Hello.... again

Two and a half years it's been since I last posted, good years in some ways and rough in some ways. I quit OA and gradually I quit my abstinence program, especially in the year since trump went on the campaign trail and began to... akkkkkkkk.... don't get me started on him. Talk about anger and resentment. Whoooosh. I should work the steps about my relationship to mr. trump. I really should. In the past 5 months I went heavily back into binging on chocolate. Daily.

Two weeks ago I started abstinence on chocolate. again. I pray for help with this, because chocolate is the mother of all my addictions. I can not do it alone. Chocolate is poison to me, because when I start consuming it, I can not stop... 800, 1,000, 2,000 calories a day in chocolate and very little else. Alcoholics understand this. Most others do not. My internal systems don't like it. I get sick a lot. Plus I've gained almost all my weight back. Again. And that makes me uncomfortable and less active. Sugar isn't so hot either, I will eat almost anything with sugar until it is gone. So, I hope to become abstinent on cake, cookies, pastries, candy, ice cream as well as chocolate. Today I was not. I don't know about tomorrow.

I've missed my blogger friends. I need you now more than ever because I don't have OA anymore.

Walking Dead

I just returned from my OA meeting, which I've previously described as a lifeline to sanity, or at least partial sanity. At the meeting I spoke about Terry. I stopped reading about her, the book her dad wrote as he struggled to understand her alcoholism and resulting death. But I can't stop thinking about her.

I spoke about her at OA, or rather about me, about how I identify with her, how the life of an addict, whether the substance is food or alcohol or drugs, is not life. It is walking dead, the grip of compulsive thought and actions dragging the person (me) into walking purgatory.

Drama. Is this merely high drama of the season? I don't know.

What I crave at the moment is not a fix, not a solution, not even recovery. At this moment I crave understanding. I want my OA friends, my wasband, people who know and care about me to tell me they understand what I'm saying, understand what walking dead is.

+ _ + _ + _ + _ + _ + _ + _ + _ +

An hour later...

Thanks to Retta! Her comment on my previous post led me to Sean, who threw me a lifeline of understanding, here. Wow! I'm now reading Sean's posts from a year ago, interrupted for a few seconds to make note of how blessed by understanding I am!

Starting Over

Have you ever devoured an entire cheese cake, a thick, bakery-fresh, New York style, cheese cake, one designed to serve 4 people, in one sitting? If so, you know how horrible it makes you feel a little while later, and how fuzzy your teeth get.  If not, don't. It does not fix your despair. It does not make you feel better. In fact, quite the contrary, it makes you feel a thousand times worse, as you set your abstinence back to zero... again... as you realize once again that compulsive eating makes you feel crazy. I know, because that's what happened yesterday.

The good news is, that was yesterday. Today I was abstinent. Reminder to self: it makes you feel great to be abstinent.

That's all for today. Tomorrow is another new day, day 2 maybe.

Downward Spiral

HELP!

Help me, please. I am on a downward spiral of eating too much, especially too much bread, jam, honey, and restaurant foods. This past Saturday and Sunday, both days, I found an excuse to be alone, drove to a bakery, bought a large cookie, and ate it sneakily in the car before returning to my quilting buddies (on a retreat).

This, after 452 days of abstinence... no cookies, no candy, no pie, no ice cream, no pastries, and most importantly, no chocolate (which is my absolutely worst addictive substance). Cookies are a road to chocolate.

I am so afraid of getting into my old binging ways, where shame and fear rule me, where my weight skyrockets and I hate myself.

Today and yesterday I was abstinent. Two days. I must remember that 452 days began with one day, and then a second day.

Meetings? Yes, I go to meetings. Steps? Do I work the steps? Well, I have probably spent 30 hours working the steps in the last 6 months. I don't have a sponsor. I do have one. But she is on a year-long road trip. And I never really asked for her help.

One of my many problems, is I don't trust that anybody or anything can help me. See? I'm still having a problem with steps 2 & 3. It all felt clear when I was writing in the 12-Step workbook, but now I'm lost again.

I feel dirty. Eating those two cookies makes me feel dirty. Eating them gave me no comfort and no relief; it only made me feel dirty, sneaky, and stupid.

Usually, when I write here, I try to end on a positive note. At this moment, I can not find a positive note.

Dark Emotions - Am I a Stranger to Myself?

Dark emotions

I'm reading Healing Through the Dark Emotions by Miriam Greenspan, for me a fiercely compelling book, because it's so evident that my troubles with addiction find their roots in not allowing the dark emotions of grief, fear, and despair into my life since early childhood. The author, a psychotherapist, believes that these three emotions (grief, fear, and despair) are the mother emotions (my term), the emotions at the bottom of the heap, under anger, under depression, under actions such as addiction, suicide, and aggression.

We are taught, she says, by our family and culture to suffer in silence, or to deny suffering exists at all, taught to suppress the dark emotions, especially in public, in any but the most intimate personal relationships, taught to compose ourselves, taught that display of authentic sorrow is bad form, a sign of emotional weakness. We feel guilty and abnormal, criticizing ourselves as "over-sensitive" for expressing the dark emotions, even for fleeting moments. These teachings carry on generation to generation. My mother, learning from her family not to cry, taught it to me by ignoring me whenever I cried, or discounting my grief by telling me to stop crying because everything was going to be OK. If I had any children, doubtless I would have taught them the same lessons, because until now, I did not know that I could heal my grief and despair by feeling it, by crying, by allowing it a legitimate place in my being.

Am I a stranger to myself, not even aware of my fears, grief, and despair, numbing myself with food, playing solitaire on my computer, and compulsively working? What can I remember from childhood about the teachings I received? How have I suppressed dark emotions in the past few days? I believe these are important questions to consider, important enough to spend time painting the answers with words.

Childhood teachings

Sadness, grief, and despair were certainly not approved. I know this because I was always told by my mother and grandmother "don't cry." I recall my grandmother making waffles, allowing me to fill all the holes with maple syrup, wait until the syrup seeped into the waffle, and then fill them again. "See," she'd say, "now it's all better." Fill the holes with sugar. Don't cry. Eat and be merry. I lived with my grandmother from age 5 to 7, two years of learning how to grieve my father's death and my mother's absence with food, especially sugar, to not talk about Daddy or Mommy, to stifle my angst, my sadness, my fears and despair.

From my mother, it was a slightly different teaching, although she also practiced self-medication with sugar, never crying, never voicing her own grief and despair about her husband's death, about her mother's death, about the cold war, about anything. Her primary method of dealing with any of my expressed dark emotions was to ignore me. I'd go in my room, wailing, in torment about being slighted by a neighborhood kid, flopping over my bed, suffering loudly, wanting her to come to me, hold me, rock me, comfort me. But she would not come. And when I finally composed myself enough to rejoin the family, it was as if nothing had happened at all. Grief and despair were thus discounted, as being unworthy of parental attention or discussion. I don't blame my mother. When Mom was only 11 years old, her mother died. She too was not allowed by her father or paternal grandmother to grieve.

