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.

Free Lunch Tomorrow

I started becoming truthful with others about where I’m at physically, mentally and emotionally. Actually I only told my wife and best friend. Everyone I know believes I have a weight issue. I do, but it’s “a symptom of a much greater problem.” This was never more evident than when I overheard friends I hadn’t seen in twenty years talking about how huge I had become. Talk about an awkward silence when they realized I was standing there. Even my doctor believes, “There’s no other hope for someone like you but lap band surgery.” “Someone like me” I have been officially categorized. That still wouldn’t address why I binge eat and I doubt it would limit the amount I consume. I have met two people that had gastric bypass surgery and they are still obese after a couple of years. One almost died of complications. They never knew it wouldn’t take away the obsession with food.

In the past I used my alcoholism as an excuse to hide behind. If you admit you have a disease and ask for help, people will rally around you. You can manipulate that to your advantage by gaining sympathy instead of condemnation. All is done to relieve one of the pressures to do something NOW. If I relapse it’s not my fault, I have a disease that’s ‘cunning, baffling and powerful.’ People love to see effort and despise apathy. They will stay beside you until they realization that you really don’t care to change. Then your temporary reprieve is suspended and it’s time to move on.

A coach once told me that making a come-back is my biggest thing. I always counted on tomorrows. Having coasted through everything from school, sports, relationships and work only to excel when needed, the fire and drive of consistency has never been there. Once I fought for a starting position with blood, sweat and tears only to move to another state after my dad was transferred. I had won the position but never reaped the rewards. I never fought like that with such drive and determination again. Perhaps that explains the internal inability to care much about anything. I don’t know. That seems too packaged. I want to care and I want that drive but it seems too have evaporated from me entirely.

I recall while in the Marines I had difficulty with a run, and my sergeant yelled a hypothetical motivation that my platoon was under fire and was in need my .50 cal or they would all die. I looked up from my gasps and yelled, “Fuck them!” He was clearly stunned and didn’t speak anymore as we caught up to the rest. I guess he concluded that if I didn’t care then he would do the caring for me. My transfer to another platoon soon followed. Again, people love to see effort and despise apathy. Perhaps that has something to do with it? I feel like it’s a good surface scratcher but something runs deeper. The question now is do I want to know?

During a recent visit to my diabetes doctor, I asked point blank how much longer I can continue with uncontrolled blood sugars before it starts affecting me (as if it hasn’t already with neuropathy in my legs and feet). Again, it would seem I was asking to stage a big come-back. The comment was IF you can get this under control you SHOULD be ok. There’s that hope of tomorrow that I SHOULD be able to... I have attempted for twelve years to get diabetes under control and I’m still not able to. The doctor and nutritionist were not sure why I was experiencing major edema and a host of other ailments and I finally told them the truth, I’m a compulsive overeater and I binge regularly. Instantly I hoped that this wouldn’t be another reprieve seeking stunt as I did with alcoholism in college and in the work place.

I have been giving the doctor and nutritionist insulin and the food amounts consumed daily that I planned on implementing the following day. I was planning for a tomorrow that never comes. The doctor semi-yelled, “This is your tomorrow!” Every time I had a doctor’s visit I would focus on the seriousness of the disease and pledge to begin tomorrow right after I ate what I wanted on the way home that day. I need to wake up. This is insanity at its best. Thankfully they understood my deception and denial then adjusted my medications having finally been given the truth. I could tell that they had been here many times with others. The exchanged glance lead me to conclude that many “like me” never see that tomorrow. They suggested a psychologist. That may help determine why the necessity of ‘right living’ that would determine life or death seems to be wishful thinking that denial shoves in a closet.

When I was young I made fun of fat people. One kid in particular cried over my harassing and said, “There’s something wrong with my metabolism!” and I said, “Yeah, and there’s something wrong with that Twinkie you’re putting in your mouth too.” At the time I would eat a whole box of Twinkies behind the garage of my childhood home to escape the chaos of screaming in the house. My weight didn’t show due to sports activities. Now I’m on the receiving end of such comments and the most painful event was when a woman refused to sit next to me on an airplane. She made a spectacle and the stewardess tried to guide her quietly to another seat. She said loud enough for everyone to hear, “They shouldn’t make you sit next to people like that.” I did nothing. What could I say? Had I not directed that venom towards others in the past? I had officially been exposed to having crossed the fence and become one of “those” people.

Karma’s a bitch.

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.