“I think I’m cursed,” said my oldest daughter as we sat on the couch plagued by sickness for the second day. I started thinking about her comment when today found me worse than when I began the antibiotic Avelox 400mg, Qvar 80mcg Inhaler and Singulair this past Monday afternoon. I have been controlling my food intake and my blood sugars are maintained yet I’m still racked with body aches and rattling lungs. My heart is irregular, but I don’t believe it’s in atrial-fib but just to be safe I called my doctor since it’s getting difficult to breath. To the casual observer this would be a great moment to consider calling an ambulance, but I’ve lived this drill for over 15 years though I will admit this one does have my attention.

The last time I had these symptoms was during Thanksgiving 2009 while visiting family in Mississippi. It cost hundreds of dollars only to be told to see my cardiologist. An addition couple a hundred dollars for an echocardiogram and two series of chest x-rays and the diagnosis was “Well, it must have been something you’ve done.” The best cardiologist money can buy and I get a theory. The medical practice is a joke. As my uncle says, “They practice medicine alright. They practice on you for the next guy.” I was drinking moderately at the time while overeating, so I think I can contribute that Thanksgiving episode to what is termed as “holiday heart.” Today, I can’t tell you what is wrong with me. I’m short of breath and have difficulty walking across the house or talking for an extended time. I called the doctor’s office at 3:00pm and it’s now 6:00pm with no call back. Nice to know my symptoms do not require immediate action. $100 says the on-call doctor calls within the hour telling me to go to the nearest ER. I think that’s a rubber stamp answer doctors are required to give to avoid liability law suits. My new heart medicine is Multaq, an experimental drug and I hope I’m not the 1 in a 100 that has an adverse side effect.

It’s hard not turning to the cupboard when anxieties like these occur. I’m trying to treat the desire to binge on "sugar/carb anything" as if I’m contemplating taking a drink. Truth be told, I really have no overwhelming compulsion for a drink. Alcohol has not been kind to me since the diabetes has settled in and in fact it has been down right vicious to me emotionally and physically. Most of my medicines include a warning label with: DO NOT CONSUME ALCOHOL WITH THIS MEDICATION. I always thought it a suggestion, nothing really to take seriously. My last drunk really, REALLY hurt. Food is that easier softer way to quell that demon within.

Speaking of Demons…

My oldest daughter, as I mentioned, believes she is cursed. I asked her where she got such a notion and she replied that ever since she saw a black, lumpy shadow mass coming towards her from our bedroom she feels something is out to get her. She is contributing bad health with evil spirits. I have no idea where she gets these ideas and I’m hoping it’s not from Sunday school. Her last happy experience from a Sunday school teaching was when they told her she was going to hell for lying. It was big fun trying to console a crying six year old that she wasn't going to burn. I tried to explain viruses and bacteria to no avail. I almost asked if sacrificing chickens and beating drums would appease our unwanted guest but I let it go. She’s only eight, but no more Mystery Hunters for her. My wife felt that my involvement in paranormal investigations contributed to my health decline. I’m amazed by superstitious notions. Poor diet and untreated alcoholism win my vote. If there’s a fat inducing vomit enhancing demon that forces people to eat Pop-Tarts and drink to oblivion then she may be right. No matter how much I distance myself from the evangelical heebie jeebies it has now left an undesirable imprint on my daughter’s cognitive reasoning.

By the way, the doctor called as I was writing and suggested I go to the hospital. No lie. Whoever bet against me owes me a Ben. He said it is either the heart or lungs; point blank simple to him. We’ll see. I reminded him that no one had an answer as to the cause after a battery of tests. I think I’ll go for x-rays in the morning at their office and sidestep a bill as large as a mortgage payment from the ER. If I go through all this and once again the diagnosis is a shoulder shrug, then I may consider that strange notion of ‘a demon behind every bush.’