Fear? I'm not sure about fear. I do not recall voicing fears during childhood at all, although I do remember having them. For example, being tall, the tallest girl in all my grade school classes, taller than most boys, when we had nuclear attack drills, not fitting under the desk, my legs sticking out, unprotected, I feared when the bombs dropped, my legs would be ripped off. I'd become a cripple, unable to walk. I'm certain I never voiced that fear to anybody.

More importantly, back when I was 5 and 6, I'm sure I was afraid my mother would never return to "rescue" me from my grandmother. I don't recall asking anybody if she would return. Maybe I did. Maybe my grandmother discounted my fear by telling me, "Don't be a silly old goose... of course she'll come," thus teaching me that expressing fears means I am a silly goose, definitely not OK.

Fear

Fear might be the mother dark emotion for me. If I express it at all, it's as an instant flash of hot, viscous anger, striking out verbally, especially at those close to me, like my husband in recent years, like my brother, like my parents when I was a teenager. In the moment of expression, I'm not aware, even in the slightest, that my anger is fear-based. It takes a lot of working though my angry emotions and actions to find the under-lying fear.

I can think of many examples of this. Here's an incident that happened more than 10 years ago, one that I didn't realize was fear-based until just this moment.

My parents had moved into an assisted living facility. The eldest of my brothers and I had flown to St. Paul to help prepare their house to sell, to facilitate a garage sale of their down-sized belongings, and to dispose of what couldn't be sold or given away. Tensions grew between the two of us, until a few days after arriving I blew up at him, starting an ugly verbal fight that ended with us not speaking to each other for the remainder of our stay. He was this; he was that; he did this; he did that; he was one bad dude, and my anger was justified, even after it diminished and we returned to our "get along sibling" mode. That's what I thought until just now.

What was under all that fault, blame, anger, and isolation? Fear! It was my fear about my parents. Were they going to die soon? Did moving to assisted living spell their imminent demise? Would I be abandoned again? Would I ever see them again? I was afraid. And my poor brother suffered the consequences. Maybe he was afraid too. Most men, taught early in childhood how it's not OK to be a "scaredy-cat," deny their fears entirely. Maybe his fear manifests in anger too. When we could have supported and comforted each other, instead we had an enormously damaging fight, all because we didn't even realize we were simply afraid.

I could, and probably should, write about many such events in my life, shouting and cursing in anger, not aware that it's really fear I am feeling. Can I change? Can I think "fear," allowing myself to feel fear before I throw flames of anger? I have a lot of shame around my outbursts of anger. Wouldn't it be wonderful to have less shame and anger?!

Grief

Dictionary definition: deep or intense sorrow or distress, especially at the death of someone.

I've tried to acknowledge and work through the grief I must have felt when my father died (when I was just turning 5 years old), and the abandonment by my mother when she immediately returned to college, leaving my brother and me with our paternal grandparents. I've journaled, written poems, and made artwork (see below). Have I finished feeling my grief? I don't know.

Not one to cry, as you already know, I have to look for other ways to express my grief. When my step father (whom I loved dearly) died, I made spirit dolls from his neckties for each member of the family. When my mother died, I made a collage with pieces of the vests she wore. Journaling visually with bead embroidery, I celebrate the beauty in each of them, and our shared love (here/Mom and here/Dad).

But losing my parents as an adult, I hardly spoke out loud about my sadness, not to anyone, and I only cried once. People sent me cards, and I looked at them like a stranger. To whom were they offering condolences? Does that mean I aborted the grieving process? Silly old goose, won't get caught with tears in her eyes. Years later, am I numbing grief by eating and playing cards? Is there any way to restart grief, to go through it rather than avoid it? I hope reading about the dark emotions will help me.

Despair

Dictionary definition: to be overcome by a sense of futility or defeat - complete loss of hope.

I recognize despair, and feel it knowingly more than I feel fear or grief. I feel it when I read or listen to the news, when I think about politics, when I am greedy myself or see it in others, when somebody discounts me because I am a woman, or old, or fat. I used to feel it quite painfully when I went to a dance. I felt despair in my marriage. I feel despair almost daily, when I am unable to stick to my food plan, when my weight keeps creeping up again.

Talking about despairing feelings is easier than talking about grief or fear, since somehow it was more acceptable in my family to despair, especially about politics, world population growth, violence, and human-caused harm to nature. Still, I wonder if I don't try to numb myself to it most of the time?

This is good

It feels really good to be writing this, to be facing the dark emotions, not yet fully embracing them, not yet understanding their healing powers, but ready to become less of a stranger to myself.

Last weekend, I attended 16 wonderful documentary films at a local film festival, some of them very sad, some full of despair and fear, some of them offering spirituality and hope, some not. Swallowing hard, a big lump in my throat, shutting my eyes, thinking about what I would eat between films, I managed not to cry, just barely. I did not allow myself to speak to anybody about Luna (The Whale), because I knew I could not utter one word without choking up, without my eyes welling with tears. Silly old goose. Thou shalt not cry.

Isn't it time to allow myself to grieve? It's good to be taking a few baby steps in this direction!

Exploring My Need to Win

I recall feeling virtuous, even brilliant, back in my college days, playing whist and pinochle with "the big boys," older boys who had learned to play cards in the service and were returned, going to college on the GI bill. I was proud of myself, holding my own with them, drinking and playing cards long into the night, studies forgotten, every cell in my brain focused on winning, counting and remembering what cards had been played.

In graduate school, I recall playing bridge and later duplicate bridge with the same drive to win, the same steady focus of my attention on the cards and reading subtle nuances of my opponents' facial expression. It was all about winning. I needed to win, and win I mostly did.

This eight-year obsession with cards ended as I developed work-place friends who weren't interested in playing. But the need to win stayed with me, and is still with me, as I discovered in the past few weeks.

A friend called, saying she and her sister wanted me to join them for a card game, "Hand & Foot," a version of Canasta. Mostly a game of luck, winning based on the cards you are dealt and draw, it seems to be played as a social thing, something to do, background "music" to a gathering, time to be and talk with friends, while pleasantly engaged in a light-hearted game; at least that's how it seems to be with them.

We played that first time, and I won. Yay! Fun, I thought, this is quite fun. The next time, my luck was down and I didn't do so well. I heard myself complaining whining about my cards, getting grumpier, not enjoying myself as much as the first time. And the third time we played, a couple of days ago, my luck was horrible. I lost miserably, my score only about a third of the winner's score.

