I can't close this day without being completely honest. As I pushed myself away from my desk a thought came into mind. Trickery. How easy it is to convince myself that I've made an effort to do better most days. Truth...I wasn't making that much of an effort. I just told myself I was to pacify my mind. What I'd actually say to myself is, "It's okay if I only ate a pack of crackers all day. It's because I can't eat during the day. Just be happy that you ate something, that's what matters...you tried." This is my cop-out. Truth is, I didn't want to eat and I still don't. No matter how many times I say I want to eat...I don't. I don't! I DON'T WANT TO EAT! But I have to eat to get better. There...I've said it...this is my truth. I'm strong enough to admit it now.
Yeah, scheduled meals is going to make great change...much needed change. No more excuses. No more pacifying my mind.
Showing posts with label denial. Show all posts
Showing posts with label denial. Show all posts
Thursday, April 3, 2014
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
Don't Eat When You're Not Hungry - April 2, 2014
"Don't eat when you're not hungry." I've heard this sentence in my mind everyday since the first time it was spoken to me in 1975. I was 10. No matter what I do the words are always lingering. A constant reminder turned anthem.
My parents took me to the doctor. I can't remember for what. I was sitting on the examining table as the doctor spoke with them. He wasn't my pediatrician, but another doctor in a larger place. Everything was bright white and sterile. Even the windows offered little contrast as the glass reflected that awful bright whiteness. I continued watching as the doctor spoke with my parents. I couldn't hear what he was saying. My ears were deafened by the sound of my own thoughts. Inside my head I'm screaming, "Please make them stop abusing me! Please! I don't want to go home." I felt the words rise into my throat, but I dare not open my mouth. I just sat there nauseated as I watched evil play the role of concerned parents. All hope was gone. The doctor would never believe me. He'd never believe I lived with monsters. They seemed so normal and descent. My mother in her silent stance dressed to perfection and my father eager to write a check. They stopped talking for moment, looked at me and smiled, but all I could see were fangs waiting to devour me. I turned away from them and waited for the torment to begin again.
I heard a new word on that day. Obese. The doctor said I was obese. I wasn't sure what that meant, but I knew it must have had something to do with my weight. My weight had become a focal point for my parents for awhile now. I weighed in at 100lbs. I guess it didn't matter that my parents fed me cakes, cookies, snacks and candies from their store, not to mention my night feedings. I wonder if my mother knew. Couldn't she see the evidence of my night feeds? If she did, nothing was ever said, not to me anyways. My weight was the first thing people saw and the topic of discussion...always...even now. I suppose talking about my weight was much easier than seeing the dark circles under my eyes or the look of death and hopelessness in my expression. I see the pain when I look at my childhood photos and I wonder.
I used to look into the bathroom mirror and say to myself, "don't eat when you are not hungry," over and over again. When my parents tried to make me eat breakfast I'd say that I wasn't hungry. If they pushed I pulled out my favorite sentence. It worked every time. After awhile they seemed to be proud of my not eating, hopeful that the extra pounds would fall off quickly. Each yearly well visit would dash their hopes...another 13 lbs. gained. No one could understand it. I think this is when the denial began. Everyone around me said the same thing, "How can she be gaining weight, she barely eats?" I heard it so much that I began to believe it.
Here I am today, 38 years later and I am still telling myself, "Don't eat if you're not hungry." How do I undo a 38 year habit?
My parents took me to the doctor. I can't remember for what. I was sitting on the examining table as the doctor spoke with them. He wasn't my pediatrician, but another doctor in a larger place. Everything was bright white and sterile. Even the windows offered little contrast as the glass reflected that awful bright whiteness. I continued watching as the doctor spoke with my parents. I couldn't hear what he was saying. My ears were deafened by the sound of my own thoughts. Inside my head I'm screaming, "Please make them stop abusing me! Please! I don't want to go home." I felt the words rise into my throat, but I dare not open my mouth. I just sat there nauseated as I watched evil play the role of concerned parents. All hope was gone. The doctor would never believe me. He'd never believe I lived with monsters. They seemed so normal and descent. My mother in her silent stance dressed to perfection and my father eager to write a check. They stopped talking for moment, looked at me and smiled, but all I could see were fangs waiting to devour me. I turned away from them and waited for the torment to begin again.
I heard a new word on that day. Obese. The doctor said I was obese. I wasn't sure what that meant, but I knew it must have had something to do with my weight. My weight had become a focal point for my parents for awhile now. I weighed in at 100lbs. I guess it didn't matter that my parents fed me cakes, cookies, snacks and candies from their store, not to mention my night feedings. I wonder if my mother knew. Couldn't she see the evidence of my night feeds? If she did, nothing was ever said, not to me anyways. My weight was the first thing people saw and the topic of discussion...always...even now. I suppose talking about my weight was much easier than seeing the dark circles under my eyes or the look of death and hopelessness in my expression. I see the pain when I look at my childhood photos and I wonder.