A Side Note:

I have had three strange Déjà vu moments within a month’s time that creep me out. Nothing significant about the event but there was an underlining feeling that these moments began a count down to some life changing happening. While experiencing this phenomenon I knew what each person was going to say and the direction the conversation would go. Somehow I felt charged to remember the significance of these revealed moments but it fails me. Absolutely insane I know. But, I do have this nagging feeling of being unsettled by it all. An actor who missed his cue. I’ve had dreams come true and impressions so strong that I was able to predict future events. I have also been wrong quite often as well. I’m no prophet so I’ll let time reveal what will be. It always does.

“Self Seeking Will Slip Away”

I attend an AA meeting famous for the soup it serves. The regulars take turns providing culinary delights and the saying “too much is plenty” always applies. For those who don’t like soup that early in the morning there’s a box of donuts available. It’s ironic to attend one twelve step group only to trigger the overeating compulsion focus of another twelve step group. The people are dynamic and the laughter contagious. I know that’s what keeps me coming back. I’ve listened to their stories and some seem truly horrific and impossible to live with, yet there is joy and freedom that only comes from those who are truly free. Who wouldn’t want to surround themselves with people such as this? In a nut shell, I want what they have.

“Survey Says!”

The meeting format for the Soup Group is to read a question, the whole room offers an opinion as to what the correct answer might be and at the end the answer is read aloud from the Big Book. One particular meeting stands out and the question posed was “What is the foundation stone of our recovery?” Almost everybody answered “honesty” and told of their attempts to be honest with themselves and others. “If we are not honest we can’t stay sober” many said. Some confessed they spent thousands of dollars on therapy only to find recovery when they got honest. A few contributed a recovery foundation consisting of ‘going to meetings’ and ‘taking care of themselves.’ The answer was read and a room full of wisdom having some in attendance with over thirty years sobriety got it wrong. The Big Book answer was, “Helping others is the foundation stone of your recovery.” There was a collective moan as it was read followed by laughter. Service to others never even showed up on our radar.

It’s All About Moi

Considering this, I see a huge divide with today’s current focus on self and the yesteryear’s belief held by the original founders. “ME” is the new island unto us. I have heard so many repeat, “This is a selfish program” and I couldn’t disagree more. Many such as me have picked up on this “false teaching” early in recovery and run with it. Alcoholics and addicts are selfish by nature so any encouragement to continue in that behavior will be adhered to. People have boasted of avoiding family responsibilities or refusing certain work schedules in order to attend meetings. Shitty behavior wrapped in noble intent. Broken families, lost jobs and the inevitable relapse are usually the aftermath of, “I’m doing this for ME” mentality. I speak from experience not condemnation having several relapses in 24 years. Nowhere in the Big Book does it say anything about selfishness being a character trait of recovery. One of the founders of AA made it a point to share, “Never was I to pray for myself, except as my requests bore on my usefulness to others.” Who thinks this way in today’s society!? I’m sure if modern therapy indoctrinations were available his attitude would have been, “I pray for myself and in so doing obtain my own happiness and then, and only then, can I be of benefit to others if it benefits me as well” The humble, selfless efforts of a hundred or so recovered alcoholics in the 1930’s could not have made a global impact if their teaching consisted of “Self Fulfillment” rather than “Selfless Acts”.

“It’s Déjà Vu All Over Again”

“If you have decided you want what we have and are willing to go to any length to get it-then you are ready to take certain steps.
At some of these we balked. We thought we could find an easier, softer way. But we could not. With all the earnestness at our command, we beg of you to be fearless and thorough from the very start. Some of us have tried to hold on to our old ideas and the result was nil until we let go absolutely.
Remember that we deal with alcohol-cunning, baffling, powerful! Without help it is too much for us. But there is One who has all power-that One is God. May you find Him now!”