Even KNOWING my face and comments showed my displeasure with every card I drew, with every hand I lost, and with every time the scores were read aloud (after each hand), I couldn't stop myself from exuding negativity. Near the end of the last hand it was inevitable that my friend was the hands-down winner. I put my cards down and declared the game over, she the winner. Nope. Wasn't to be. They play to the end, they told me, and count the points. It's only a game, they said, and we finish the game no matter what.

Why? I didn't understand why they wanted to keep playing or add up the scores when the outcome, the winner, was already known. I guess the answer is that winning isn't the objective of the play for them. What is the objective? I should ask them.

I've been thinking about it a lot, recalling opportunities to play games, such as Trivial Pursuits, which I won't play, EVER, because I know I'm no good at remembering facts and would not win, recalling other times when I was a "poor sport," embarrassing myself as I just did with my friends, recalling getting angry and tearful playing board games as a child whenever luck failed me, recalling how gleeful and smart-ass I can be when winning.

What does this tell me about my life, this compulsion to win, to win or not to play at all? What opportunities have I lost by choosing to not play for fear of losing? How can I retrain myself to be a better sport, to let go of winning, playing more light-heartedly? How did I get this way? Why am I such a poor sport about not winning (and sometimes an equally poor sport about winning)?

I am looking far back in my childhood for clues of understanding. I remember being about 4 or 5 years old at a family gathering with grandma, grandpa, and several of the great aunts and uncles. One of the uncles did magic tricks and staged competitions for me, my 2nd cousin, and my brother. He'd give us each a balloon, telling us to blow it up until it popped, offering a new and shiny fifty cent piece (a lot of money in the 1940s) to whichever of us first popped their balloon. Being afraid of the noise and the explosion of the popping balloon, I couldn't do it. Every time there was a family gathering, we played this same game; every time I lost, didn't get the much-desired coin.

That's my earliest memory of a game. I see a vague picture of the two boys, my brother and cousin, huddled together admiring the coin, my uncle beaming at them, maybe a few other relatives standing around to watch the game, smiling at them. Did I feel abandoned, ignored, worthless? Did my immature brain decide then and there to never play a game unless I could win? Did resentment begin to build, resentment that I still carry to a card game with friends, resentment about not being a winner, and therefore not important, not worthwhile, nearly invisible?

Here is the bigger question: Do I see LIFE as a game that must be won? Do I miss life opportunities for fear I won't win? Am I a poor sport when I can't be in control, when life deals me a "bad hand?" Do I cast a cloud of resentment over myself and others whenever I'm in a no-win situation? Do I fear the invisibility of players who do not stand on the winning platform?

I continue to ponder, trying to understand, trying to change.

I Just Ate Compulsively

I've been feeling blue all day. I found no solace at the OA meeting this morning, which is surprising, as generally there's at least one pearl offered and received. I found no excitement in quilting this afternoon. I went to a Contra dance, after having not danced for 15 years, and sat out half of the numbers. There were about 10 more women there than men, and I was an unknown entity. So I guess it was a given that I would find myself in that awkward wall-flower position, smile pasted on my face, growing more uncomfortable by the minute. When I got home this evening, I realized that my bra straps must have been showing all evening.... that sinking "spinach on the teeth" feeling.... the "I'm no good" feeling... the blues closing in on me.

And so, I got out a bag of dried coconut and started binging. It never even crossed my mind that "the answer is not in the bag of coconut." The driving force, the need to comfort myself, just took over. All that I've learned in OA was invisible until I ate so much coconut that I felt physical discomfort.

Isn't that ironic? I'm seeking comfort, in my old, compulsive way, and end up with greater discomfort. Right now, at this moment, I understand people who purge. I can imagine the relief. I've never purged, and most likely never will because I super hate throwing up.

Last night, when I couldn't sleep, I got out the "Big Book" of Alcoholics Anonymous. Flipping through the stories at the end of the book, #15 caught my eye. It starts out like this:

When I had been in A.A. only a short while, an oldtimer told me something that has affected my life ever since. "A.A. does not teach us how to handle our drinking," he said. "It teaches us how to handle sobriety."

Because I eat compulsively when I experience discomfort (due to fear, boredom, loneliness, whatever), it's important for me to learn other ways to handle discomfort. OA has taught me some tricks. But tonight they were simply not in my consciousness at all. I hope, like the author of #15, that by persevering with OA, and all it offers, I will learn how to handle sobriety (in the sense of not compulsively overeating).

Two Poems

Written from my current beadwork project about a week apart. The model is easy to do. I sit quietly for a moment and then take a couple of minutes to write down all the words and/or phrases that come into my mind as I look around me (in this case, looking at my beadwork and beading supplies). When I run out of things to write, I circle the word or phrase that seems the most compelling at that moment.  The first line of my poem is "I am _____________ (that word or phrase). Then I use other words/phrases on the list to write a poem about myself.  Here they are:

#1

I am scattered
I want to be one of the other
words or phrases
such as I am peaceful
or I am purple
or I am flowing
but the truth is
I AM scattered right now
as I cut through
the crumpled remains
of the soft colors
of my marriage dream
I am scattered
as I pack all my things in a box
drained of energy
traffic noise in my head...
oh flower fabric and aqua beads
may you refill my cup of life
               PB March30, 2013

#2

I am delicate
emotionally delicate I guess
a little unusual for me
my heart is folded
my wedding rings still on my finger
my life flowing along
as if everything was normal
as if everything was the same
I am circled by beads
beautiful, graceful, pretty beads
are supporting a new phase...
like the buterfly
I will take a new form
yet with the same life blood
the same heart as before
                  PB April 14, 2013

Writing out these poems seems to be the most accurate way of recording what is going on right now. I'm tired, scattered, called by food (my mother addiction), plagued by all the subsidiary addictions. I constantly think I need, make that NEED something... need to buy a ruffled bedskirt, need to have a handful of nuts, need to call my friend L, need  to buy new walking shoes, need to make a cup of tea, need to take some Aleeve...it's about needing to find something to fix it, to make myself feel better. The answer's not there. Where is the answer? Maybe there just isn't an answer. Maybe I just feel sad and delicate and scattered, and that's the way it is.

Second Guessing Myself

Decisions to be made.... huge, life-changing decisions being made quickly... no sitting on the fence. Two helpful conversations with my OA support team (that's what I'm calling two members of my Overeaters Anonymous group) today... and now writing about it. Here are the topics:

What will it cost me emotionally?
and

The illusion of being cared for...

The situation is this. My husband and I have filed for divorce.

Time: We want to live apart. We both want the change to happen as soon as possible. He will remain in the home we have; I will move. We agree on this.

Options: I do not want to move twice. Therefore, I do not want a temporary living situation, such as a short-term rental. Having owned my own place for 40 years of my life, I do not want to rent. Therefore, I made a firm decision to buy a home or possibly a condo. I wish to be moved by the end of March.