I used to look into the bathroom mirror and say to myself, "don't eat when you are not hungry," over and over again. When my parents tried to make me eat breakfast I'd say that I wasn't hungry. If they pushed I pulled out my favorite sentence. It worked every time. After awhile they seemed to be proud of my not eating, hopeful that the extra pounds would fall off quickly. Each yearly well visit would dash their hopes...another 13 lbs. gained. No one could understand it. I think this is when the denial began. Everyone around me said the same thing, "How can she be gaining weight, she barely eats?" I heard it so much that I began to believe it.
Here I am today, 38 years later and I am still telling myself, "Don't eat if you're not hungry." How do I undo a 38 year habit?
Friday, February 28, 2014
February 28, 2014
It's 3:24pm. I finished eating about 10 minutes ago. I continue to make progress, even if it's baby steps. Better to move forward than backwards. It's a slow climb, but I don't think it will take too much longer. So far, the optimum time to begin eating is 10am. If I am able to eat a reasonable breakfast around that time my body will naturally cue itself for lunch, a snack and dinner. Of course I still have my premeasured snack set aside for night time. If I stay on track with my eating I'll begin feeling normal hunger sensations again. Right now I don't feel anything. I have mental cues telling me I should eat. These cues generally come much later in the day, usually around 1 or 2pm. The cues are easy to overlook. I have gotten up to get something to eat and forget to eat by the time I reach the kitchen.
It's so easy to ignore the signs and fast forward into binging regularly. Too easy. It's been over 30 years since this disorder developed in me. In a couple years it will be a 40 year struggle. I guess that's more than enough time for something to become deeply ingrained. I don't understand what causes me to lose my ability to feel normal hunger and why the mental hunger so strong. It's always lurking. Waiting. In addition to my unhealthy relationship with food, I am still sorting out my past. My past is the beginning of this hell?
I want to paint a mental picture of the experience for you. And here is my disclaimer so you not think me insane. What I am about to describe is not an actual occurrence, but a metaphorical description of what my binge experience feels like.
I am sitting in the living room (usually) and it's late night. Unable to sleep, I mindlessly watch tv. There is an awakening of sorts. It's like an additional awareness comes into play. Now there's a feeling of hunger, but it's not a physical hunger, it's more mental or at least that is where the general location of the sensation is. My mind's eye (as I can best describe) begins to travel through the apartment, making it's way to the kitchen. It examines every inch of space as it moves towards the cabinets, drawers, pantry, fridge, freezer, every corner of the kitchen. Searching. I am still sitting on the couch. Anticipation builds as the search continues. Cravings begin. Thoughts of various foods and tastes emerge. I want something comforting, sweet, sticky, savory, maybe even warm and soothing ...I want to feed. When the mind's eye lands on something desirable, I get up to prepare the food, but it doesn't stop there. As I sit down to eat the food, the mind's eye revisits the kitchen looking for the next item to eat. If my mind's eye is not satisfied with what's available in the kitchen, it seeks other food sources, fast food restaurants, grocery stores even convenient stores. Whatever the case, I must move at its will. The hunger is insatiable. The binge takes on a life of its own. At it's worse, hours of binging will occur before satisfaction. It doesn't care how bad I feel about eating so much, as a matter of fact the binge uses my emotions to fuel it's desire. The cravings leave and the binge subsides. I am left gorged. My ribs expanded and hurting, I'm having difficulty breathing. I contemplate going to bed, but wait, there's one more thing. One more item to be eaten. Something sweet. Something quick. Just a little something to top everything off. And then I'll crawl into bed and go to sleep.
There are other times when I go through the evening purchasing and hording foods for my late night binge. I often feel an sense of excitement when hording different foods. When I get home I lay all of the foods out and fantasize about the order they will be eaten. Even though I've purchased foods throughout the evening, I will still cook a meal. Usually something like hamburger helper. I am pleased and feel a great sense of accomplishment now that I am prepared for the binge. I play with my son, give him his meds and put him to bed. And then the binge begins.
I speak of binging as a separate entity because that's how it feels. It's something outside of myself propelling myself into an action that I cannot control. It is for this reason that denial is so easy. In a way, it's like having an alter ego or another existence that you're only aware of on an as needed basis. Just enough to function for the cause. Otherwise, it is as if it never happened. By the next day, I'm starving myself again. I function completely oblivious to the binge I had the night before. I spend time with my son before going to work. My food and drink intake is at it's lowest. I may eat 1 potato chip or nibble a cookie for an hour or so before work. That is, if I have a sensation of hunger. My denial was so deep that I've even caught myself saying, "how can I be so big, I eat like a bird?" It makes sense. I only acknowledged the minuscule amount of food that I'd eat during the day and nothing else. I just didn't see it.