“The spiritual life is not a theory. We have to live it.” Great. Here we go again. I already mentioned I want what they have and I’m pretty sure I’ve been “properly horrified” by my disease to be willing to go to any lengths, but now once again God has the corner on this happiness as well? I tried that route and was as willing as any. I’m reminded or Woody Allen trying to convince a priest he wanted to be Catholic saying, “I’ll dye Eater eggs. Whatever it takes!” I don’t mind admitting that I’m a little nervous about the spiritual aspect having experienced the left foot of fellowship. And I'm not sure about what I can't see. As C.S. Lewis said, “When people say they’re searching for God it’s like the mice saying they are hoping to find the cat.” I’d rather keep my distance and hope for a letter to be delivered detailing the missing ingredients that seem to have eluded my being successful in recovery. But, I have a feeling a portion of the missing ingredients would be trust. That would cover the tangible and the Invisible. Flipping through the pages of the Big Book my eyes settled on this:

“Do not be discouraged. No one among us has been able to maintain anything like perfect adherence to these principles. We are not saints. The point is, that we are willing to grow along spiritual lines. The principles we have set down are guides to progress. We claim spiritual progress rather than spiritual perfection.”

My thought process has been if perfection is not the end result then it’s not worth doing. I was told I had to be perfected in Christ which always seemed to be a failed voyage before leaving port. Contemplating on this it’s no wonder my sponsor said, “Forget everything you’ve done up to this point, obviously it hasn’t worked.” The advice from the pages continues.

“If we are painstaking about this phase of our development, we will be amazed before we are half way through. We are going to know a new freedom and a new happiness. We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it. We will comprehend the word serenity and we will know peace. No matter how far down the scale we have gone, we will see how our experience can benefit others. That feeling of uselessness and self-pity will disappear. We will lose interest in selfish things and gain interest in our fellows. Self-seeking will slip away. Our whole attitude and outlook upon life will change. Fear of people and of economic insecurity will leave us. We will intuitively know how to handle situations which used to baffle us. We will suddenly realize that God is doing for us what we could not do for ourselves.”

Perhaps if Christianity took this approach it would have been more attractive to me? Demanding one believe, repent and “shut the door on the past” all within a horribly urgent five minute conversation seems an impetuous act. Perhaps this “birthing process” of the new man does come slowly to some?

“When we saw others solve their problems by a simple reliance upon the Spirit of the Universe, we had to stop doubting the power of God. Our ideas did not work. But the God idea did.” I wouldn’t mind being proven wrong regarding these matters if I can laugh like those sharing their joy over a bowl of soup.

Too Little Too Late?

I experienced chest pains today. Not a vague tightness or aggravated indigestion but a ripple of pain that demanded my attention. The wave passed and I immediately thought I was having a heart attack. My youngest daughter was singing in the hallway and I thought of my oldest stating earlier that day she was happy. What a day to die. I actually was following a food plan, my blood sugar was under control and I had a successful shopping trip to plan for a healthier work week. It figures the day I begin is the day it ends. A second wave hit and I remembered a friend asking what a heart attack felt like before he died. Time passed with no additional episodes. I joined the girls and enjoyed movie night while keeping a vigil for any further developments.

This morning began with me staring at my medications. I know all the medicines except one are due to my inability to control my food consumption. I decided to gather my medicines and photograph them. By doing so I would be forced to acknowledge how far down the rabbit hole I’ve gone. Ever since I was diagnosed I believed that it would pass. Extreme denial or proper grasp of the situation has allowed me to put the severity of my situation on the back burner. I’ve heard other people’s reactions describing horror and immediate lifestyle changes when diagnosed. My experience was light years away from that. Little interest or acknowledgement was present. My compulsions have been forefront, not recovery.

A doctor once told me that diabetics are strange animals. A patient of his complained of shoulder pain and later that day died of a heart attack. He said ever since then he pays attention to everything concerning a diabetic. I thought of that today as I became motivated to work in our flower beds. They have been neglected for some time and the weather was cooperating so I thought one of my famous “Operation Clean Sweeps” would leave the landscape dazzled. A weird feeling came over me as if a whisper of warning. I paid attention and decided to relax. Whenever I control my food intake and need to tweak my insulin, my body reacts in strange often violent ways. Had I exerted myself as planned I feel it would of gone south quickly.

