I believe my ascetic-like, self-depriving and self-deprecating tendencies were a response to some kind of desire to suffer.  But, more on that in another post).

Anyway, my point is, I knew, or thought I knew, what it meant to be a girlfriend.  I knew how to make a guy feel special.  I knew how to put out so he’d think I was only hot for him.  God, I sound awful.  But it’s kinda basically pretty much true.

Somewhere along the line I learned how to lie.  How to morph myself into what was expected of me, how to be polite, how to meet the parents.  How to cheat (once, arguably twice or three times) as if nothing had happened.  How to steal so I’d have the right clothes.  And how to stuff everything that was ugly, everything that didn’t belong in the relationship (an eating disorder, body image issues, feelings of not-good-enough-ness and self-hate, poor performances in school) right down into my gut and behind an abdominal wall that was tight tight tight tight tight.  You couldn’t get in if you tried.

I remember being unable to talk about anything personal.  I couldn’t tell anyone what I had bottled up, because our relationships were built on what I could control and be proud of: I am pretty, I am bright, I am ambitious, and I am talented.

Even now, I have to remind myself that it’s okay to say those things even if though I’m not and never will be the most talented, the most ambitious, the smartest, the prettiest.  Last night, someone else said, “when you’re an addict, you either think you’re a piece of shit or you think you’re the hottest thing in the room.”  SO TRUE.  I couldn’t stand not being the best, and if I wasn’t the best, well, I’d convince myself I was the worst.  And I treated myself the way I thought the worst person in the room–or the world–deserved to be treated.

But back to relationships.  I still want one, but I know I’m not ready yet.  Also I want to say that I still talk to all of my ex-boyfriends, all 5+ of them, and I get that addict high when I can tell they still like me.  I no longer need their approval to get me through the day, but it sure does give me that boost at times.  That jolt of aliveness.  It’s addiction.

So God, please grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

 

this one’s for you, kid. and by you I mean me.

Ughhh…I need to write.  About what, I do not know.  I always hope to share with the world some neat, tidy, put-together, hard-won lesson about recovery–and then, eventually, this blog will be like some foolproof little guide to getting over eating disorders (those pesky things!).  What the hell?  Am I trying to rewrite the Big Book?  No.  I need to stop writing this for whoever is/isn’t reading this and start writing for me, for my recovery.  Writing as one of the tools of recovery, not as “now it’s time for me to pose as an expert on recovery.”  My honesty, in turn, may help someone who needs to hear it (I hope it does).  But to share experience helps those who tell it as much as those it helps those who hear it.  I’m selfish, and that’s why I do this.  Not because I’m altruistic–who am I to be condescending like that?–, or because I feel like I’m doing this “right”–it’s not my way, it’s program’s way, God’s way, my sponsor’s way.  And with 32 days of abstinence and a year since my first OA meeting, I am still hanging by a thread some days–today especially.  Today is the only day that matters, this is the only minute that matters, and if you have right now, then we are in exactly the same boat for the next 24 hours.  That’s what “Just for Today” means, right?

I am this close to bingeing a lot of the time (like, NOW, for example).  I white-knuckle it some days and get mad.  Some days I slip.  Because it’s slippery.  It’s ice out here.  An icy, lubricated mountain.  With a 90-degree incline.  A cliff, not a mountain.  I’m not trying to be Señorita Dramática here but, really, It.  Does.  Not.  Get.  Easy.

At least not yet.  (From what I hear, though, it does get simple.  We have that to look forward to!)

Some insane things I am finding I continue to do, even under my current regime which includes almost daily meetings, turning over my food, big book study, writing, calling, et cetera:

going into grocery stores up to, like, three times a day.  just walking around and drooling in there, wasting time.  thinking about obsessing over a gallon of milk in my fridge that I’m not going to be able to use before heading out of town–also, multiple times a day.  obsessing over everything in my fridge.  freaking out about whether what i say in meetings is good enough or if it’s boring people (um, hello, that is the point of meetings?  that everyone there accepts you no matter what?).

My sponsor and I are tackling my tendency to restrict my food, which is really kind of fun, because it means I get to have one serving of sugar a day (if I so desire.  Which, more often than not, I do).  And the thing is that it’s about getting better–not being perfect.  So if I used to eat a pint of ice cream, now I throw out 1/4 or 1/2 of it.  Depending on what keeps me sane.  My abstinence, right now, is simply not to let the binge monster out.  Not to be the crazy what’s-next-what’s-next-what’s-next-eating-till-I’m-sick-and-ANGRY kind of girl I used to be am at my core.

But, last night, I had the whole pint.  And some popcorn.  And a half-mug of soup  This was a few hours after a small, but clear, dinner.  And I was hungry.  So, I’m not going to call it a binge (if you broke your leg, would you break the other one, too? someone said to me once about the terms of abstinence).  But I didn’t feel great about it when I woke up today.  Today has been harder because of it.  I’m taking note, because I want to keep getting better.  The whole pint doesn’t work for me anymore.  Now I know for sure.  For sure for sure.  Acceptance and…moving on.

In meetings, when I hear that people are not eating sugar, not eating flour, etc., I immediately get all like, I-should-be-doing-that!  But I know it doesn’t work for me–it inevitably ends up in weeks upon weeks of sugar being the only thing I care to consume and tens of pounds of weight gain (invariably the same amount that was lost on the “plan of abstinence” and more).

I am starting to see that having sugar every day isn’t necessary–necessarily.  Maybe soon I will have the willingness to cut down a bit.  A couple days a week without.  But to rule it out completely, for me, for now, is to forbid it is to binge on it eventually.

I feel a little better now, after writing.  Some time to think, some clarity.  And now, miraculously, it’s dinnertime!  Until next time, blogosphere.