Possibility A: I live on an island. It is a great community which feels very safe to me. My good friends, doctor, dentist, OA group, beading/quilting/fiberarts groups, and my local internet provider are all here. I found an affordable home to buy, but it is not conventional and it is not real estate. It is a manufactured home. The rent per month to keep it in the Manufactured Home Park (very nice place), is fairly high. Resale is difficult and can take 2-3 years.

Possibility B: A 1-hour ferry ride away from "my" island, on the mainland, there is a small city with a full-service hospital and many other amenities. I like it there and can see myself living there. I found a nice home for sale in a small, attractive, developed community. The Home Owners Association dues cover ALL outside maintenance (roof, paint, landscaping). 

My choice: I listed all the pros and cons of these two places in writing. They are very evenly balanced, the good of one balancing the bad of the other. Finally, the plus of staying physically close to my friends/community and the comparative ease of a local move tipped the scales toward the home here (A).

Offer on island home: So I made an offer, which was accepted. I had it inspected, and received the report yesterday. There are a few non-major problems which need to be addressed.

Second guessing myself: As soon as I made the offer, I began to question if the off-island home (B) might be a better deal. I fretted for a while. But, after reviewing the pros and cons list, I returned to the same card that tipped the scales in the first place. Then the offer was accepted. Another round of second guessing. Again the importance of my friends and community tipped the scale toward A. Now today, I'm looking at the inspection report and yet another round of angst is with me, which is why I'm writing this post. To write is one of the best OA tools for me. And all of this is making me want to give up my abstinence, even chocolate, the most addictive fix for me.

OA supporters say:  This morning I talked with two members of my OA group, both of whom are clear-thinkers, grounded, and good listeners. Both asked good questions and brought up several points I didn't consider previously. One of them said this:

It's an illusion that I will be taken care of in home B.

The significant word is "illusion." Yes, the outside of the home and property is taken care of for a modest monthly HOA fee. But does that mean I am being taken care of? Does that sustain me? She suggests that friends and community are what sustain a person, not lawn mowing and exterior home maintenance. I think she is right. I would build new friendships, find a  new Dr., and join new groups if I move off the island... but it would take time, and it would leave me more or less alone at a time of stress (divorce).

The other OA friend said this:

It all boils down to, "What will it cost me emotionally to leave the island?"

The significant phrase is "cost me emotionally." The emotional cost, in his opinion, outweighs other cost considerations such as resale value, monthly payments, and costs of exterior upkeep.

Trump Card: Shall I let go of Possibility B? Shall I recognize and respect my strong need for stability of community at this time? Shall I let that card trump all of the others, and stop second guessing myself, go with the current offer and make it work? Can I get off the fence and go with it? Yes, I can.... But, will I? 

yes

<>   <>   <>

PS. The above conversations with OA members were outside of and not related to the OA meeting. Confidentiality is not being breached here.

After Christmas

A friend says, all the stuff to eat on Christmas is like bombs going off...

I think of it as a WWII movie scene, where the whole city is being bombed by pies and cookies and cakes and pastries and more than anything else,

big,

huge,

decadent,

dark

chocolates.

I’m down there scrambling to avoid being hit. Whamo! One lands 2 inches from me. And another! And yet another! There’s no shelter; I’m in one H of a mess.

Sometimes

I

succumb. 

Well, today there are fewer bombers overhead. I’m grateful for a little respite in the deluge.These past few weeks, I have not kept to my abstinence program. I have eaten 2 cookies, 1 slice of pumpkin bread, several slices of yulekaga, a bunch of crackers with butter and honey on them. These things are not on my program.

I need to reset the counter. This morning I had a slice of yulekaga. A little of the loaf (given to us by a neighbor) remains. I will probably finish it off later today. I am making a commitment to reset the counter, back to zero, as soon as the yulekaga is gone. Wish I could do it right now and leave the remainder for my husband. Could I do that? Maybe. I feel weak and helpless.... and sad.

It's a sad thing to reset a counter when it has 818 days of abstinence on it. That's 2 1/4 years of not eating one single bite of chocolate, cookies, pie, candy, cake, ice cream, or pastries. Gotta pat myself on the head for that one! Looking at the positive side of the relapse coin, at least I realize I am sliding deeper into relapse mode... eating more, edging up to the abstinence items by eating sweetened yogurt (how is that different than ice cream?) and crackers (the ones that are closest to cookies) and sweet breads (close as I can get to pastries).

There is light and good news in this story. I have not nibbled chocolate in any way. Chocolate, for me, is the most addictive substance of all. So far, I am still abstinent on chocolate. Although many times in the past few weeks, the little devil has sat on my shoulder saying, "It's OK! You've blown your abstinence program, you might as well have me as well. You can go back to abstinence some other day, later, maybe tomorrow. But just for today, you can have me. I come in many new, delightful forms, especially right now. You wouldn't want to miss that, would you?"

So far, the OA group consciousness, correspondence with my OA friends, and the unseen hand of my HP have helped me resist the devil chocolate's insane temptation. For this, my gratitude is huge.

For weeks (months?), I've been avoiding writing here in Words Paint. Why? I think it's because I've been straying more and more from my eating program, not caring how much I ate for each meal, eating/snacking between meals, gaining weight, edging slowly toward the abyss, the dark place where daily binges, self-disgust, self-loathing, and morbid obesity tear me apart. I know, because I've been there... more than once.

In that place, I care for nothing but to consume. In that place the tools of OA, the support of my friends and family, mean nothing to me. And so, as I slip toward that place, I begin to miss meetings, and I stop writing.

Today I am here. Saturday I will go to the meeting. I will reset the counter. On my knees, I thank God that I have not yet tumbled fully into the dark place. I thank God for this day, this Words Paint place of honesty and hope.

Honestly....

Feeling blue today, lonely, sad. Trying to get in touch with these feelings, explore them, accept them... rather than take the easy way out, the coward's fix... food. Some reasons why I might feel blue...

1.

Oh heck, I don't want to dwell on the blue side of life. Or maybe I don't want to know why I'm sad, maybe I'm afraid of knowing. I was sad yesterday too. Rain and chilly weather... I could blame wanting to eat and wanting to take naps on the weather...

Or maybe I could look for some sunshine. This is a diary post, just writing, not thinking much... journaling. Topic at OA meeting today was "being honest with ourselves." Lots of ways we can look at that topic... I suggested it because I don't think I'm being honest with myself about my weight gain in the past year or about what really is at the bottom of the gain. I came away thinking I'd said such dumb things. I drove home thinking that every person in our safe, loving group is at least overweight; some obese. Am I overweight, borderline obese, or obese? I really don't know the guidelines. Hmmm... I'll Google that one.

