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.

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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!

Hard to Pray When I Feel Unworthy

I have to begin by reminding myself that this blog is for me, for my recovery, and not to entertain, enlighten, or help anybody else who happens to stop by.

I've been reading Terry, an account of an alcoholic girl/woman, written by her father after her death at age 45 by passing out, intoxicated, in the snow one freezing night. It's an agonizing read. Terry was charming in many ways, and she tried many, many times to kick the monkey off her back, with little success. It's agonizing because in so many ways I am like Terry, older and not dead yet, but like her, with brief periods of abstinence and long, long periods of abuse.

Right now almost all of my addictions are in full flare up. Alcohol is the one that so far I have avoided. Food. Oh how the food substances have been pouring down my throat, my body screaming to stop, my mind playing its usual tricks. Why do I always fall for it? Why do I always believe that tomorrow will be better? Why do I always think if I eat it all, every crumb on hand, that the next day I can stop?

Terry suffered from depression as well as alcoholism. That's a bit true for me too, although I've never sought counseling for it or medication. I don't quite believe in it either, at least not for general depression and non-specific anxiety. Maybe one of the lies I tell myself is that my depression is seasonal, or occasional, or not so severe as to need help with it.

I still go to OA meetings, feeling more and more guilty, as I mouth nice words about "turning it over," and then come home to my cupboards and refrigerator. Yet going to OA meetings may be my one remaining link to sanity.

For months I've been saying I will listen again to my CDs of the Big Book. I don't do it. My clothes don't fit. I feel horrible. I'm not exercising... not at all.... not even the shortest walk.

Is it helping or hindering to keep reading about Terry? I don't know. I find it compelling on  one hand, the hard grip of the disease so totally unbreakable for her... At the same time, because I see myself shackled to her, it's pretty depressing.

With very brief periods of sticking to a food plan and abstinence, I've been on an ever-increasing spiral of relapse for 2 full years. The weight gain is horrible, yes. But even worse is the self-loathing, lying, binging, and laziness that comes along with compulsive overeating and other compulsive behaviors (like playing games on the computer all day).

It's so hard to pray when I feel unworthy.

Nasty spiral.

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).

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.
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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