madermouse's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 2/21/03 Therapy is becoming like a strange carnival ride for me, with ups and downs and scary 400 foot drops and sometimes when I get out of there I�m exhausted. I always go in there thinking I have nothing to say and then I talk non-stop for an hour. When allowed to ramble on with just a little bit of direction here and there, I find myself saying things aloud that had previously been made only of thought. Sometimes I feel my mouth form opinions and feelings that I didn�t even know were true. Other times repeat those sentences that I�ve spoken softly in my mind for what seems like forever. Those are the familiar sentences that roll off the tongue effortlessly, from years of practice. Last night, I heard myself admit that although I was feeling better, I still wasn�t happy. I hated saying that aloud, it sounded so petty and pessimistic. Because all I asked of the Universe was to make me feel better, to heal me. I pleaded for an end to suffering and pain and begged for relief. So mote it be, and so it shall be done. My wish now granted, I do feel better. Many of my symptoms have subsided and some have completely disappeared. Taking my medication on a different schedule has made a dramatic change in my physical condition. So although this is what I�ve been wanting for months, I still find myself struggling. Don�t get me wrong � I�m extremely thankful for this bout of relief. But in its place, I find a new challenge. You see, as my GERD symptoms disintegrate, my appetite has returned in full force. I�m eating again without reasoning first, without questioning content or calories, without pausing to consider the consequences of my actions. I�m lured by the comfort of a stuffed belly and that drowsy satiety. My old habits returned as if my reprieve from them was nothing but a passing fog briefly obscuring my path to self-destruction. So many times I think I�ve come to terms with my relationship with food, only to find out later that I�m still addicted. I remember the first time it really hit me that I was still addicted; that I would forever be a recovering foodaholic no matter how �in control� I appeared to be. I attended a free Weight Watchers meeting when I became interested in trying out the program. The leader was this stick-thin, dynamic, funny lady who came across as the picture of inspiration, of perfection. Then she told us the peach pie story. You see, every year she made fresh peach pies and brought them to a big family gathering. Not only were peaches her favorite fruit, but also peach pie was her all-time favorite dessert. Before (150 pounds before, and before joining WW) she would make a couple of pies a week before the gathering and literally sit down and eat one of them all by herself. She would then graciously share the other pie with her children and husband, enjoying another slice too. A day before the family gathering, she�d crank out three more pies and take them to the event. She said she always managed to eat two or three slices there and gobble up any leftovers. I listened to her story with a familiar ear, recognizing those habits in myself. I used to eat a tiny amount in front of dinner guests and then cram handfuls of leftovers in my mouth as I was �clearing the dishes�. Anyway, she said that since she started Weight Watchers and reached her goal weight, she had stopped making the peach pies because they were simply too tempting. But this year � something ridiculous like 10 years later � she was going to make the pies. And so she did, but it wasn�t easy because old habits die hard. She fought with herself all week long not to make the extra pie for the kids and husband and most especially the one for herself that she ate in one sitting with a fork. She told herself over and over that she was simply going to make the pies the same day as the event, and she would enjoy a single slice there � leaving any leftovers behind. And although she was at odds with herself about indulging in more than one slice, or eating leftovers, or baking a pie ahead of time � she didn�t do any of those things. She reported to all of us her success at keeping her promise to herself and honoring her diet. I was impressed. I was inspired. I was also disturbed. As I drove home from that meeting, I replayed her story over and over in my mind. Knowing that she was terrifically thin and had reached her goal weight over 10 years ago made her seem like a Goddess�some divine creature that had reached a state of bliss I could never hope to achieve. But then hearing her still struggle with overeating, still having to self-talk and count points and weigh herself once a week just to stay on track�well, that brought her down to at least a pedestal level. Hell, I was doing those things and I still had over 80 pounds to drop. Then it hit me � she had been me at one time. And if I were to ever lose all my weight & reach my goals, I would be just like her. We were two of the same, birds of a feather. I would still have to weigh myself and use portion control and consciously think about what I was putting in my mouth no matter how skinny I was. I�d still have to exercise and steer clear of Burgerville and fight with myself over that last piece of pie in the plate. I think that was the first time I remember knowing this was a forever type thing. Strangely enough, I originally thought my lifestyle change was forever and that I couldn�t go back. But the ups and downs of this journey had shown me that it wasn�t always going to be easy and the future would always be uncertain until all my issues with food were resolved. So back to counseling I go, to unearth these dank tombs of my soul. I search for clues in darkness to unlock the mystery of my misery�hoping to find answers to questions I�ve yet to ask. 2:50 p.m. - 2/21/03 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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