Tag Archives: food addiction

Different, And Yet The Same.

In the here & now, , ,

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I was doing a bit of mooching about on-line last night, and I think I’ve mentioned before haven’t I, about how I love the website StumbleUpon? For folk like me who are interested in stuff, but who have the attention span of a gnat, it’s perfect. There are literally squillions of soundbites of things that might end up being interesting and which you can explore further if you want to, but similarly you can just keep clicking past the things which don’t grab your attention straight away. It could have been built for me.

One of the pages that I lingered over yesterday was in the section about eating disorders, and it contained quotes from people who are living with Anorexia. In recent years I’ve actively sought to understand eating disorders in the context of my own broken relationship with food, and whilst I’ve never felt like I could relate to people who rejected food, I’ve probably got more of an understanding about this illness than I had in the past.

I’m ashamed to admit that growing up as a fat child, in a very naive way, my lack of real understanding meant I was just desperate to catch it. I mean, I didn’t want to be poorly as such, I just wanted the getting thin bit. I used to think if I could somehow catch it until I could wear a pair of hot pants, and then not have it any more, I’d look like all the hot girls I saw in magazines. I was never in any real danger you understand, because becoming anorexic would have required me to stop eating, and that was never on the cards.

I was even fascinated by some of the hard-to-look-at pictures of people who had it. Not because I wanted to look like that, but I used to look at them and think about how much those painfully thin people would be able to eat without getting called greedy. What I never understood in the days way, way before I acknowledged and separated out the Asshole voice in my head, was that they’d lost control of their perspective in the same way that I lost control of mine years later, but at the opposite end of the spectrum.

Just listen to some of the words though. They really got to me.

The word fat assumed a meaning as deadly as cancer. Getting fat was worse than losing your job, worse than being jilted at the altar, worse than living in a trailer park and growing up without shoes. You need to start watching yourself, my Mom said, before it’s too late.

I mean..wow. That’s some serious conditioning about the perils of having a body shape that doesn’t confirm to the norm. I’m sure this young girl’s mum was doing the best she could, and it sounds like she was maybe trying to correct an unhealthy eating pattern with the right intentions, but the fuck-up fairy definitely had a hand in the way that message landed.

People don’t see me. No one sees me. It’s like being fat. No one takes you seriously. You just don’t exist – you’re so big, you’re not even there.

That’s another very profound observation. I remember mentioning in a really early post that sometimes the bigger you are, the more invisible you feel. I’m quite a gregarious character when I’m in the mood to be and I’ve never been one to fade into the background, but some people just have a way of looking at you like they’re looking through you, you know?

At my heaviest I noticed that, a lot. They know you’re speaking but they obviously make some kind of snap assessment which tells them you have nothing to say that they might be remotely interested in, so whatever you say is just white noise. You’re not heard.

You will be tempted quite frequently, and you will have to choose whether you will enjoy your self hugely in the twenty minutes or so that you will be consuming the excess calories, or whether you will dislike yourself cordially for two or three days, for your lack of willpower.

That’s a bit of a leveller, isn’t it? That’s not just anorexia…anyone who’s ever been driven by an urge to use food for all the wrong reasons would identify with that, me included.

What I find difficult to process, is that some of the broken thinking is the same, and yet. If you’re starving yourself half to death and you’re diagnosed with Anorexia, you’re regarded as sick and there’s help, and protocols, and understanding. It’s an illness.

If you’re overeating to the point where your own body is consuming you bit by bit, the vast majority of folk would just write you off as being really fat. Get over yourself, stop eating all the pies, like it’s that simple.

That feels a bit harsh, to be fair. What do you think?

 

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Food, Shmood, Whatever!

Freeform thoughts, , , , ,

dream

One of the things that really fascinates me about people is that we’re all different. Each one of us is different in the way we look at the world as well as having different priorities, and different stuff which pushes our buttons. One of the things which intrigues me most of all is how people who are really different often get on incredibly well.