One recent wake up call was when I received a shot for plantar fasciitis in my heel. I believed the freezing application eliminated the pain but apparently the reaction from the doctor and nurse had me perplexed. They made a great deal out of me not flinching and contributed my pain tolerance to my size. I guess if you’re over six feet you’re immune to pain. That idiocy is another story. I didn’t flinch or scream out in pain as others have because I didn’t feel it. A two inch needle inserted all the way didn’t even cause a stir. I’ve noticed the way I currently walk the fluid motion I once had is gone. I walk like someone whose feet are asleep. The weight is becoming an issue for all areas of my body and big boned as I am the burden is noticeable and my body is making it known.

My health has been a bone of contention for quite some time in my marriage. Eventually, as in any relationship, the real issues will surface and the once ignored 800 lbs. gorilla begins to speak. Only in this situation I’m the 800 lbs. gorilla. My wife doesn’t seem to understand addictions and has repeatedly stated that I could have done something years ago about this. The helpless feeling is that I know that maybe that's possible, but I’m clueless as to how I could have or why I haven’t. I shared who I am and what I am from the beginning and at the time an assurance of understanding was given. Now, ten years later, she states, “I didn’t know you were this bad.” Hearing that spoken was like standing on an ice patch as it separates from land. Rejection has been one root of my addictions and this is just another tangle that goes deep in the soil. I became adrift emotionally and the feeling seems mutual as her time away from home outside of work has increased dramatically. I guess in a way I understand but it’s still a jab. Perhaps there comes a point when enough is enough and you seek fulfillment in other playgrounds.

The last night I drank was in her opinion the best date we’ve had in a long time. We closed a bar down and I could not speak unless slurring. Concentrating on my steps to the car I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was an alcoholic. You try different things to keep the fires going and I made the choice to participate in the party lifestyle knowing what I am and the difficulties drinking has caused. Bar bands are her passion and she wants to be in one playing different nightclubs. A way to include me is for me to play bass. She is also interested in bartending. I'll never see her if that's the case. The drinking environment she chooses is a poison for me. I can no longer be a part of that and I think that's OK with her. Shortly after our date night I revealed I was going back to AA. Hardly anything was said and the ice patch floated further out to sea.

My daughters are my main focus. Last night during a Father/Daughter Dance my daughters got teary eyed while we danced. In the back of my mind I wondered if it was too little too late. Perhaps that's what hell is, realizing the value of something right before it's ripped away. Intuition tells me something is in motion and I’m hoping the wheel is turning in my favor. I feel alone out here but I can’t go by how I feel because whenever blood sugars are unbalanced so are emotional states.

A medium once told me that my diabetes could have been avoided. A coach said making a come back was my greatest thing. I’m banking on a making a come back and avoiding the inevitable. My daughters deserve a daddy who will be present to prepare them for the world. I know there are no guarantees and I can get hit by a bus tomorrow, but I don’t want my death to be by my hand. I’m haunted by the thought of crossing over and my daughters seeing all that I am and rejecting me as well.

Take A Load Off Annie

I’ve narrowed down the twelve step program that best suits my needs and that is Alcoholics Anonymous. Not that I have anything against OA, but there doesn’t seem to be the clarity I find in AA meetings. Tonight I discovered the difference when ‘How It Works’ was read. OA omits this portion and only reads the 12 steps. To me that feels like receiving directions for the last mile of a ten mile trip. AA details how recovered people moved from point A to Z having lived and not just read about or merely discussed a way of life.

Tuesday I met a potential sponsor for lunch. I described my inability to define why I got more from AA than OA and he offered a beautiful explanation, “Perhaps, the members of OA have not looked the demon that’s trying to kill them in the face and been scared shitless.” He’s right. I have been hospitalized many times due to alcohol and you would think that my last detox would have been enough of a persuasion to stop. But it wasn’t. Again he offered, “Perhaps, YOU haven’t truly looked in its face, yet?” I’m mildly annoyed that “yet” is a standard interjection from seasoned program people to arrest self righteous proclamations such as “I would never get that bad” or “I’m not like that person.” I know that I’m killing myself just the same with food, but I’ve never been in an ICU having OD’d on Twinkies..."yet."