I just read a bunch of stuff about BMI (body mass index), and some guidelines for gender/age/height weight. According to that (and to what I know about myself, where and how weight is distributed over my body), I figure I am about 22 pounds over weight. I was within 9 pounds of an acceptable number a year ago, and have gained 13 pounds in the year since then, most of it in the last 6 months.

I gained the weight by overeating... not following my food plan. The results? Goodbye size 10 jeans; hello size 12; then hello tight size 12. More importantly, the results are that I'm feeling sad, discouraged, self-deprecating.

I'm admitting to myself and to others the exact nature of my wrongs. I binged on chips, bread, cereal, butter, nuts, and peanut butter, overeating in this manner nearly every day since sometime last fall. I gave myself much larger portions than I needed to satisfy hunger. I regularly cruised the kitchen, thinking something to eat, a treat, would make my life easier or make me feel better. Wallowing in weakness, I gave in to compulsive overeating, knowing I was doing it, doing it anyway. I am telling the truth about myself.

No more lying to myself, saying I'm the same as I was a year ago, saying maybe I just gained a pound or two, saying my eating is only slightly off-program.

This seems to be a good starting point for the rest of my life, eh? One day at a time, even one hour at a time, eating according to my food plan. For today: a sensible, light breakfast (done), a sensible lunch, a sensible dinner, no snacks or between-meal eating. This is a gift to me from me (and my higher power) for today.

Need to Write the Journey

Been a month nearly since Peaceful Bird wrote anything here in the land of Words Paint. That's too long.

I've been writing lots of words... my first book submission on Sept. 1 was about 16,000 of them, plus 118 images, about the same number of 3D objects, an art log and a contact sheet for all the images. These words are fun to write and challenging in a good way. But they are words about beads, words that come from the mind mostly... a little from the heart and soul, I guess, but mostly the intellect... orderly, sane, comprehensive, in the style required by the publisher.

These are not the words of a food addict, someone who overeats and binges. That part of me goes underground while I'm writing the book. In our OA meeting last Saturday, I suggested the topic of "Relapse." Although I'm not yet eating any of my binge foods, remaining totally abstinent on them, I feel dangerously close to the edge of that old binge insanity. I have been overeating and snacking... gaining at least a few pounds by the feel of my jeans and loosing self esteem with every extra bite. I said that at the OA meeting.

A few of the members who've been around the block for many years had some good wisdom to offer. One talked about the OA tools available to us and named them. When I heard the word "write" I knew instantly that Words Paint could help me step away from the edge. So here I am, writing my little heart out. My plan is to write as often as possible, but not to participate in the blog world right now, not until my second and third (final) submissions are finished. But, write I must.

Another tool for me has been gratitude. When I feel gratitude, it takes over my being, warms me, takes away the desire to feed myself with foods. So part two of my new plan is to list my gratitude at the end of each post.

That's all for now. I'm making a commitment to writing and gratitude....

+ + + + + + + + + + + +
Today's gratitude list: little green tree frogs, our garden, fresh vegetables, my husband, Lisa, Christi and Liz, Beethoven, opportunities, challenges, members of the local OA group, nippy fall mornings

A Gazillion Lies About Food

Still on the subject of telling lies. Thinking about some of the lies I've told about food... to people I don't know, to store clerks, to close friends, to family, to myself. Just for fun, here are a couple of them...

Lie told to a very close woman friend about 2 years ago

On my way to her house to have a pot-luck lunch with a couple of my quilting friends, I stopped at the grocery store to buy a roasted chicken. Cookies there calling me loudly. Like home-made and only $1.00 for three of the lovelies with macadamia nuts and white chocolate. So I bought a dozen. Got in my car with cookies and chicken, opened cookie bag, chowed one down. Ate another while driving. Was almost to friend's house, but wanted to eat a couple more (this was becoming an uncontrollable binge). Parked my car by the side of the road, ducked my head down, and ate cookies, one after another.

Meanwhile, my friend, driving from a work errand in town, passed my car and recognized it. With 6 remaining cookies, I arrived a few minutes later at her house. "What were you doing parked by the side of the road?" she asked. "Wasn't me." I replied. "Looked like your car," she said. "Nope, guess there are a lot of blue Honda Civics, huh." Flat out lie.

Since starting OA, I told her about that lie and apologized. Feel better about it now.

One of many lies I've told my husband about me and food

Because of having a family that has suffered greatly from alcohol abuse, my husband understands about addiction. When we met 14 years ago, long before OA, I knew I was addicted to chocolate. At times I would go abstinent on chocolate and when I met him was one of those times. We shared that we were both abstinent on alcohol and for me, also chocolate. This was a good bond for us.

A couple years later, I slipped on the chocolate. I thought I could have it just one time, at one special occasion, which of course set me off rolling down the slope of more and more chocolate, more and more binging. But I didn't tell my husband. First lie... lie of omission.

In order to maintain that lie, I had to sneak my chocolate. I had to tell many lies to hide my daily chocolate fixes. One time we were waiting for the ferry and I HAD to have a fix. Standing at the vendor, paying for a bag of M & Ms, my husband walked in, surprising me and catching me in the act. "I'm buying these for you! And they were supposed to be a surprise," I said, covering for my irritated attitude at being caught.

It's a fact...

I have a history of telling a lot of lies concerning my behavior around food, little lies and big whoppers. It makes me feel creepy when I do it; and it makes me feel creepy now to admit it, to write about it, to remember some of them.

I prefer to think of myself as a fundamentally honest person. Honesty is something our parents and teachers encouraged. Honesty is something I admire in others.

So, what's under the lies? What do they have in common? Mostly, I think, I lie to conceal behaviors for which I feel shame. I have a great deal of shame around not being normal about food, about not being able to control what and how much I eat, and around my weight, about my size and shape and at times obesity.

Shame is under the lies. What is under shame? Is it fear? I think so. Fear of not being loveable, fear of death, fear of loneliness, fear of being wrong, fear of ultimate failure as a human being.

Today, I accept the fear. It is real and it is part of me. I accept.

********
Gratitude: shooting stars just starting to bloom, quilting friends, OA

Sisterly Thoughts at 2 AM

I'm a night owl... always have been. I love the wee hours, the darkness and the quiet, a time when I can get things accomplished, when work happens quickly and efficiently.

My sister is like that too, maybe even more inclined than I to sleep in daylight hours and play at night. Fifteen years ago, when I lived in Seattle and ran a small bead business, she used to come to my house after she got off work at her second-shift job and we'd weigh or count, package and price beads I had bought in the Czech Republic. Good times, good memories of us chatting and working together from midnight until 3 or 4 AM. Her help and companionship were blessings to me in so many ways.

