Family Makes Me Cry

I love disfunctional family movies, especially around the holidays.  Anything that portrays a loving family, people working together and loving one another without sarcasm and anger, makes me bawl.  I feel like an infant who has a happy to show her parents, but is immediately frightened by their angry screaming and fighting. 

My Friends are All Gone

I'm not sure what exactly started it.  I guess it was around the move to our new and beautiful house.  I am not eager to escape my home anymore.  I'm not nagging people to let me come visit or lets go to lunch or lets go shopping together.  I am not eager to go to someone else's house for dinner.  And so all those friends who I was using (or who were using me) have faded.

Val, the woman who sobs over how much she loves me and proclaims that we are "sisters" constantly (although I hate that with a passion) and hugs me (ugh!)... she has seen us once in 10 weeks.  Granted, I haven't invited her out, but I understand that Fridays and Saturdays are the only option due to the distance to travel and school nights.  I will try again.

I have had a best friend in Tonya for years.  I was always visiting her various houses, living vicariously through her.  I tried to keep my hateful judgments silent as I truly enjoyed hanging out with her family.  Many in my life pointed out that she uses me.  She has a problem and asks for help.  I don't quite see that as "using" me, but it does get under my skin that she still has my mother's ladder and painting supplies.  She has some of my gardening tools and if we ever forget Evie's clothing there, we must kiss it goodbye.  But, we kept on.  I would bring her food or household goods when they had none.  I would bite my tongue when they announced a week later that they were going on a vacation.  How the fuck do you not take care of basic necessities if you have the cash to go to Las Vegas????  Use $300 of that to make a stock pile of shit. 

Anyway, ever since she started school, she has pushed me away.  She only asks for my input on her school papers.  She gets irritated if I won't write them for her. 

Reading the Steps

I have started to read through the Overeaters Anonymous 12 steps.  Its similar, I guess, to the NA or AA plan.  Kenny was proud of his steps.  He was soooo happy to be in a controlled environment.  I think I would like something like that, until I realize that I have no freedoms. The idea of having zero responsibilities is alluring.  I may not leave the house to work a 9-5, but I clean and cook all day.  Errands, shopping, doctors and dentists, playgroup... the babies love it, but I get exhausted.  My back hurts so bad that I can't carry Oliver down the stairs in the morning, anymore.  If all I had to do was care for myself, I would be a happy happy person, but then I look at someone like my sister and realize that she is miserable.  Without her responsibilities, she crumbled into even worse depression and addiction.

Anyway.  Tangent.

I understand step 1.  I think I spent about a week just talking to myself, saying, "I'm a food addict." over and over.  I never broke down crying or anything.  I don't know if I'm doing it right.

I will struggle with the higher power aspects of this.  I am Pagan, but I am leaning towards living within Pagan culture, but practicing Atheism.  I'm of the opinion, at times, that there are no higher powers.  It is a creation of broken hearts and the sick and the ecstatically happy.  It's not my root.  Not my core.  When good things happen, I do not default to thanks and love to God (or Goddess).  When bad things happen, I examine the steps that got us there and try to improve.  I rarely feel like something supernatural is at work in my life.  If it is... I am deaf and numb to it. 

In atheist groups, they rely on the power of the group (as opposed to a higher power) to get them through.  Sigh.... I don't have that either.  I suppose what I need will make itself known (hows that for not believing??  haha)

I feel better this morning.  I want breakfast, not a binge.  I think having Justin home yesterday (saturday) helped a great deal.  I was not alone.  I had someone to talk to about anything that was bugging me.  It doesn't stay that way.  If the past has taught me anything, it's that after a few days, I begin to resent Justin for "forgetting to eat" and it starts again.

Today is Sunday.  The last sunday in November.  Time to put up the tree.  Time to take down the turkey.  Time to plan my Solstice party menu and party games.  I love this time of year.  I hope it does not break me. 

The Yellow Tuperware Plate

My mother was a lover of Tupperware, when I was young.  The 80s bring up mixed memories for me.  I remember running away a lot.  I remember the house being empty and trashed.  We were alone, often.  We had no friends.  We rarely even got dressed.  The house was coated in cat piss and litter and everything we owned was used or broken.  Its sad to imagine that Patsy's kids had it even worse.  We were a paradise to escape to.  Anyway.  Tangent.

We had these plates.  Square.  Ugly colors.

Ours were scarred up from knives and bubbled up on the edges from the microwave.  They were our plates, though.  I remember that I used the yellow one a lot.  One particular memory: I came home from school (4th grade) and piled my plate with cottage cheese, tater tots with ketchup, and whatever else I could find.  I remember most of it being white. Anyway, my brother said something like, "Whoa, that's a lot of food."  I smiled and responded, "And this is just the first course."

I don't know what happened that day.  I don't know what was wrong, but even  in 4th grade and I was binging.  I was standing in my "binge" spot.  It was at the end of the kitchen hallway, behind the livingroom wall.  I could eat without being seen if I sat on the floor.  I could see the tv, though.  Perfect for a mindless binge.  My babysitter caught me there with a tub of ice cream, once.  She yelled at me and took my food. 

I remember a few baby sitters, but mostly I remember being left home a lot.  I remember having anxiety attacks that would leave me sobbing on the carpet and my body feeling disoriented (my tongue felt too big for my mouth, the walls would move, and the room would spin).  I thought at the time  (about 8 years old) that this must have been "cabin fever".  I still don't know what it was, but I'm sure anxiety, stress, and mental trauma were in cahoots.