Zen’s opening line after listening to my 25 year peripheral existence around recovery was, “Forget everything you’ve tried because obviously it hasn’t worked.” Listening to tonight’s reading of ‘How It Works’ one sentence stood out in reminding me of his comment, “Some of us have tried to hold on to our old ideas and the result was nil until we let go absolutely.” Insanity is doing the same thing over and over expecting different results. I was reminded of a story describing a man treading water while holding onto a sack of stones. He started to sink and the simple solution was to let go of the sack, but he couldn’t and he drowned. Perhaps my way of thinking and continued bad habits are my sack. Do I want to sink while holding onto old ideas or swim toward clear waters of new beginnings? Tough call.

Another revelation he shared was the freedom of not having all the answers. My controlling nature demands answers. Letting go of that and admitting I don’t know sounds terribly vulnerable. Freedom doesn’t come to mind, but I’m not the one with over 30 years of sobriety.

Ironically he suggested we meet at a restaurant where I used to interview women on a first dates. Many would be relationships never made it out the door and for a long time I believed it was the place that had a bad mojo to it (couldn’t be my picker). When I met my wife I suggested we go there for dinner but it was closed and we ended up at the restaurant next door. Ten years later and we’re still hanging out only reinforces my bad mojo theory. Perhaps this interview will mark the end of that hellacious karmic run? Most “friends” have abandoned me in one way or another and I have never encountered anyone I could truly trust…”yet”

"Who will deliver me from this body of death?"

My latest blog brought into question “how do you define an eating disorder relapse?” Well, I have my answer. For the past two weeks I have not followed a food plan and almost immediately began to binge. Trips to the local convenience store have been convenient but also very hazardous to my health. My heart has been stuck in an atrial flutter going in and out of atrial-fib. This produces massive swelling which in turn inflames my neuropathy and I’m not able to walk without extreme pain. My cardiologist has prescribed additional meds. I asked him point blank if I lost 70 lbs. would my condition improve. He said no. The weight has no bearing on my electrical problems.

Two Christian acquaintances, a husband and wife, suggested my ailments were spiritual and I needed to repent and close open doorways. Recently he was told he needs a heart valve replacement. I wonder how much repentance and door closing is going on in that house? I am not using pain meds, alcohol or pot for pain management because of my addictive personality. My only solace is to eat. Food medicates and a sugar/carb buzz provides temporary relief but the down side is its short lived and exasperates my condition with additional weight gain.

“O wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?”

My spiritual journey at one time was all consuming. That’s my personality I guess, I consume. My journey began and has returned within the rooms of twelve step groups. I have worked the twelve steps multiple times, completed the pinnacle fourth and fifth steps and yet still returned to alcohol, drugs, food and mood altering women. I was told that after these ‘steps of action’ I would know a new freedom and closeness with my Creator that I’ve never known. I wasn’t free of anything and the closeness never happened. It’s like preparing a valentine box at school and receiving no cards. The effort was there but the result was lacking and I’m sure the suggestions that I didn’t use the correct formula or have the right prayer language will be of no short supply.

I found myself in pursuit of a God that was promised to be my best friend. “Buddy Jesus” was my new passion and I pressed towards redemption through atonement with vigor. Maybe this was what the 12 steps were lacking? After 16 years within various denominations I found everything but Jesus. Further alienation from fellow recovery people and mass confusion and disillusionment were the door prize. Jesus saves but you have to have perfect credit. I found recovery people hate having Jesus thrust on them as ‘the only way” and Christians do not like tainted people, especially drug addicts and alcoholics. Overeaters are ok with Christians because they partake in God’s abundance every Sunday at the buffets.