I always trusted her to know when to ask vs. when to make decisions on her own. She had an uncanny ability to question my decisions exactly when they were dubious. If I had a regular business with employees, I would hire her instantly and pay her top dollar.

Sadly, we've grown apart since those fun times together. She's married now with a grade-school-aged, adopted son. We still live in the same state, but not within easy visiting distance. I miss her, miss the closeness we had in beadland.

I'm the eldest in the family; she's the youngest. Sixteen years between us. For a long time, I was almost a mother figure in her life, maybe still am. Our mother worked full time, leaving me as her day-time babysitter during the summers. Often people thought she was my child.

After graduating HS, she moved into my home as a roommate, which sort of worked OK, except that we still had aspects of mother/daughter in our relationship. It wasn't until those nights of bead-sorting together, working together, that a more sisterly relationship finally emerged.

Both of us have food addiction issues. Both of us have struggled all our adult lives with obesity and diets. A few weeks ago when we talked on the phone, she said she needed to find a way to make a change, that her health was poor in several significant ways because of her weight and dismal eating habits. I told her about OA and suggested she give it a try.

I don't want to push her, knowing full well that it won't do any good. Yet, I love her so much and want the best for her, want her to find her way back from the death grip of addiction. I wish I knew how to help her.

* * * * * * * * *
Today's gratitude: 53 degrees - yahooo, first motorcycle ride of the year - double yahoooo, my sister, my husband, deep purple crocus

Difficult Subject

We grappled with the difficult subject of suicide in our OA meeting today. Members talked about how serious medical issues are caused by or worsened by overeating, about how both mind and body suffer terribly from a long-term pattern of binging and other compulsive eating disorders, about how it's a slow way of killing ourselves, a passive death.

It's got me thinking about my addiction to alcohol, an extremely active addiction in my 20s and 30s, and how I took so many risks with life then, like passing out with my car running, like driving in total black-out condition or driving fast and recklessly in the early stages of getting drunk. Was that behavior a semi-passive way of attempting suicide? Looking back, it certainly seems possible.

Why? Why would I want to kill myself? I don't know. Except for one broken-hearted occasion, I don't recall consciously thinking, "I want to die." It just seemed like fun, each first drink seeming to be all about having fun. But looking back, each next drink seems increasingly to have invited death to my side. It wasn't that I was unaware of that either. The next morning, I'd realize I'd been driving blacked out... again... and understand what a risk I was to myself and to others. It didn't stop me.

What stopped me with alcohol (and more recently with food) was that someone told me he was an alcoholic. He described his "symptoms" and told me about his AA recovery program. That was 30 years ago. It made a strong impression on me as the light bulb went off about my own compulsive use of alcohol. I quit for good within a year, without the benefit of AA. And now I would have to add, without the benefit of the whole spirituality-based recovery process.

A friend recently told me she considered her life to be a precious gift from God. Her way to repay or return this gift to God is to shepherd herself, to take care of and preserve herself as best she can.

Well that's an interesting thought to me, who's never been religious. Can I think of my life as being a gift? Hmmm, certainly it was a gift from my parents. That I lived through a serious childhood disease is a gift of well-practiced medicine. That I survived years of alcohol abuse is a gift of the universe.

I believe that my parents and doctors had intent behind giving me life. But the universe? Was it just chance? Some people would say not chance. Does it matter? I don't know. But I'm still here. Do I have a purpose and a responsibility because I've been given the gift of life many times over, whether by chance or intent (or a combination of both)?

And how does all this relate to food? Overeating and binging is a way of committing slow suicide, no doubt about it. My whole system... my heart, my joints and possibly most insidiously, my mind... suffers a slow death from overeating. Would I knowingly ingest a small amount of arsenic every day, slowly killing myself? No. Nor would I ever drink alcohol again in my life.

So why would I kill myself with food? I don't know the answer about why. But there is much of me that does want to live. The child within wants to live. I must honor and respect the gift of life.
* * * * * * * * *
Today's gratitude: getting a ride to OA (too much ice and snow for me to drive), quality pens and pencils, coffee, finishing my tax preps last night

Changing Up the Holidays

Dark Thoughts Pointing at Christmas

I am darkness
looking at Christmas,
pointing dark thoughts
at Christmas,
especially at all the hype,
the production
and the requirements
at this time of year.
I am supposed to be happy,
merry and bright.
But I am not.
I am darkness.

I want to change.
I want to hear
the sweet songs
of the Christmas birds.
Where is my big heart
at Christmas?
Follow the birds.

* -_- * -_- * -_- * -_- * -_- * -_- *

The above beading and my poem from 2007 tell my holiday story for many decades, how upside down it all was and how dark, all the way back to my 30s, possibly even my school years. The child got completely lost in the sauce.

As the poem suggests, every year I attributed holiday blues and bah-humbugism to things outside of my self, blaming the world for my unhappiness because of:

• rampant commercialism
• the way society pushes its traditions on us
• not being good at the whole gift giving thing
• lack of spiritual foundation
• pessimism about world peace
• seasonal affective disorder
• not having any children through whose eyes I might experience the so-called magic of Christmas
• my family being geographically scattered

Today I'm here to acknowledge something different, to state the one, encompassing mother-reason for dark thoughts pointing at the entire holiday season starting with Halloween and marching right through Valentine's Day. To day I'm here to admit the one word that sums it all up:

B I N G E

If I was not in diet mode, then I dreaded the holiday season, knowing I would

• embarrass myself taking cookie after cookie, bar after bar, pie after pie, stuffed mushroom after stuffed mushroom at whatever party, dinner, event, restaurant I was at
• stuff myself repeatedly until I was way beyond uncomfortable
• buy every imaginable treat, bring it into my home and rapidly consume it
• binge on sugar both publicly and privately
• probably gain at least 10 pounds, perhaps 20, in five months of celebrating the holidays
• eat rather than talk at social events
• harbor deep resentment against my sugar-craving body
• experience self-loathing and disgust

If I was in diet mode, then I dreaded the holiday season, knowing I would

• be deprived of sweets, craving them, dwelling on them, feeling angry every time I had to pass on available sweets, feeling equally angry every time I "cheated"
• figure out how to have as much fruit cake, pie, chocolate, Christmas cookies, etc. as possible, how to cut the healthy foods way back so I could binge without gaining weight
• face the fact that I'd probably blow my diet, possibly gain back all the pounds I'd lost
• avoid social situations because of deprivation or the possibility of blowing my diet
• experience deep resentment against my body
• ridicule and blame my body for being fat, for preventing me from eating all the treats I want

All-in-all, five months of being a super unhappy person, driven by addiction to a state of perpetual anger, resentment, angst and despair. No wonder dark thoughts pointed at Christmas!