My most difficult time with binging was during my son's first year of life. The stress was extreme and my motherly duties endless as I had to give him medicines and care around the clock. He was so sick and frail. My will to give my son everything I had to give as a mom was the sole reason for my being able to function at all. The binge, well, that was my bonus for a job well done. It was my comfort. My mommy time that didn't mind the occasional interruption. My second life, far removed from the stressors of the day. It would always be waiting for me. I gained 100 lbs. that year and didn't realize it. I blamed the dryer for shrinking my clothes.
I imagine this will be a life long struggle, like alcoholism. There is no cure, only the count of days between binges. My gut tells me that the binging will get much better as I maneuver through my mottled past and make peace with the demons that dwell there.
It's so easy to ignore the signs and fast forward into binging regularly. Too easy. It's been over 30 years since this disorder developed in me. In a couple years it will be a 40 year struggle. I guess that's more than enough time for something to become deeply ingrained. I don't understand what causes me to lose my ability to feel normal hunger and why the mental hunger so strong. It's always lurking. Waiting. In addition to my unhealthy relationship with food, I am still sorting out my past. My past is the beginning of this hell?
I want to paint a mental picture of the experience for you. And here is my disclaimer so you not think me insane. What I am about to describe is not an actual occurrence, but a metaphorical description of what my binge experience feels like.
I am sitting in the living room (usually) and it's late night. Unable to sleep, I mindlessly watch tv. There is an awakening of sorts. It's like an additional awareness comes into play. Now there's a feeling of hunger, but it's not a physical hunger, it's more mental or at least that is where the general location of the sensation is. My mind's eye (as I can best describe) begins to travel through the apartment, making it's way to the kitchen. It examines every inch of space as it moves towards the cabinets, drawers, pantry, fridge, freezer, every corner of the kitchen. Searching. I am still sitting on the couch. Anticipation builds as the search continues. Cravings begin. Thoughts of various foods and tastes emerge. I want something comforting, sweet, sticky, savory, maybe even warm and soothing ...I want to feed. When the mind's eye lands on something desirable, I get up to prepare the food, but it doesn't stop there. As I sit down to eat the food, the mind's eye revisits the kitchen looking for the next item to eat. If my mind's eye is not satisfied with what's available in the kitchen, it seeks other food sources, fast food restaurants, grocery stores even convenient stores. Whatever the case, I must move at its will. The hunger is insatiable. The binge takes on a life of its own. At it's worse, hours of binging will occur before satisfaction. It doesn't care how bad I feel about eating so much, as a matter of fact the binge uses my emotions to fuel it's desire. The cravings leave and the binge subsides. I am left gorged. My ribs expanded and hurting, I'm having difficulty breathing. I contemplate going to bed, but wait, there's one more thing. One more item to be eaten. Something sweet. Something quick. Just a little something to top everything off. And then I'll crawl into bed and go to sleep.
There are other times when I go through the evening purchasing and hording foods for my late night binge. I often feel an sense of excitement when hording different foods. When I get home I lay all of the foods out and fantasize about the order they will be eaten. Even though I've purchased foods throughout the evening, I will still cook a meal. Usually something like hamburger helper. I am pleased and feel a great sense of accomplishment now that I am prepared for the binge. I play with my son, give him his meds and put him to bed. And then the binge begins.
I speak of binging as a separate entity because that's how it feels. It's something outside of myself propelling myself into an action that I cannot control. It is for this reason that denial is so easy. In a way, it's like having an alter ego or another existence that you're only aware of on an as needed basis. Just enough to function for the cause. Otherwise, it is as if it never happened. By the next day, I'm starving myself again. I function completely oblivious to the binge I had the night before. I spend time with my son before going to work. My food and drink intake is at it's lowest. I may eat 1 potato chip or nibble a cookie for an hour or so before work. That is, if I have a sensation of hunger. My denial was so deep that I've even caught myself saying, "how can I be so big, I eat like a bird?" It makes sense. I only acknowledged the minuscule amount of food that I'd eat during the day and nothing else. I just didn't see it.
My most difficult time with binging was during my son's first year of life. The stress was extreme and my motherly duties endless as I had to give him medicines and care around the clock. He was so sick and frail. My will to give my son everything I had to give as a mom was the sole reason for my being able to function at all. The binge, well, that was my bonus for a job well done. It was my comfort. My mommy time that didn't mind the occasional interruption. My second life, far removed from the stressors of the day. It would always be waiting for me. I gained 100 lbs. that year and didn't realize it. I blamed the dryer for shrinking my clothes.
I imagine this will be a life long struggle, like alcoholism. There is no cure, only the count of days between binges. My gut tells me that the binging will get much better as I maneuver through my mottled past and make peace with the demons that dwell there.
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