The 12 step program is designed to work with whatever concept or belief of a High Power is for you. Christianity is not. By convincing myself that God would love me if I pushed the “good news” like a used car salesman, I would gain favor in His eyes even if people hated me. After all, that was the price of admission; the world hated Him so it would hate me. Their loss, my gain. I really believed I was doing the right thing but in reality I just pushed people further away. You want people to leave you alone? Start talking about Jesus. It will clear a room, I promise.

Perhaps God is just another barrier to keep people away? Somehow I think I’ve used arguments of theology and practice as a way to keep people within my church at arms length…control comes to mind. “Non-believers” as they’re lovingly referred to, were kept at a distance as I bombarded them with scripture to expose how shitty their life is without Jesus. If I can’t control people then they become a threat.

Now that I’ve determined that the problem is me, what am I going to do about this High Power that is reportedly my only hope towards recovery? Step two reads “Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.” Step three suggests we “Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.” The first three steps are all past tense actions describing how it worked for others. I feel like I’ve been there, done that and got the t-shirt. We must believe and turn our lives over. I’ve sat through hundreds of meetings and sermons and yet I’m worse now than ever.

Trapped in a body of death indeed.

A Pig By Any Other Name...Calling A Spade A Spade

Failure of a pressurized vessel such as a steam boiler can be catastrophic. Steam takes up 1,600 times more space than liquid water, meaning that each cubic meter of heated boiler water will expand into 1,600 cubic meters of steam. Once that shell is breached most of the water will instantly flash into steam and it will do so in a fraction of a second. That enormous volume of steam will expand outwardly to equalize its pressure with the atmosphere and then one huge ass explosion is produced. Entire buildings could be leveled resulting in loss of life or limb. In the boiler business the term "explosion" is a taboo description. The favorable description for such a devastating force is "an occurrence" which erases any implied negative connotation. I'm sure it has something to do with admitted liability. An explosion suggests safety neglect or human error. An occurrence is something that just happens.

I have always been interested in how we perceive ourselves as individuals. When defining Self, each of us seeks an explanation or purpose that signifies who we are going to great lengths to establish such roles to feel a variety of things from being connected to the pay-off of mass attention. Investigating and researching ideologies, political parties or whatever, we proudly proclaim an affiliation as if to announce, “I am defined. I am complete. Love me.” The problem is the romanced illusions spoon fed by denial tends to skew reality. You put a pig in a prom dress and you still have a pig in a prom dress no matter how you try to sell it. Ask anyone who has lost a significant amount of weight and they’ll tell you they never knew how big they were and wished someone would have told them. We’re with ourselves every minute and still can not see ourselves in truth. If we do acknowledge some aspect and wish to convey it, we addicts usually tend to construct artful ways to make ourselves sound either healthier, progressive or not to be blamed.

You can see this first hand at any Twelve Step meeting where an individual is encouraged to state their name followed by a defining label the allows others to relate. This assures to everyone that they are not alone. But as mentioned, people strive for individual uniqueness that exalts them above the status quo. There are some that combo the addiction labels such as “alcoholic/addict.” This is fine until people start adding sentences before and after their description such as “Grateful recovering Alcoholic/Addict and Child of God Forgiven!”

The most recent label that caught my attention at an OA meeting is "Relapse Recoverer." It's hard for me not to laugh and want to pull my hair out at the same time. When an alcoholic takes a sip of alcohol it's considered a relapse and the sobriety date must be reset; no exceptions. One twelve step member was chewing a piece of gum during a lead and that derailed years of abstinence. Does using mouth wash constitute a drinking spree? Would an alcoholic need to "start over?" What qualifies a compulsive overeater to label themselves as a "Relapse Recoverer"? Does 1 oz. more of roast beef than the food plan allows qualify? Or is the consumption of an entire box of graham crackers set the standard? If it’s not on the “Grey Sheet” grounds for a relapse? For those curious about what the “Grey Sheet” is Grey Sheet. My point is that we have become so entangled in picking fly shit out of pepper that we fail to see the forest for the trees. We are all recovering in one way or another and at different levels. Who sets the standard? Who decides when the reduction to the ridiculous has been met?