* -_- * -_- * -_- * -_- * -_- * -_- *

Change! Ah-ha! Ho-ho! Change is here! Super, big-time, hallelujah change! Binging is simply not an option any more. It's not about trying to figure out how to cheat my diet any more; nor is it about flat-out gobble it all down. Been there; done both. I am abstinent now. Period!

Gradually, the call of the cookie, the whisper of the pie, the siren song of candy has faded. I don't dwell on or crave these things any more. I rarely think about them at all. And I don't feel deprived.

What does that mean as I look ahead toward Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's Eve and Valentine's Day? It means I have a clean slate! I can re-invent the holidays and look for things to do that will be meaningful or fun. Unlike all years past, where obsession with food and sweets overshadowed everything else, this year I can focus on what is really important!

I feel giddy with excitement about it!

At the same time, I'm fully aware of how shaky sobriety is, about how it's one day at a time with the help of my higher power and fellowship of others who have known what it's like to binge for five months straight, about how feeling my feelings is still very much a learning process.

Shakiness aside, my optimism and child-like wonder at this time of new-beginnings is like the unfolding petals of the sweetest rose imaginable!

Tools of Recovery

Overeaters Anonymous, a program of recovery based on and very much like Alcoholics Anonymous, is deeper than I thought at first, offering a wide range of possibilities for change and healing, proven to work for many individuals. I stumbled into OA through reading Holy Hunger by Margaret Bullitt-Jonas, an amazingly honest and thorough exploration of her personal experiences with binging, purging, dieting, emotion-evading and all the crazy voices in her head which provided every excuse for continuing to eat compulsively.

Although I've never purged, all the rest, the angst, the yo-yo dieting, the binging and obsession with food, the voices, all as she described in her book were exactly as I've experienced for 60 years of my life. It is as if she wrote my story, not hers.

Her story and her book offer an addict, like me, great hope because she turned to OA, admitting her disease and her powerlessness. In accepting her weakness, accepting the support and fellowship of other OA members, accepting the help of a power greater than herself, she turned herself around and was able to stop eating compulsively, stop binging, stop feeling crazy, reach a desirable, healthy weight for her size and remain at that weight without the relentless struggle of dieting.

The biggest benefit, for me, is to stop feeling crazy. It really makes me feel crazy knowing absolutely, without a doubt, that eating a dozen cookies at a time is not a healthy thing to do, knowing that if I eat one, I'll continue eating them until they're gone, and yet I do it. More than the weight, more than the embarrassment about my food habits, more than high cholesterol and other health problems directly related to my eating, much more than all that, I hated the feeling of being crazy and my inability to resist the slightest temptation.

OA teaches us that this is not a motivation or will-power problem. This is a disease, a progressive disease, one that can not be cured with will-power, a diet, a pill, a stay in the hospital or surgery. Yet, it is not hopeless, as once I had thought.

The way I interpret OA, to arrest the symptoms of the disease, two parallel pathways must be followed. The first is to use the tools of OA to stop compulsive overeating. The other is to work the 12 Steps of OA (and AA) to gain a spiritual foundation for change. Tonight I want to write a little more about the tools and about how I am using them at present.

There are eight tools of recovery, as follows:

1. Food plan. Since I definitely suffer the binge syndrome of overeating, where I've been known to eat a whole box of cookies, a whole bag of candy or a whole pint of ice cream in one sitting, the first part of my food plan is to identify and eliminate these foods from my diet completely.

"Why can't I be like other people? Why can't I eat just two cookies or half a piece of chocolate cake?" I don't know the answer, really. It's part of the disease. The important point is not why, but just that not being able to resist or stop is a fact for me. There is no half-way. I ask myself, "Do I want to be abstinent on my binge foods today, just for today?" So far, the answer is "yes."

Other than two slips, I have not eaten any of my binge foods (candy, cake, cookies, pie, ice cream, pastries) since April 17th, which is 199 days!

Just today, in a coffee shop with a fellow OA member, I briefly noticed a huge display of tasty-looking and delicious-smelling assortment of muffins, rolls, sweet breads, cookies and cakes. In the past, I would have been obsessed with looking at them and selecting which one or ones I would eat or equally obsessed with not being able to eat them because of dieting. Today, I noticed them in passing, got my coffee, and thought no more about them until writing a description of them here.

My point? The obsessive compulsion about sweet things is gone! I attribute this delightful change to a food plan of abstaining from eating my particular binge foods. Another benefit? Well, for once, I don't dread the soon-upon-us holiday season, the time of year previously known for stuffing myself with every imaginable treat and gaining 10 to 20 pounds in three months.

The other part of my food plan is simply to eat three meals per day and nothing between meals. I don't pay much attention to what I eat, although "healthy choices" are ingrained after years of dieting. Not eating between meals is definitely a challenge, one I struggle with, particularly during meal preparation. Sometimes I stay with the plan; sometimes I don't. I do the best I can.

Although, because of a previously negative relationship to the scale, I do not weigh myself, I have lost weight, going from a snug size 18 jeans to a comfortable size 12 in the seven months I've been practicing my OA food plan.

2. Sponsorship. I am fortunate to have two sponsors.

One is my sister-in-law, who is 16 years sober in AA. She is an invaluable mentor, guide and support! Talking on the phone and emailing several times a week, she helps me to accept both my success and my failures, to understand the program, and most of all to have patience with it.

My other sponsor is a long-time member of my OA group. A spiritual guide, she is helping me to understand the 12 step program, to face myself and my disease with honesty and to seek help with this journey. I see her at meetings and meet with her one-on-one as needed. Right now, I'm fairly self-motivated, yet I feel her support and am grateful to know when I need her, she'll be there for me.

3. Meetings. I've written about our meetings fairly often, about how they're invaluable to me in this process of recovery. We are united in our weakness and in our commitment to recovery. We share our process and our inspiration to the benefit of all. What if, for some reason, there were no OA meetings where I live? Having experienced the understanding and fellowship of meetings, I would go instead to AA meetings or I would join an on-line, live-participation OA meeting. I am certain meeting are a significant tool in my recovery.

4. Telephone. This is a tool I haven't used very much as I'm not very fond of talking on the phone. Yet, I understand the importance of resisting isolation in recovery. I guess blogging (writing and reading) and emailing are forms of communication like the telephone, yet not so immediate. I shall consider using the telephone a bit more.

5. Writing. Of course this blog is all about writing my feelings, thoughts, process. I love writing here, reading other recovery blogs and the exchange, inspiration and support that happens between us, almost as if we are all meeting together. It's magic for me!

I must also write privately as I work the 12 steps. Here is another area where I'm dragging my feet at the moment. Time to call my sponsor and get some help.