Evie wants to eat.  Lets see if I can manage.  

I ended up taking a bite, even as my throat is burning from my morning binge.  This sucks.  Coffee with lots of peppermint schnapps.  I hope it can keep me from going out there and making a plate of thanksgiving leftovers.

I don't know what ever happened to the yellow plate. We moved to Pennsylvania (from just outside Chicago) when I was 13 or 14.  I don't remember them after that.  Perhaps they were tossed.  Mom had a better job when we moved.  My aunt and uncle were willing to match her pay from the Shell district office, and the cost of living was half of what we'd been living in, so life was better.  She only had 1 job.  But the trash life took a while to wash off.  Our house was still encrusted in cat piss and fur.  My mother still drank beer at night and smoked in her chair while we watched local cable on our 21" crt television.

The dog is ringing his bell to go outside.  I hate having to walk near the kitchen when I'm still on a binge.  Fucking ridiculous that my 14yo son can't put him outside.  He's standing RIGHT in the kitchen.  He's eating, too.  A quarter of a sweet potato pie 10 minutes ago and now he just took a plate of something out of the microwave.  I don't even know if I should ask.  What if it's something I want to eat?

There's too much schnapps in my mug.  Ugh.

We spent a lot of time in that small living room, in Pennsylvania.  The house came with a dining room (which I'm not sure we ever really ate in) and a sitting room with a giant bay window and a fireplace, but we always ended up in the tiny living room on the piss-soaked Goodwill sofa.  We watched Princess Di die in that room.  We watched the ball drop.  We babysat my cousins in that room.  My aunt Charlotte was the only one who ever came over, and it was rare.  The whole house smelled!!!  My shoes, my coat, my backpack, my clothes.   Cat piss and fur. 

I could never make friends, unless it was with a gay guy.  We lived in a time when maybe they didn't even know, but I always ended up with a gay friend.  No one ever came over except for them.  Probably because I was an outcast, too. 

Once, I got ahold of some peach air freshener and doused my bag in it.  It was so disgusting-

Opps!  The baby's up from his nap. 

I am a Food Addict

No one visits this space, so I am certain this will serve as an excellent platform for journaling. I can't get to an FoodAddict or Overeatters Anonymous meetings, so I am journaling.  There will be no links.  No ads.  This is not a blog, per say.

This is a place to put my crazy, my bad memories, my foulness, my anxiety.  It's better here than down my throat.

This may get ugly.  These confessions do not belong anywhere else.  I hve told myself that the delete-key is not an option here.  I must vomit forth onto the screen and purge every crazy angle and tendril until they are explored and exposed and gone from me.

This is for me.

I need help.  I need something.  I fear for my life.  My stomach is so large that I have a 6" deep mass that hangs from my body.  It is sometimes called an apron.  It hangs 4" down so that my pelvic area is often covered.  It pains me.  It has crippled my spine and caused muscle malformation and death in my hips.  I can't "hop" out of bed without serious forethought as I can hear my vertebra grinding together.  I have given some serious thought into going on disability.  Because of my weight.  There has been no sudden accident, no event.  There has only been the 37 years of ongoing trauma.

My husband does not know that I'm writing this.  He has often encouraged me to take time and write (my scifi stories), but I need to do this.  If he is willing to allot me time in the mornings, I will journal until every awful hateful thing is gone.

I had to let the dog in just now.  I had to walk through the kitchen.  There are Doritos in there.  The binge from last night and this morning is still rising in my throat, but I want to eat those chips.  I am swollen and thirsty from the salt I've consumed in the past few days (thanksgiving), and yet I want to forego water and eat half of a party-sized bag of doritos. 

I posted a huge embarrassing confession to my FA group on fb.  I was in the middle of my binge and calling out for help and support.  It took until today for anyone to write.  And they suggested that I look into the FA website and sign up.  Ha!  I have no $$.  My counselor dropped me and I think she's an idiot anyway.  I believe that my current doctor would be willing to listen and take my addiction mostly seriously, however she pushes.  She would demand weigh-ins and would probably tell me to stop breastfeeding Oliver so that I could go on medication.  Or perhaps even get admitted.  I can't.  It would be hard enough to admit this to anyone, especially my super cool doctor... but I also can't leave my kids.  I can't send them to stay with anyone.  I can't take time for myself.

I know a friend of mine that would try, but I don't trust my children there.  Everytime I've let my guard down, they come home injured or filthy.  Justin would never allow it.  Evie would love it.


I am sick.  One of the comments I got on my post was that I should understand that I have a disease.  It hard to.  No one takes these things seriously.  But the pull is there.  As much as an alcoholic wants his next drink or a smoker wants their next puff.  I want to eat.  I will eat things that dont' taste good.  I will eat things that violate my principals (except meat.  no clue why that one sticks).  I will get drive thru and hide it.  I will save the last of something awesome from my children and sneak it when they are not watching.  I scream at the kids for wanting to eat because I'm so mad at myself for my most recent binge that I can't stand the idea of cooking or watching them eat.  But I make lunch or dinner and eat with them.  I eat and eat until I want to vomit, and then I walk past something and want to put it in my mouth.

The heartburn is terrible.  The gas is icky.  I shake if I'm not eating during a binge.  I try gum, but the then the kids realize we have some and they chew it all.  Seriously, an 8pack of orbit gum boxes.  That's like over 100 sticks of gum.  Gone in a week.  Coffee helps sometimes, but then I get jittery and bitchy and the heartburn is still there.  Alcohol helps too, but i can't drink all day with the kids home.

I am a food addict and I need help.