Take my friend for example. She’s one of my special people you know? We’ve been through a lot together over the last twenty-odd years. Our friendship is rooted in mutual affection and respect, although I guess that hardly needs calling out when I’m talking about a friendship which has lasted all this time. And yet, I think you’d struggle to find two more different people.

You know me, I’m an eternal optimist. I look at the world through can-do eyes, and I have an unwavering belief that everything will come good in the end. Looking back I’m not sure why I was blessed with such a sunny disposition, I just can’t remember a time when I didn’t have hope in my heart that even shit would eventually turn to gold if I hung in there long enough.

In the middle of whatever shit-storm has surrounded me, I’ve stubbornly refused to stray anywhere near why me? territory because I just don’t find that it helps. What I do instead, is blithely push through and hope for the best. I’ve always described myself as good in a crisis, and that’s fine and dandy in the moment, but I don’t always cut to the chase and deal with the pain or the fallout because I’m so busy focusing on the positive outcome which I’m sure  will materialize…eventually.

And God forbid I would need to ask anyone for help, I mean it’s just not something I do…I never have. So I emerge from the storm with a smile on my face, and life carries on but there’s often stuff which stays unresolved on the inside. In an indirect way I’m sure that’s contributed to the size of my arse, you know?

My friend’s approach is different. She would look you in the eye and tell you how strong I am, but in reality she’s the strong one. She’s not afraid to have a few why me? moments, but she’ll do it whilst she’s staring down whatever it is that’s causing her pain, and she deals with it there and then. It might take a while to come out the other side, but when she does, it’s resolved in a way that isn’t just skin deep, I mean it’s mended, not ignored.

So we’re like chalk and cheese, but very close non the less. Last time we were chatting we talked about how my diet and exercise regime was going, and reflected on how I’d been up and down the scale a gazillion times over all the years that we’d been friends, and how food had always been my Achilles heel. And then, my friend said something which sort of stopped me in my tracks.

I really only eat because I have to, I wouldn’t care if I never ate again.

HELLO?  I thought I knew about all the ways in which we’re different, but I never knew about that one! I couldn’t quite wrap my head around what she was saying, you know? I mean this is food we’re talking about. It’s the first thing I think about when I open my eyes in the morning, and on Sundays especially when I wake up to a brand new Weight Watchers’ week bursting at the seams with new Smart Points, I get really giddy at how my week is going to pan out and what food I’m going to be able to eat.

It preoccupies me, all the time. Even now I’m losing weight, in fact probably more so now I’m losing weight. My head, to one degree or another, is always overly invested in what I’m going to eat next, where it’s coming from, and how I can absolutely maximize the experience. And we all know by that  I mean how much I can fit on the plate whilst using as few smart points as possible so there’s scope for more  food later.

I suppose I’ve always known that not everyone is as preoccupied with eating stuff as I am, but it never occurred to me before that point that anyone, ever, would almost regard food as an nuisance…necessary to make the wheels go round but serving no purpose other than providing fuel for their body. I mean, it’s food! It tastes good!! What’s not to love?!!!

I can’t begin to understand it, but then I suppose some folk wouldn’t be able to imagine a world without wine, right? My friend is one of them, to be fair.

Me, I’d rather eat the grapes 🙂

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A Debt-Free Easter Monday

Reflections on past times, , ,

eggsI couldn’t help thinking as I came downstairs this Easter Monday morning to find no plundered Easter Egg boxes with I owe you notes hastily scribbled and stuck to the side, how different this year has been to many in the past. To be fair, my boy didn’t have any Easter Eggs this year – he’s not overly bothered by a desire to eat chocolate and I figured that not having any in the house was safer. He’s in his late twenties now so the fact that the Easter Bunny didn’t come calling isn’t going to send him to therapy in later life, you know?

When he was little I was in a particularly bad place where my relationship with food was concerned. I mean, I’d grown up as a fat child and my mum had regularly applied edible band-aids to anything that hurt me, so medicating with food was par for the course. However, in my very early twenties I found myself alone with a new baby having escaped from an abusive marriage, and at times it felt like food was my only companion.