6. Literature. Over the years, AA and OA have amassed a vast library of literature relevant to recovery. There are stories, history, workbooks and guides. I've read and been inspired by several of these, the most recent being The Big Book itself, the fourth edition of the original Alcohol Anonymous book, written by the founders of the program. Quite an unexpected treat, this book both instructs and inspires me, helping me to better understand the concept of alcoholism or compulsive overeating as a disease. I'm currently reading an OA workbook designed to help participants work through the 12 steps.

7. Anonymity. I respect the concept of anonymity in OA. It gives me power to be honest with myself and others. For this reason, I do not use my name or anybody's real name in this blog.

8. Service. Although I have taken responsibility for the meeting-room key, until today, I had not offered my service to anybody else suffering from overeating, at least not directly. Perhaps indirectly, as a result of reading my blog or talking with me about what it's like to suffer the disease of compulsive overeating, I may have been of some slight service to others. However, today I offered to be a food sponsor (as opposed to step sponsor, which by my own standards, I am not yet qualified to do) to another OA member. I don't know where this will lead or how it will be for her. But, I can say that for me, it feels like a good thing, a pathway that can only lead to greater learning and healing, hopefully for both of us.

So this is a summary of the tools and where I am with them in the OA program at this time. My gratitude for having learned of OA and for all the assistance I've received to date is boundless.

Be Patient

Once again, Jules (Big Girl Bombshell) soundly struck a chord in me. The title of her post, Serene Silence... Stopping the Pursuit, offers profound wisdom in just five words. Somehow knowing that my pursuit of answers, especially concerning my marriage, feels like an endless and pointless chase, I crave serene silence of my mind.

Be patient toward all that is unresolved in your heart.
Try to love the questions themselves.
Do not now seek the answers
which cannot be given you
because you would not be able to live them now.
And the point is to live everything.
Live the questions now.
Perhaps, you will then gradually without noticing it,
live along some distant day into the answer.
-- Rainer Maria Rilke

Isn't Jules saying the same thing as Rilke in the above poem? Love the question. Live the question now. How can I do that? Live everything. That I understand a little better; that maybe I can do. Patient? I was not so patient today. I wanted resolution. I wanted the decision about staying or not staying in my marriage to be made.

Chewing the inside of my lips, being tempted by all kinds of baked goods and candy, feeling resentful that I can't use these substances to numb my fretting mind, self-pity close to the surface and ugly even to my eyes, I plowed through the day as if on a tractor constantly bogging down in mud and driving rain. How sweet to finally come in from the rain, to stop the pursuit, even if just for the moments of this writing! Be patient, says Rilke. Yes, I say, and live everything!

Working the Steps

Yesterday I went to an AA meeting with my brother and sister-in-law. Half my life ago, I quit drinking, a habit compulsion that got me into a lot of trouble during my 20s and 30s; but I never went to an AA meeting, just quit cold turkey one day. Surprisingly it wasn't very difficult to quit. Guess I'd had my fill of the repercussions of excess alcohol, plus I had my real addiction, food, still firmly in place. Good, reliable food, easy to hide, perfectly legal and socially acceptable.

Yet, for others it's clear that alcohol is their primary addiction and for them maintaining sobriety must be a huge challenge. My brother, bless his heart, has been clean and sober for 17 years. And at yesterday's meeting my SIL was awarded her 16-year sobriety pin. Everyone there spoke very highly of her, saying how much they admire and are inspired by her honesty. How great it was to be there, filled with respect for both of them!

Once a person has been sober for a while, feeling whole and sane again, not gripped by the need to drink, their life back on track, it must be easy to slip out of the program. Yesterday's meeting, however, was filled with long-time-sober folks who are working the steps, dealing with character issues that lead them into alcohol addiction, issues that still affect their lives and are always a threat to sobriety. The meeting topic was Step 6, We're entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.

Ten thoughts I had while listening to others talk:

1. Defects of character sounds so horrible, yet I know I have them and can name a number of them.
2. Listing my defects of character happens in step 4, which is where I am at the moment in the OA program .
3. How can God remove them? Why would God remove them?
4. Would I be a genuine, whole person without them?
5. I want to fix it myself. I want to identify and then remove my character defects all by myself, no help needed, thank you. I can do this. I think I can, I think I can.
6. But I couldn't stop overeating by myself. That is a fact, proven over and over.
7. I'd be more accepting of step 6 if it were worded differently, if it said, We're entirely ready to have God help us remove all these defects of character, leaving us somewhat in control of our own destiny.
8. To turn it all over to God? Well, that's a concept I resist.
9. Not there yet, I'm only working step 4. Maybe by the time I get to step 6, the concept will have grown on me.
10. My will be done/Thy will be done.... that is the conflict.

What came to me in the meeting as a certainty is that following a food plan and remaining abstinent from my binge foods is just the tip of the ice berg. Yes, I feel much more sane. Yes, I feel more peaceful and less resentful since I began working the program six months ago. Yes, I've lost weight, am more healthy and more fit. Yes, yes, yes!

Yet, like the alcoholic, my underlying character, my unresolved issues, my lack of faith threaten to undermine progress and send me back to food for solace. I accept the challenge, with a nod to my brother, SIL and other participants in yesterday's meeting, of working the AA/OA steps as best I can, with the realization pointed out by my SIL yesterday that I can work the same steps over and over, each time learning something new, each time finding new levels of peace.

Day 77..... again....

Today is my 77th day of abstinence, round two. The first 77 days went quite well and then on day 78 I decided to have an ice cream cone, a breach of abstinence. So I began the count again at zero the next day. At the time, it seemed like it would take forever to reach day 77 again. Yet, here I am! Actually, it's gone rather quickly and painlessly.

Tomorrow will be challenging. I'm taking a class and there will be goodies on the tables and along a buffet counter all day long. I'm taking my favorite cottage cheese and apple lunch. Also, I plan to be hyper aware if the candy bowl on our table is causing me any trouble. If it does, I'll ask my table mates if we can remove it! Promise!

Yes, I have a plan... yet today I am reminded of how fragile sobriety is and of how easy it is to think I have control of the situation. No I don't, not me. Control is an illusion.

A dear friend lost a LOT of weight mostly by working the Weight Watchers program. She'd also been in OA for a long time and understands/accepts her addiction. For me, she's totally validated the idea of loosing weight and maintaining the loss. I know it's possible because of her.

Well, it's been more than a year since I saw her last. Now she's here visiting and I see she's put much of her weight back on again since then.

Fragile sobriety. Something pops. We turn a corner and smack our faces into a chocolate decadence cake. The bottom is reached and up we go again. The dreaded yo-yo. I'm without words to express my sadness about her upward swing or about my fear of all the corners ahead in my own recovery process.

Yet the OA literature is full of stories by those who have recovered - regained their sanity, changed their emotional responses to life's irritants and held to a healthy food plan - staying clean and sober for decades.

Will I be like them or like my friend? I don't know. I can only pray for help and keep trying one day at a time.