madermouse's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dry For 4 years people have been telling me to go to OA. Readers, friends, friendly readers, friends of readers, reading friends...you get the picture. I have resisted, skillfully, with skill...dodging those gentle suggestions with quick replies and dismissals. Truly, I have no desire to sit in a room full of foodaholics confessing or whining or struggling. I already struggle. And up until I started this website almost 3 years ago, I struggled in private, thank you. Private. And even when I write in this online public journal, it is still private somehow. There is this safe distance of the cyberworld between us. I don�t know you. You don�t know me. You can�t just show up at my house at 6am and order me to put on my workout clothes. You can�t slap the spoon from my pint of Ben & Jerry�s before it reaches my mouth. You aren�t there. Nobody is. Nobody can really be here for me. All this writing - these are just words, black and white on the screen. I could be making all this shit up for all you know. Just a bored woman who wanted attention and a little sympathy and maybe a nice gift off her wishlist once in a while. Think you can connect with me? Try. Even e-mails cannot quite reach. There is always the option to delete it before opening, to pretend I never got it, to scan through the paragraphs with the eyes while the mind calculates how to acquire the next fudge-laden fantasy I will devour. When I am this far gone, there is nothing and nobody that can reach me. I have built up all my defense mechanisms again. The mirrors in my apartment are lonely, wanting my reflection. I ignore them. My attention is given to the kitchen at 2am when I�m gnawing hunks of frozen cookie dough in front of the freezer in my pajamas. This is my privacy. This is when you realize that no matter where you go: there you are. It is painful, the truth. I just finished the book, �Dry� by Augusten Burroughs. It is about an alcoholic who recovers, falls off the wagon, then recovers again. I started reading it because I was bored to death at work. I needed to get away from my bitchy menopausal co-worker she-bitch. I needed a distraction from the vending machine. But I never imagined it would affect me. I�m reading this book and I see myself....only I don�t even get that high from food. It�s pathetic. My drug of choice isn�t even a choice drug! I read this book and I see that I am an addict. I am just like an alcoholic. My brain thinks like an alcoholic. My secretive actions are like an alcoholic. I am the reflection of an alcoholic, with food as my vice. It sickened me to see these parallels. It made me afraid at how difficult recovery the characters was. It made me cry (literally, at work) to read about his relapse, as this is where I am now. I am 310 pounds folks....a far far cry from the person I used to be. I am totally lost in my addiction. Hopeless. And the worst part of it is, I don�t know where rock-bottom will be. Will I get there and recover? Or will I be one of those alcoholics to die of liver failure with their lips wrapped around a bottle of Makers? 6:05 p.m. - March 19, 2004 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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