I believe in calling a spade a spade. I’ve heard old alcoholics refer to themselves as just a drunk. I like that. Simple and straight to the point. "Hi. I'm Billy Bob and I'm a drunk." I think I’ll follow suit and take the suggestion of one friend and call myself what I am – a glutton. Or am I a “grateful recovering alcoholic, addict, compulsive overeater child of god forgiven that’s just happy to be here”? I’ll stick with glutton.

Update: Today in an AA meeting I heard the most true decscription of one's self "functioning alcoholic" This kid smelled like booze and wasn't sure whether or not he was an alcoholic. Many took note of his truthfulness and we all shared where he was at. Another piece of the puzzle was added to the box.

Let's Begin Again

It has been over a year since my last post. Many things have changed. Looking over the religious content and links compiled on the profile I felt as if I had walked into the wrong house. I'm not that guy anymore. I deleted all previous links and photos.

I have my opinions regarding the hope and aspirations to pursue those institutions, but I am in a life and death struggle with an eating disorder and salvation is the least of my concerns. I found more questions than answers and in the end felt like I was a part of a pymrid scheme and I was far from the pinnacle. Perhaps I imagined that if I showed the right amount of faith and pious actions an invisible Force would relieve me of my obsessions but that’s not the case. I’m heavier now than I have ever been and the medical ramifications and bills as a result of my obesity are staggering. Religion did nothing for my addictions.

I have been hospitalized before due to alcoholic complications and quite frankly alcoholism is easier to deal with than an eating disorder. Both are a mere symptom of a much greater problem, but alcohol you can walk away from and not ingest. Food is survival. How do you moderate a substance that is specifically for sustenance but becomes an obsession of temporary euphoria followed by gut wrenching remorse? Will power suggestions is a an internal chuckle. I have tremendous will power and use it to satisfy my cravings by any means necessary. Addicts have a tremendous amount of will and the lack there of is not a consideration to remedying this addiction.

During lunch with a friend I confessed how I am starting to hide what I eat and how much. After the binge I do not throw away wrappers in our kitchen trash can for fear they’ll be discovered. Hiding them in cans or other containers already in the trash eliminates questions and accusations. Errands are run with convenient stores in mind to satisfy the daily cravings and plates and bowls used at night while alone are cleaned and returned to the cupboard without a trace of use. Empty containers too large are bagged and placed in the trunk of my car to dispose of later of thrown in teh garage underneath clutter. No different that covering up a murder scene and I guess that’s a pretty accurate analogy since I’m slowly killing myself. One would laugh at the thought of a murder victim willing helping its murderer but that seems to be my insanity. Upon hearing my brief confession my friend stated with astonishment, “You’re an addict!” I chuckled but it sure hits hard when you’re seen through someone else’s eyes.

People have refused to sit next to me on airplanes. I need to sit at a table instead of a booth in restaurants because I can’t fit. I’ve broken toilet seats at home, work and two at my sister’s house. One would think the embarrassment of such events would demand change, but I continue to eat. I have a beautiful family, a wife and two daughters that depend on me but it’s not enough. Why??!! What will it take? I had a friend in Memphis that was hospitalized due to alcoholism. Jim asked him while visiting if he’d had enough fun yet and if he was ready to work the program of AA. The poor soul shook his head while shuffling across the room pushing and IV and said, “Nope. I’m still having fun.” A week later he was dead. Am I going to be that guy? Will anything get through to me?

Last night my sister asked me about my edema and teh new dosage of insulin I was currently perscribed. I told her the two types I was on and the oral medication. She repeated the amount in disbelief and just shook her head. The stares of strangers are horrible, but the astonishment, disappointment and disgust of loved ones shatters something within.

Shame is a constant shadow and it whispers I’ll feel better if I have a something to eat. Reese’s is selling new King Sized Peanut Butter Eggs for Easter. You can guess how I know.