We had a tiny family, even back then. Just the two of us and my mum, who lived nearby, and a handful of extended family who lived much further away. I had a bee in my Easter bonnet about my boy not ‘suffering’ from a lack of Easter eggs due to the fact that our family unit was so small, so I remember buying Easter Eggs for him from long-gone family members…here you go son, this one’s from your great grandma and that one’s from your old Uncle Donald…even I didn’t remember too much about Uncle Donald, who was my mum’s second-cousin-once-removed and who’d been pushing up daisies for a good twenty years before my boy was even born. And he must surely have wondered in his two or three or four-year-old little head who the hell all these relatives were, who sent Easter eggs but never came to visit.

So on Easter Sunday there was always an impressive array of chocolate eggs for my boy, hand delivered by the Easter Bunny. If I’m being completely honest, some of them were the second or even third replacement of the original purchase, depending on how many times I’d been caught in the grip of a binge in the month or so leading up to the big day. And lets not even get started on the post-Easter binges, which were all very well until he got the hang of sums. Then it became a bit more difficult to get away with. But I had four left Mummy and now there’s only three…

I became really adept at fashioning the fancy foil in an Easter Egg sort of shape and arranging them in their boxes on top of the dresser until I had chance to replace them, so he could count them not realising they were empty. And then when he was older, and sussed that out I’d scribble an I owe you, and promise two eggs to replace the one I’d accidentally eaten.

On the surface of it, it’s amusing. Except it’s not, not really…since when is it amusing to lie to your child, and steal from them..? I mean, I know it’s only chocolate but still. That’s the behaviour of an addict, right? I didn’t recognise it back in the day, it’s only now that I can look back retrospectively and feel that hot flush of shame when I realise how messed up it all was.

This year, there is no carnage, not a single creative foil sculpture, and no I owe you notes. Mind you, these days I’d be far more likely to get greeted by an infuriated man-child holding an empty box hollering I can’t believe you’ve eaten my fucking Easter egg again…a bit like me, he calls a spade a spade. But I’m here to tell you that waking up chocolate-debt free on the day after Easter is a good feeling 🙂

 

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An Old Shoe In The Gutter

In the here & now, , , , ,

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Do you find it as baffling as I do that I can have a day like Sunday where every minute was a battle, closely followed by a day like today, where I sailed through without one resentful thought about the fact that I was even on a diet? Not a single toss was given. It’s like my head is playing games with me you know? One minute it’s okay, and the next minute it’s not.

I was analysing Sunday’s mood in my head as I drove to work this morning…I have a long commute to work, at least an hour on a good day and often longer so it’s a good time to be alone with my thoughts, you know? And I got to wondering about the inconsistency and lack of logic behind me motoring along nicely for ages with no problems and then WHAM! getting punched in the solar plexus by a rage so strong it kind of shocked me.

It made me remember my teenage years, when I was obsessed with horses. Even way back then I was an all-or-nothing kind of girl. I’d already obsessed for a while over The Osmonds, then the Bay City Rollers, and having gotten bored of them, it became all about horses. Boys came later, but probably safer at this point not to go there 🙂

There was one horse in particular at the stables I used to volunteer at in exchange for free rides, who was my absolute favourite. He was utterly bomb-proof. I could confidently ride out knowing that whatever we encountered along the way, he’d just plod on regardless. Motorbike..? No problem. Pneumatic drill..? Yeah whatever.

Then one day, we approached an old shoe that had found its way into the gutter, and sweet Jesus as soon as he clocked it he took off like a fucking racehorse. It was a shoe!! It hadn’t seen a foot for years, it was completely innocuous and yet it totally freaked him out.

And that was sort of like my Sunday. So we have a new TV. Big deal, right? Who knew it would start such a major meltdown? I wasn’t ready for it and I don’t think I dealt with it too well but actually, unpicking it all slowly in my head is helping me to understand why it might have happened in the first place.

TV was my thing, you know? In my old life, before the diet and before this…it’s just what I did. It’s pretty much all I did. I mean sure, I’ve always had a demanding job and a busy outside-my-front-door life, but once I shut the world out and climbed into pyjamas, the TV was all I had. I’d lay in the chair and watch TV and I’d eat. It was easy, and in the moment it always felt good.

Let’s not talk about the feelings of frustration and self-loathing that would invariably follow as I gathered up the wrappers and got rid of the evidence. In the moment, everything was right with my world. And I think somehow getting our new TV, which is a bigger better version of what we had before tipped me right back into that headspace. I wanted to dive back into those moments before the self-recrimination used to kick in, where I was indulging myself with all my favourite snacks and feeling an artificial sense of happiness.

And that’s the thing, you know? That’s the sound of me hitting the nail square on the head. In the moment happiness isn’t the same as being happy. Being happy is when you can zip up a pair of pants that haven’t fitted you for years. It’s about knowing what you want, and going after it. It’s being able to walk with the dog for three or four miles on a gorgeous spring day and fill your lungs with fresh air. Doing stuff, instead of watching stuff. That’s not artificial, or fleeting…it’s being.

I’m guessing that days like yesterday have to happen in order for me to really work through this shit, one issue at a time.

But I get it, okay? Loud and clear…now enough already. No more please!

 

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Three Months A Blog

Freeform thoughts, In the here & now, Reflections on past times, , , ,

3mCan you believe it’s three whole months since that rainy post-holiday Saturday when I sat down and flexed my fingers over the keyboard for the very first time. That’s a quarter of a whole year!! Crikey it feels like we’ve walked miles together since then don’t you think..? I just mooched a couple of hours away this morning by working my way through all the blog posts I’ve written, and of course all your comments which for me, are a constant source of pride and inspiration.

It’s the first time I’ve really properly looked back – I mean I know I’m the queen of edit, often before you get to see my daily dollop of words they’ve spent a few days simmering in the cooking pot and it’s rare that they escape onto the page without having been chopped and changed, pulled apart and put back together again until I’m as happy as I’m ever going to be – that’s just the perfectionist in me. I know I need to get over myself but I just want it to be good you know? Asshole is chipping in here with the words control freak by the way, just thought I’d share that 🙂

I never edit after they’re published, in fact once they’re out there I tend not to read them again, focusing instead on what you write, and of course what’s coming up next. But what I noticed as I’ve worked my way through every post from the beginning, including your bits was how much it’s evolved over a relatively short period of time. I didn’t really imagine this would ever be anything more than a self-propelled written conscience, perhaps with an occasional visitor who’d more than likely wandered in by mistake and politely passed the time of day before moving on. But look what we turned into!

There weren’t many comments in the early days, but the ones I got were treasured. I read and re-read them…I wondered about the person who’d written them. Where they lived, what their story was you know? I wondered what had led them to my blog, and what had prompted them to leave their own footprint on it by chipping in with thoughts of their own. I still do that now. Looking back, I can see where some of our familiar names fell into step and started to really build this community and now, I just feel quite humbled by the way it’s gathered it’s own momentum and become a thing, you know?

I love the way we all relate – all of our stories are similar and yet different. Wherever in the world we happen to live, we’re all unique as individuals, but connected. United in this fight against the fat suits we somehow managed to get ourselves zipped into. In the back office at Skinny Girl HQ – aka my kitchen ha ha – I can look at the analytics tool which shows me how many visitors I’ve had, and which posts they’ve visited, and I get a massive blast of inner sunshine when I see a new visitor has somehow landed on the latest post, and stuck around to have a really good root around lots of the older stuff.  And when someone writes and says they’ve laughed, or cried, or felt supported or understood by something that one of us has written or shared, well that’s the best feeling of all.

So anyway…my name’s Dee and I’m a food addict. But I am 3 months clean and sober, mainly down to you guys. It’s never easy, but so far, this route to Skinny Town is proving to be way more enjoyable than I could have hoped for, and a million miles away from the boulder-strewn paths I’ve been used to navigating in the past…that has to be the posse factor, right?

Happy anniversary, I appreciate your company more than I can tell you…big hugs all around 🙂

 

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